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– By Joseph J. Luciani, Ph.D.
Somewhere back in my late thirties I had an inexplicable urge to run the New York City Marathon. I couldn't tell you why I wanted to run it. Maybe I did because it just sounded so impossible--26 miles! Perhaps I just wanted to know whether I had it in me. Whatever the reason, I decided to give it a shot. I didn't give my training much thought. After all, I had been a recreational, couple-of-miles-a-day jogger for years, what could be the problem? You just run longer and longer distances. Right?
Fast forward six months.
The first couple of hours of the marathon were terrific. I was high-fiving the kids along Brooklyn's Fourth Avenue, enjoying the crowd, my adrenaline, and the race. Why hadn't I done this before? By the third hour however, more than halfway through the race and chugging through Queens, my high-fiving long since abandoned, I began to notice a deepening fatigue. Four hours into the race, the Bronx began to fade as all my attention became focused on the squish, squish of blisters. The fatigue that began ten miles earlier had become all consuming by the fifth hour as I entered Central Park. My mind was taken over by a survival instinct that sought only to stop the pain and cramping. Somehow, I hung on and finished, five hours and twenty minutes after I had started. I shuffled through the chutes at the end of the race, trying not to think about the preceding three hours of my life.
After recovering for a few months (months in which I vowed nevër, ever to entertain the notion of running another race), I began talking to a friend who had run the same marathon at a much more respectable pace. He couldn't believe that I did all my training on the track. "What, no hill work? No speed work?" I realized how terribly flawed my training had been. I also realized that some things in life aren't apparent--at least not at first.
More months passed. I came across a great book written by two former coaches and marathoners, “The Competitive Runner's Handbook.” The book explained and analyzed elements of training in a comprehensive program. In spite of my resolve nevër to think about another marathon, I found myself devouring the book. I began to understand why my legs had become stiff, why I had cramped, why I had fallen apart the last half of the race, and even why my feet had blistered. These problems, I learned, could all be eliminated by proper training. Given the proper program to follow, it should be possible to overcome the breakdowns that I had experienced. What had been a humiliating and chaotic experience could actually be deciphered, anticipated, prepared for, and--most importantly--conquered. I liked that. I was eager to put my self-coaching to the test.
To date, I've run three marathons, and I'm currently training for my fourth. My times have dropped, not by minutes, but by hours. If I say so myself, I've learned a lot about self-coaching. My self-coached marathon experiences proved invaluable as I pondered the possibility of putting my experience coaching patients into a Self-coached format.
Whether you're anxious or depressed, Self-coaching can teach you how to do what's necessary to eliminate your problems. Our minds, as well as our bodies, deteriorate if we allow ourselves to follow destructive patterns. That's what anxiety and depression are. They are patterned, negative, self-defeating habits. Self-coaching teaches you two things: (1) how to break the destructive patterns that distort your thinking and leave you vulnerable to depression and anxiety; and (2) how to replace these thoughts with a healthy, adaptive way of living.
*** Book Excerpt: Self-Coaching: How to Heal Anxiety and Depression: What to Do When Your Life Gets Out of Control – By Joseph J. Luciani, Ph.D. ***
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