Murphy’s Lore

Sam on why running, wonderful as it is, should not be seen as a cure-all

‘Every day that starts with a question mark is best answered with a run.’ That is what I tweeted late last year, having just returned from a run that had blown away the mental fug I’d woken up with. It got more ‘likes’ than anything else I’d ever tweeted, showing the wide appeal of the notion that running benefits the mind at least as much as the body. It banishes black moods, sweats away stresses, lifts downtrodden spirits and reminds us that we ‘can’.

But I’ve come home from a few recent runs with the day’s question mark still lingering. I feel blank, flat, separate – as I always do when the black dog places his heavy paws upon me. It’s got me thinking about the downsides of framing running as an elixir for preserving – or restoring – mental equilibrium. Please don’t bristle if you are one of the many who believe that running helps them maintain a healthy mind. I hear you. Indeed, I’d count myself among the 74 per cent of runners who, in a recent survey, said that running benefited their mental health.

But we have to be a little careful about presenting running as a panacea. It isn’t one. A 2016 Norwegian study found that exercise was shown to have a moderate effect on depression compared with ‘usual care’ – but compared with psychological treatments or antidepressant medication, the effect was small. Last year, British researchers compared the incidence of depression among over 3,000 athletes and non-athletes and found it to be equal, demonstrating that even high levels of physical activity don’t offer immunity from mental health challenges.

You could argue, given the other benefits of running, what’s the harm in pitching it to those with mental health problems? But to someone who does not have the wherewithal (energy, motivation, confidence) to try it – or to someone who has tried it and not gained any benefit – offering running as a simple escape route from mental anguish risks adding to the sense of inadequacy that person is almost certainly already grappling with.

I’m lucky. I formed my running habit so long ago that whatever mental state I’m in, going out is more ‘normal’ for me than not going. Even in my darkest times, I can switch to autopilot and get myself out the door. And although I may come back feeling no less joyless than when I went, I know that it’s ‘done me good’.

But what about someone for whom running is an alien activity? Or someone whose response (not chosen, by the way) to the anguish they’re feeling isn’t to get outside and set their body in motion but to withdraw deeper into themselves? How alluring those stories about people chucking away their meds because they’ve ‘discovered’ running must sound – and how out of reach. By portraying running as a cure-all, we make those people for whom it isn’t viable – or for whom it hasn’t worked – feel less curable.

Even runners who have found mental health benefits from running face a risk by putting all their eggs in one basket – an injury layoff. A study at the University of Adelaide, Australia, found that for exercisers with experience of depression, having to stop running elicited depressive symptoms in as few as three days.

For many years, the effect running can have on mental health was looked upon with scepticism by the medical community and media. But I’m concerned the pendulum may be swinging too far the other way. Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not dismissing running as a route to better mental health. And you can be assured that I’ll continue to log my miles as I weather the storms of this particular bout of depression. But as I lace up my trainers, I’ll be aware they are not ruby slippers.