torment of their rushing mind. And in so doing, lose jobs, destroy marriages, break up families, all the while being blamed for their reckless behavior, as if they had any choice in the matter.
Even my brother, Dan, who was diagnosed relatively early, when he was still in high school, and treated with electroshock therapy and medication, still became a casualty of the disease. Of course, back then, getting the diagnosis wasnât the same as gaining an understanding of what it meant. Learning that Dan was bipolar in no way prepared my family or me for the struggles he would face in his too-short lifetime. I first learned of Danâs specific diagnosis not long after he received it. But, at the time, I was too young to understand what bipolar disorder was. When his behavior was at its most destructiveâand painful for my familyâI resorted to the easy slurs of the day, calling him crazy in my mind and wishing he would just snap out of it so my mom would stop crying. Looking back, Iâm embarrassed by my own ignorance and regretful that I didnât have the same knowledge I do now. But I still had so much to learn back then, and unfortunately, I would have to learn it the hard way.
Chapter 6
REA L LIFE
T he stress of the race itself was over, but the nightmare went on and on. As far as I was concerned, this was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, worse than any other loss, worse, even, than my brotherâs death. My perceptions were totally distorted. I was a wreck.
The incident was big news; I was a veteran runner and the visual of me collapsing onto the track was dramatic, even haunting. In the immediate aftermath, Mark was terrified Iâd really injured myself. And the media were clamoring for an interview. So I lied. To my husband, to journalists, to my coach, to everyone but the only person who knew the truth of the matter: myself. I pretended I had fallen, when I knewI had collapsed just to end the ordeal. The medic who treated me immediately after the race cited dehydration as the cause of my collapse, and so I gratefully went with that excuse, even though, as careful as I was with my training, I never would have allowed dehydration to befall me like that. During subsequent exams, it was revealed that I had a broken ischium bone, which had been the cause of the hamstring pain that had kept me from training adequately in the weeks leading up to Sydney. This injury had also contributed to my fall, at least in terms of the psychological toll it had taken on me. Any elite runner could have been thrown off by such a setback, and for me, it had been psychologically debilitating.
I was embarrassed and heartbroken. In my mind, I had failed not only myself, but also Peter, who had devoted so much to me, and I hadnât even made good by winning him a gold. I felt the whole world viewed me as a failure, which was devastating after two decades of nonstop training and competition based on the idea that I had the potential to be the best.
In the wake of my fall, I couldnât get home fast enough, but once we were back in Madison, I couldnât bring myself to leave my house. Upon arriving home to our small town of New Glarus, we drove under a big banner that said something along the lines of, GREAT JOB, SUZY ! It was well intentioned, but only added to my sense of embarrassment. When I went to the grocery store, I was sure everyone was staring at me, whispering behind my back about how I had failed and let down our whole stateâno, our whole countryâso I stopped leaving the house. I wanted the whole event to go away. It was months before I didnât think about what hadhappened almost constantly. Mark was concerned about me and encouraged me to get out of the house and go running, which he knew would be more therapeutic for me than anything else, and spend time with our friends. But he didnât press me. I did a good job of hiding the true extent of my anxiety and shame from
Even my brother, Dan, who was diagnosed relatively early, when he was still in high school, and treated with electroshock therapy and medication, still became a casualty of the disease. Of course, back then, getting the diagnosis wasnât the same as gaining an understanding of what it meant. Learning that Dan was bipolar in no way prepared my family or me for the struggles he would face in his too-short lifetime. I first learned of Danâs specific diagnosis not long after he received it. But, at the time, I was too young to understand what bipolar disorder was. When his behavior was at its most destructiveâand painful for my familyâI resorted to the easy slurs of the day, calling him crazy in my mind and wishing he would just snap out of it so my mom would stop crying. Looking back, Iâm embarrassed by my own ignorance and regretful that I didnât have the same knowledge I do now. But I still had so much to learn back then, and unfortunately, I would have to learn it the hard way.
Chapter 6
REA L LIFE
T he stress of the race itself was over, but the nightmare went on and on. As far as I was concerned, this was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, worse than any other loss, worse, even, than my brotherâs death. My perceptions were totally distorted. I was a wreck.
The incident was big news; I was a veteran runner and the visual of me collapsing onto the track was dramatic, even haunting. In the immediate aftermath, Mark was terrified Iâd really injured myself. And the media were clamoring for an interview. So I lied. To my husband, to journalists, to my coach, to everyone but the only person who knew the truth of the matter: myself. I pretended I had fallen, when I knewI had collapsed just to end the ordeal. The medic who treated me immediately after the race cited dehydration as the cause of my collapse, and so I gratefully went with that excuse, even though, as careful as I was with my training, I never would have allowed dehydration to befall me like that. During subsequent exams, it was revealed that I had a broken ischium bone, which had been the cause of the hamstring pain that had kept me from training adequately in the weeks leading up to Sydney. This injury had also contributed to my fall, at least in terms of the psychological toll it had taken on me. Any elite runner could have been thrown off by such a setback, and for me, it had been psychologically debilitating.
I was embarrassed and heartbroken. In my mind, I had failed not only myself, but also Peter, who had devoted so much to me, and I hadnât even made good by winning him a gold. I felt the whole world viewed me as a failure, which was devastating after two decades of nonstop training and competition based on the idea that I had the potential to be the best.
In the wake of my fall, I couldnât get home fast enough, but once we were back in Madison, I couldnât bring myself to leave my house. Upon arriving home to our small town of New Glarus, we drove under a big banner that said something along the lines of, GREAT JOB, SUZY ! It was well intentioned, but only added to my sense of embarrassment. When I went to the grocery store, I was sure everyone was staring at me, whispering behind my back about how I had failed and let down our whole stateâno, our whole countryâso I stopped leaving the house. I wanted the whole event to go away. It was months before I didnât think about what hadhappened almost constantly. Mark was concerned about me and encouraged me to get out of the house and go running, which he knew would be more therapeutic for me than anything else, and spend time with our friends. But he didnât press me. I did a good job of hiding the true extent of my anxiety and shame from
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