It’s 10 am. I got up early at 5:15 to get a 2.5 mile run in. Then I got the kids out the door for school, got Book Fair at the middle school up and running with the volunteers and am about to head out the door to help a neighbor who broke both her shoulders.

My run this morning was horrible. I felt slow, heavy and never got up to speed. Every step seemed to be harder than the last. Thank goodness nobody else showed up in my group because it would have been tougher trying to keep up the pace. I should have walked but I kept running thinking, “It will get better. You must run. Walking is not an option.”

When I finished, it took a while for me to recover. I felt “off.” That’s the only description I have for it. I’ve run two half-marathons, a 10K and a couple of 5Ks and I had just labored through 2.5 miles like it was 25. I felt off.

And I still feel off.

I hate days like today. One thing builds on another and I can’t get it together.

I came home after running, felt some weirdness/weakness in my right arm and hand, felt a little dizzy and the old familiar anxiety started to insert itself. I took a shower and that seemed to help. But as I got my daughter ready for school the anxious feeling intensified. My head felt fuzzy; I felt jittery and on the verge of panic.

I think my body goes into overdrive at certain times. When something doesn’t feel right, my brain bypasses all rationality and goes into panic. My run didn’t feel right so my brain started yammering away, “Are you okay? Is there a problem with your heart?” Then I got home and felt the weirdness in my arm and my brain added, “Maybe you’re having a heart attack or stroke. Your run was miserable. Something must be wrong.” Then I got scared which must have brought on the light-headedness. My brain then said, “Something’s really wrong. What if you die here? You can’t have your kids find your dead body here when they get home! Do something!” Panic/anxiety. Welcome to the real me.

I am certifiable.

I had my first panic attack shortly after getting engaged in 1989. I didn’t know what it was, just felt really weird in the middle of a concert and almost passed out. I had my second attack a few months after moving to Michigan, in 1991. I ended up in the ER and that’s when I began to learn the finer points of life with panic/anxiety. Since then I’ve had anxiety (and sometimes panic attacks) off and on over the years. Back in the early 90s it was tough to manage but I got through it. It got better and eventually very manageable to the point of not happening. I moved to another state a few years ago and thought the panic/anxiety might come back but it didn’t. I thought I was home free and had it kicked. Until the last few months. I thought my new love of running would be the glue to keep it at bay. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. Bummer.

I did medication/therapy for a very short time back in 1990 but it didn’t seem to do anything for me. Instead, I read a lot and learned how to breathe and talk myself through the anxiety. I don’t know why my husband has stayed with me but he’s a saint to deal with my craziness.

What’s funny is that when I’m seriously stressed, as in completely overwhelmed and within every right to go stark raving mad, I’m remarkably calm. I don’t get panic feelings when the threat is real. I hunker down and do what needs to be done. So why does my body do this when the threat level is low? And why has the anxiety increased lately?

I am at my wit’s end. Every time I start to feel the anxiety, I think how silly it is. I know in my head that there’s no reason to panic, that there’s nothing wrong, yet my body tells me otherwise. It tells me I am dying, that I have cancer, that if I don’t do something I will be gone in the blink of an eye. It is so utterly frustrating and prevents me from being fully in the moment and able to feel joy. It’s exhausting.

This morning, I tried to answer the “why now” question that always pops up with anxiety. I know that some of it has to do with some recent physical problems I’ve been having. I have a CT scheduled for Sat. to check things out. Maybe I’m nervous they will find something. Who knows. I suppose the circumstances don’t matter because I finally figured out today that my panic/anxiety has to do with loss of control.

I have a number of activities going on this week. (And I’ve been worried about trying to manage all of them for a while.) I feel like I can’t manage my time and I don’t have time to think about who (including me) needs to get where and when. Just when I have a plan in place, it changes. The thing is, it’s not an extraordinary amount of activity. Some people would laugh at what’s on my calendar and say, “Is that all?! I do that and more every day!” So I’m in a constant state of “Why can’t I get it together?! Why can’t I just enjoy this instead of getting overwhelmed and irritable about it?” The kicker is that it’s all stuff I CHOSE to do. Nobody’s holding a gun to my head and yet my body responds like I’ve been held captive. Captive.

Why do I feel like a captive? I guess I feel that way because I am doing most of my activities out of a sense of obligation. I work part-time (very part-time) and do get paid for my work. But the extra stuff I do, I do because I think I should. I don’t get any sense of value or satisfaction from it. I said “yes” to someone and the obligation ball started rolling. And then I worry about what everybody thinks about me as I navigate these activities. So my theory is that I don’t enjoy my activities and the anxiety is telling me that I need to make a change. I am feeling out of control, so my body goes out of control.

I just want that peaceful easy feeling. Control gives me that.

But control is a double-edge sword. Control means order. Control means I am in charge. But not much in our world is ordered. And truly, there aren’t too many times when I’m in charge.

I am not good with surprises. I am not good with last minute plan changes. I am not good when I am not in control or if I lose control. I desperately want to be but I’m not. Why is that? And why can’t my mind and body work together to realize that it’s okay to be in the passenger seat? The world won’t end. People won’t judge me. I won’t die. But my body acts like it’s going to. I’m tired of it.

Why am I great in a true emergency but complete toast otherwise?

Running has been a saving grace. And now I’m afraid I’m going to let panic/anxiety ruin it. I need to find the joy. How do I do that?