Back on April 10, 2022, I completed the Hapalua half marathon, and just to be clear, I walked the entire thing. My finish time was 3:43, which roughly translates to a 17-minute mile.
During that same period, I began experiencing depression symptoms. I came home from work to inexplicably sob myself to sleep in the middle of the afternoon. Nothing felt fun or exciting, and if it did, that feeling went away pretty immediately to be replaced with dread and confusion and tears. It still amazes me that I (eventually) had the presence of mind to call my doctor and get started on finding a good antidepressant. We found one. It helped.
My most awesome therapist helped me see that the meds were great for treating symptoms so I could do the actual work. They were a tool, and they weren’t going to solve my problems. They weren’t going to deal with the root of my emotions. Only I could do that. So while the I took the meds, I worked.
Part of that work was walking. Every day. Or night. Sometimes alone, sometimes with friends, sometimes with Lucy. At the park, at the beach, around my neighborhood. Miles and miles and miles of walking.
I never thought I’d ever do a half-marathon. Never. Noah had done it as well as the Honolulu Marathon, and I’d seen what he went through. Why would I ever choose that for myself?? Nuh-uh. No ways.
And as I prepared for the 13.1 mile walk, I talked to Noah. I talked to Ana. I had a dietician at the time (because, oh yeah, I’d just had my gallbladder removed at the end of 2020 and my guts weren’t happy), and she helped me develop a plan for fueling and hydrating from beginning to end. Noe and Jenn and Merf walked the Diamond Head leg of the race with me as part of my training.
My husband and I were going through couples counseling at the time. Our relationship was struggling just as we were struggling individually. There was little to no support from him, and I don’t mention this not to throw him under the bus. I’m trying to provide context. My nearly 20-year relationship was coming to its end, and my daily walks didn’t help. My walks caused a lot of tension, and that I was training for this momentous race made no difference. He wanted me to stop walking. Or stop walking so much.
So when I see the memory pop up on my social media every year for the last 3 years, I am filled with emotion.
- All the walking. I say pole saved my life, but before pole, there were those walks. Walking saved my life. I processed so much self-loathing and grief and confusion during those walks. I connected with friends and family during those walks. For nearly a year, my whole family had a standing Wednesday date for outdoor fun at Magic Island that included bicycles, skateboards, and roller skates. And food, let's be honest.
- The lack of support from my partner. The active antipathy he showed for what was turning into my personal healing. This was bad. So bad that it frequently came up even in our counseling sessions. Why can’t you stop going for walks, Kanani? Why can’t you choose me, Kanani? And I was learning, perhaps for the first time in my entire life, Why can’t I choose ME? His ultimate contribution to this endeavor was dropping me off at the park the morning of the race, and I’m grateful. But overwhelmingly I walked in defiance even though my point of reference was me and not him. I was simply choosing me.
- The support I received from my kids, my family, and my friends while I was doing my 17-minute mile trudge. This was in stark difference to my relationship. These people showered me with their love and encouragement, and expressed their amazement of my accomplishment, before, during and after the race.They shared my joy and lent me theirs when mine felt absent.
- Mom and Billy were there to celebrate with me at the end. They were waiting for me at the finish line, and even typing this out right now, I’m in tears. Because they had to park! Far! And then walk to the finish line and then wait. And they had signs! (Oh gawd, I’m sobbing now.) I don’t think you know how impactful that support was when I was getting so much anger from my partner, and reflecting on it now, I’m not just thankful for my parents, I’m so fucking proud of myself.
Because I kept choosing myself. Despite so much pushback and so much emotional anguish, I kept choosing to heal myself. And no matter what it might have looked like on the outside, that choice was FUCKING TOUGH. It was so tough, I constantly felt like I was tearing myself apart, no exaggeration. Read my blogs. They’ll tell you.
So when I’m reminded that I finished the Hapalua in 2022— I still have my bib pinned up next to my desk— I am filled with emotion. I am in awe of the faith I had that the work I was doing would result in something better when I had no real tangible reason to believe it would. And at that time, the simple act of walking was enough of a catalyst.
I am a firm believer that the work you do becomes your path. I never set out to do a race, let alone a half fucking marathon. I never set out to divorce for the second time. (Oh, and I’ve been off the meds for years now, but I’m so grateful to have made use of the tools available to me.) But here’s the thing: I made one simple fucking decision, I WALKED, and it fucking changed my life.
