DO sweat the sad stuff.

About a year and a half ago, I had my first ever bout of depression.  Actual, real depression.  Though the symptoms were mild, to me it was frightening, embarrassing and, in my opinion, completely unwarranted.  What had I to be sad about?  My fantastic family?  Enough money to eat well and live in a place with two bathrooms? Recognizing what I was feeling proved difficult because not only was I new to being emotionally unfit, but I also felt my sadness was so very self-indulgent.  I know people who struggle with depression, and those people have actual problems and real reasons to feel what they are feeling.  I was merely having a lengthy pout. 

My depression presented as a wet, heavy cloak draped over my shoulders.  It slowed me down, dampened my joy and made me uncomfortable in my skin.  It wasn't debilitating, but the heaviness really limited my positive emotional experiences.  Stuff that would usually have made me laugh my face off only elicited a smile and maybe a chuckle.  I didn't have a good counter-balance anymore for dealing with unfavorable events either, so when something sad happened, my heart would plummet and grief would wash over me.  Mild irritation at people or situations turned to something short of rage, but definitely past bothersome.  With support from my husband, family and the few friends that I managed to talk to about how I was feeling, I went to a doctor and was diagnosed with mild, situational depression and was given a prescription for an antidepressant.

For me, taking a pill meant handing over control of myself and my feelings to a drug; putting my trust in a chemical.  A little white pill and a lot of cigarettes became my personal floatation device, and I got to thinking that that was pretty fucked up, given that I had perfectly capable arms and legs with which to paddle.  It just so happened that my limbs were rather weak at the moment.  Maybe they just required better training to carry me through this part of my life?  That's when I became very, very good friends with the gym.

Running, strength training and most importantly, group fitness classes have literally become my antidepressant.  I have sweat, run, boxed and weight-lifted my way away from pills and nicotine.  Only naturally produced "feel good" hormones stream through my veins.  Every trip to the gym floods my brain and my body with enough endorphins and oxytocin to regulate my mood.  I can actually feel it every time I walk through the doors. 

I have the unbelievable fortune of going to a gym staffed with world class and class act instructors.  Gone are the days of the bouncy 19-year-old aerobics instructors wearing leotards, leg warmers and full makeup.  The women that teach at my gym are athletes with the strength of lionesses and the hearts of humanitarians.  They are educated, driven and innovative.  They are so good at what they do that droves of people gladly get out of bed at 7am on a Saturday morning to be with them for 60 minutes.  They are so good that if you aren't 10 minutes early, you won't get a spot in their class.  They know that they can't make you challenge yourself, that they can't force you to push past your limits.  And they don't have to.  The good ones, the really good ones...they create a hunger that makes you want to put more weight on your bar.  They beget your trust and you learn you can hold your pose longer.  They build ambition so you have a need to keep pushing yourself.

There is one instructor in particular for whom I feel a tremendous amount of respect and gratitude.  She is my therapy.  She is my campaign manager against drugs.  I don't have a boss, or co-workers, so her voice is the one I hear most often besides my husband and daughter.  She recently said that 90% of the time, people don't hear what she says in her classes.  But we do...that's why we're there.  Her voice carries us through pain.  Through uncertainty.  Through fragility.  And we all come out on the other side of 60 minutes stronger in heart, mind and body.  60 minutes.  It's amazing that the actual chemical makeup of a person can be changed in 60 minutes but that's exactly what happens.  In my case, and I cannot be alone here, she has strengthened me in life changing ways.

I have several morals to this story.  One is, if you feel sad, try exercise.  Sweating is a most powerful elixir.  I know that it won't take the place of drugs if you need them, but it sure as hell won't hurt you.  Two, if you feel lonely, try to get in a room with a bunch of strangers.  You don't have to talk to anyone to get the positive effects of a group working toward a common goal.  I didn't open my mouth for months and months and still, during and after each class I felt less alone.  Three, if someone's work is exceptional and you have benefited enormously from the time and effort they've put in, you should thank them.  Thank you, Kate.  Your talent is unmatched, your beauty soul deep.