Paying Attention:
Running with
a new diagnosis  

BY CARA HAWKINS-JEDLICKA
PHOTOS BY EMILY MAYE AND GETTY

Learning to read chapter books and tie my black-and-white oxfords was all part of second grade for me. I also learned that when I felt full of energy or unfocused, running a lap around Alpine Elementary would allow me to finish my work in class. Running became a habit: first to ease my thoughts, then as a sport. 

I returned to teaching in a classroom after maternity leave with a case of what I thought was “mommy brain.” I was forgetting conversations. My anxiety over these missing pieces began to manifest into sleepless nights with me staring at the ceiling wondering how I could better keep up with my life. There were the small lapses in memory, too. I locked my keys in my office several times and kept notes everywhere reminding me to turn off heaters or take certain items home. As the baby started to sleep more and I began to return to a normal schedule, I wondered if there was more to it. 

Women are typically diagnosed with the inattentive type of attention deficit disorder (ADD) which can lead to under diagnosis. “If you're thinking of the inattentive type, it's often daydreaming, spacing out or losing your train of thoughts. People might think that these girls are lazy, daydreamers or [just] in their own little world,” said Cornelia Kirchhoff, psychology clinic assistant director at Washington State University.

On my “bad brain” days, it often feels like I am running a race without knowledge of the course map. I can follow the other runners ahead of me, but I don’t know how or if we will get to the finish line. My thoughts wander and steeple from one activity to the next, leaving half-finished tasks in the wake along with plenty of drafts in my email. Other days, my brain leaves me trudging through tasks at half speed. Or it decides to hyperfocus: I can write pages upon pages, or prep weeks’ worth of lectures. I’m never sure which version of me is going to show up. If I had the flexibility, I would handle those “bad brain” days like I did when I was eight, by lacing up my running shoes. But with a full schedule and a young child, running became less of an option.  

Exercise can be a good coping behavior. “We see mixed martial arts, running, or just any regular exercise, whatever it is for the person – we also know that it has huge benefits for depression and anxiety. So, it is kind of like a double whammy,” said Kirchhoff. 

I made an appointment with my primary care physician, who, after a short conversation, gave me a referral for diagnostic testing. The testing office called, letting me know that the test wasn’t often covered by insurance, so I should check and call back to schedule. They called in January. I lost the phone number and eventually called back in March; I wondered if this was the first test to see if I had ADHD. I had three two-hour sessions of testing followed by a diagnosis of ADHD. My primary care doctor walked me through several options for managing my ADHD including medication and behavior therapy. I landed on medication – Adderall – to manage. 

The difference is stark. Gone are the “bad brain” days. I notice a difference in my training. I can remember the interval I’m on and focus on running the mile I’m in. My long runs got better; my paces are steadier and I don’t inattentively slow my pace. About a month after diagnosis, I ran a PR in the half marathon, and it was the best I have felt at that distance. The miles came quickly. The dread of hitting the wall never settled in and I was able to pick it up to squeak under my previous best. Afterwards, I decided that it was time to tackle the marathon for the second time after running my first in 2010. 

My approach to this marathon training cycle was to build my mileage slowly and focus on quality over quantity. Most mornings, I was out the door by 5:30am and back to the chaos of a chatty toddler before rushing to prepare myself for work. 

Adderall is an appetite suppressant, and I often forgot to fuel after my morning runs. During an 18-mile-long run, I bonked, my hunger never alerting me to the need for fuel. I now keep protein bars in an office desk drawer and set alarms to remind myself to eat. Timing is important for Adderall; it is a stimulant, so if I take it after 7 a.m., I can find myself up much later than expected, making recovery tough and even harder to get out the door the next morning. My long run partners know when my alarm goes off, I need to stop to take it.

The starting line to the marathon was sparsely populated, with about 150 runners. As the race director began to explain the course, my anxious thoughts began – could I get lost? I had looked over the course map and gone through a mile-by-mile breakdown with my online coaches, but I knew trying to remember all the turns from verbal directions from the race director was useless. With no pacers, I hoped that the course was well marked. 

My race goal was ambitious. I would need to run a half-marathon PR to have a chance. I had written my mile paces but made the mistake of doing so with a marker that ran down my arm. I could remember what times I needed to hit for the half-marathon mile mark and the 20-mile mark. I tried to settle into my pace, but I felt jittery, unfocused, and acutely alert. I made it through the half on pace, and at mile 17, my husband let me know that I was within my goal. At mile 20, I was alone with no one around me. My miles slowed, I started to take quick walk breaks and I readjusted my time goals. Getting to the finish line was my only goal. Twenty-one minutes after my time goal, I crossed the line second in my age group. 

Over ten years ago, I crossed the finish line of the Chicago marathon swearing never to race another marathon. Without the diagnosis, I would not have pursued the challenge of the marathon distance and the ambitious time goal. While I am dissatisfied with the overall result, I am satisfied with what I have accomplished. Questions abound; could I not settle into pace because of not training enough at race pace or did the anxiety over not remembering the directions cause me to sabotage myself? Did I hit a wall at mile 20 because I had never gone longer or did I become inattentive to the signals my body was sending? I’m still untangling the parts of my identity that are linked to ADHD and the parts that are truly myself. Those parts might never untangle. 

On the car ride home after the marathon, I began to think about the next; add more miles, pick a flatter course, work on race day fueling strategies and come into the race more mentally prepared. As I continue to work with my diagnosis, running will continue to be an outlet, and there are adjustments to make when training and racing with ADHD.  I’m still understanding  the relationship between my sense of self and my ADHD diagnosis: the marathon showed me how much I still have left to explore.