Exercise. Regularly. Those were the words my doctor had used. I knew I could exercise. I knew I could get myself back into running. But running on a regular basis just seemed impossible. My life was just too full to squeeze in time for it. But I tried. I did try.
We had bought a treadmill about -- has it been -- ten years ago, so I could walk or run anytime I wanted. I just didn't really ever want to. But sometimes I did. Sometimes I would be determined. I would schedule time on my calendar to run. I would add it to my to-do lists. But eventually life would get in the way, I would begin to feel overwhelmed, and exercise seemed to be the least important thing I had to do. It was an easy elimination from my hectic schedule.
I slowly began to see a pattern forming. I would feel good, get motivated, and start running. Then after two or three weeks something would happen, life would get more hectic, I would feel more overwhelmed, more tired, and I would quit running. Before I knew it, a couple of months had gone by before I had that good, motivated feeling again. But, as usual, it didn't last more than a couple of weeks. After a year or so of going through this, it finally occurred to me that what I was struggling with wasn't just premenopause, but depression.