I Want To Run

The other day, I found out that my good friend and mentor, Diane Israel or Di as she was known by close friends, passed away. I never know what to say when facing grief, not that I'm obligated to say anything at all. I'm trying to process what happened, though, and It's a shock right now, even though I could see it coming. Sometimes you know. It's not just in what a person says; it's the way a person looks or simply an intuitive feeling you get that's hard to define. Several times, I reached out to Di and offered support, but the last time I saw her, I could see that whatever turmoil she was going through was deep and unyielding, not anything that could be eased by someone else's words. She was already gone, but I didn't know how far and whether or not the tether that loosely held her to this planet would fully snap. This isn't the first time I've felt helpless when someone decided to permanently step off life's treadmill.  

Despite her own struggles, Di was a shining light and a grounding force to many in the athletic community and the community in general, an inspiration if there ever was one. It's hard to write this without getting emotional, and I know I'm not the only one having a hard time with her absence from this world. She was such a loving, generous, kind, and dynamic individual. And she was fierce, not just as an incredible competitor and athlete but in general. Mostly, though, she filled the role of teacher to countless people, forever encouraging others, even in the throes of her own depression, pain, or compulsions that must have made the world seem unbearable. Di was real, and in a world full of fake, people were drawn to her honesty and her feisty nature.

I want to run.

When the memories flood my head and grief overwhelms me, I want to run, not necessarily escape, but to run. I can't, though. I'm about a month out from surgery. I'm forced to sit with my emotions, yet I keep trying to distract myself. In her film, Beauty Mark, Di describes this fear of not moving and what may come up in these moments of stillness. With too much distraction that I actively seek, my sadness comes out as anger or frustration, not directed at anyone in particular, but the agitation simmers below the surface. Emotions can be a bitch to feel, and underneath the frustration lies a well of grief, one I worry about uncorking. 

Some people look at suicide as a selfish act. I never have, even though I'm experiencing and have witnessed the tremendous and devastating pain and suffering of those left behind. It's different when you have suffered under the weight of despair. There's more compassion and understanding toward those who choose to stop their own suffering and pain. 

I mentioned previously that the last couple of months have been difficult for a variety of reasons. I went into surgery both physically and emotionally depleted, never a good position to be in when facing a major stressor in life, and, in the worst pain before surgery, I contemplated life and death and was open to a select few about it. Pain and a malfunctioning body are not easy to manage when there's no end in sight. But I rode out another extreme low on this crazy roller coaster of life. And then there was a glimmer of hope, the possibility of something different, followed by loss, grief, and fear, so much fear. 

Di and I ran and then jogged or walked and eventually hobbled down similar roads. It seemed she experienced a lot of the same struggles I have faced, only a few years before me. We both won the Pikes Peak Ascent and perhaps pushed a little too hard doing so. We both struggled with anorexia and then had a period of binge eating. We both engaged in compulsive exercise. We both tried to help others, even though things weren't perfect in our own lives. And then, just like that, there was the pain we both faced after years of abusing our bodies. 

After the surgery, my doctor said he had never seen anything quite like what was going on with my foot. He knew there were three main issues, but two of them proved to be more problematic than he originally thought. It's a lot to list, but he noted a tendon that had frayed, a bone spur that had fractured resulting in a tiny piece of the bone falling into the joint, osteoarthritis in that same joint, a neuroma or two, and a damaged nerve running along the top of my foot. Correcting these issues has not resolved the other injury, though, so I'm trying to figure out a way to be more accepting of and kind to myself. 

I'm always blown away when other people are kind to me, and lately, I've been flooded with kindness from a few sources, some close friends and some people I hardly know. I always seem to expect the worst, but I'm trying to remember the good in the world. Di used to say that it's not really about good or bad, though. What if it's all just "path," no judgment? So in this moment, I try to remember that Di chose the best possible path for herself, one that freed her from her suffering. But damn, I miss her. 

And more than ever, I want to run, but not in this broken body.

Training on Empty: Chapter 19

Chapter 19 – Rest

“Take rest; a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop.” – Ovid

When I first met Diane, I was in high school. She was someone I admired a great deal. It became known around town that I was actually following quite closely in her footsteps. Both of us were standout athletes, and not long before I set the record at the Pike's Peak Ascent, she had done the same. Our lives were nearly identical in many ways, a fact I soon discovered after she approached me in a futile attempt to prevent me from suffering the pain and discomfort of overtraining and under-eating that she herself had endured. It seemed that just as she was pulling out of her own illness, I was committed to stepping fully into mine. I felt invincible and was headstrong, and no amount of admonishment and concern on her part could dissuade me from careening toward self-destruction. However, much later, during one of the lowest points in my life, Diane was there to reach out to me yet again. This time I was ready to listen, and with her support I began a long, long journey toward improved health and increased self-awareness.

Diane began restricting her food intake at around age 14. She, like me, was facing puberty and a changing body. This caused an inner struggle, because she wanted, in effect, to keep herself from becoming a woman. Like my own father, her parents had undisguisedly wanted a boy, and she developed a lot of fear about becoming a woman. For her, food was something to control. In fact, it was one of the only things she felt she could completely control. She states:

Perfection is the core wound of anorexia. There is an underlying fear of failure that leads most addicts to seek control through other means. In addition, as our outer world spins more out of control, the desire is to grab control of our immediate surroundings. If we keep our central world predictable, even if it’s painful, it eliminates the fear of losing control. It may not be pleasant, but at least we know where we stand, where we exist.

For Diane, a turning point occurred when, after qualifying for the Jewish Olympics, she came to the realization that she was too thin. “There were times as an athlete where I would do well, but overall, I was too depleted to consistently do well,” she says. The day before the big race, she was so hungry that she ate a falafel sandwich. It didn’t sit well, and Diane just blew up in the race. She had stomach cramps and felt sick. Going in as the favorite and ending up with the Bronze medal was not only a disappointment but a slap in the face. It made her look at her life and realize that she had been living in a haze of hunger, her brain fuzzy and her body weak from insufficient nutrition. It was the first time that she was able to admit the truth: that she was killing herself. She states:

Sometimes the body, mind and spirit line up in ways we can’t explain. Often this occurs when we come close to death. Somehow coming close to the veil of death allows us to have these epiphanies. At these times there is an opening that we are finally able to allow, that can ultimately lead to inviting something else into our lives. For the addict, the tendency is to want to hold onto the addiction at all costs, so it’s essential to allow for the possibility of change when it presents itself, no matter how great the fear.

As most people know, recovery from this type of mental illness begins with the admission of being ill. Diane cautions that people have to admit the problem without judging the situation; to

become aware of where you are and from there allow for change. Don’t be hard on yourself. It’s important to start where you are, not from where you want to be or think you ‘should’ be. Act from the wisdom provided by nature, our ancestors and the world around you. The more you can flow with nature the better. I often compare myself to the weather, constantly changing and adapting. Learning to sit in the fire of whatever arises, be it fear, anger, or sadness is key to recovery. So often we want to numb out and avoid any pain, but ask yourself, ‘what is this offering me?’ How is this serving me? Addicts grow through the journey of addiction and through this journey we learn to discover ourselves and recognize more fully all the various parts of ourselves.

Both Diane and I are forced to live with great regret. Knowing that we missed opportunities and chances for success due to our addiction is hard to face, yet both of us are growing and adapting well into our forties. Our addictions still tend to rule our lives, but we move more and more toward freedom. Despite our compulsive nature, we function in the world and participate.

Diane believes that once a cognitive recognition of the disorder has occurred, it’s essential to take mindful action to get well. “It takes precise discipline to grow,” she says. “It’s a matter of allowing others in to help you take specific action, but at the same time relying on a return to the self. An important question to continually ask is, ‘how does this make me feel?’ As we age, we naturally move more toward self-love. This is helpful in stepping out of addiction. If the path you have chosen makes you unhappy, then the time for change has come.”

In terms of anorexia, it’s important to note that great fear underlies the refusal to eat. In Diane’s words:

In a sense, we become afraid of everything. We need to widen our lens of living and expand outside the box in which we have placed ourselves. It’s easy to stay in the addiction, but if you look deeply at the fears around the addiction, you will find it most often comes back to fear of failure. If we don’t have the excuse of addiction, we are forced to face our authentic selves. There is no guarantee of success even if we do everything right, so if we fail we must learn to accept that part of ourselves. Addiction keeps us stuck, yet it also offers us an excuse and a false sense of security.

As Diane spoke, I tried to imagine a life free of fear and free of my compulsive and obsessive ways. We put great limitations on ourselves. Self-sabotage and tripping ourselves up have become more common than not. I often wonder what accomplishments I would have achieved if I had avoided an eating disorder. Then again, I know that I have to take what I have learned from my situation and move forward. Perhaps the most thought-provoking statement that Diane uttered when I spoke with her for this book was at the end, when she looked at me and asked point-blank: “Who would you be without this?” Thoughts of infinite possibility flooded my brain, and I too had to wonder: Who would I be?

Diane Israel

* * *

Interview with Diane Israel

Diane Israel

Interview with Diane Israel by Lizefb on Mixcloud

From Diane's website: 
Diane Israel is a psychotherapist and conductor with a private practice in Boulder, Colorado. She is professor of transpersonal counseling psychology and trustee of Naropa University. She ignites students and clients to recognize their wholeness and follow their passions through mind-body integration and celebrating their inherent genius. Her experiences as a world-class runner and triathlete led her to specialize in body image and eating struggles. Her award-winning independent documentary film, Beauty Mark, follows her personal journey as an athlete and explores our race to perfection. She is a end of life care consultant and ally supporting families as they navigate end of life issues.

Interview with Diane Israel

 Diane (left) and Lize