Panic Mode

I’m typing this in the dark, on my mobile, sinking into the hangover that has followed yet another panic attack. They’ve been coming often lately. And because I’m on my phone and don’t care to type out a long and rambling entry with just one index finger, I’ll keep this brief.

I don’t think I can do the marathon. And I want to drop out.

My anxiety gets in the way of all sorts of otherwise happy and fun stuff that I want to do. I may have to add the Marine Corps Marathon to that list.

I’ve been having anxiety before my long runs, so much now that I’ve skipped my last two. I no longer love running. It’s a source of stress, not a stress release. That’s a bad thing.

I’ve convinced myself that I’m going to die during the marathon. I’m so, so afraid of that. Skipping my training runs, thinking of quitting the race and letting my body fail me yet again (we’re not gonna get into Birth #1 and Birth #2 here because my index finger is already tired of typing and I swore this’d be short, but trust me, there’s a history there of me hating my body for being incapable of doing stuff that I set out to do), is getting to me. It’s depressing me. I feel like I’ve left that positive, happy bubble that fitness had built for me. That bubble used to protect me from the nightly panic attacks and self-doubt, but I’m not in that space these days. I’m back to stress eating, and even spells of binge eating. I’ve gained five pounds and my GERD and IBS are both back.

I want to do the marathon, I do. But maybe not for the right reasons. I’m so scared of hating myself if I quit, and I’m so scared of continuing down this path of amped-up anxiety that the race is causing me. I honestly don’t know what to do, but I need to decide soon because the deadline to sell and transfer my bib is August 31, just eleven days away. Tick, tock.


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