January 17, 2014: a day I ran. More than that: the day I ran longer than I ever had before, over terrain I had previously deemed too challenging.
Ask any avid runner not if, but what, favorite runs they’ve had. It could be a marathon (or marathons) or a simple jog around the neighborhood. It could be something as strenuous as an ultra-run (any distance longer than 26.2 miles), or a triumphant day sprinting at the track. For me, January 17 was the day I ran 6 miles, which can be A LOT or absolutely NOTHING, depending on who you’re talking to. Up until that point, the most I’d ever ran was close to 4 miles, all flat terrain on sidewalks. But on that day, I ran up and down sections of Colorado’s foothills, my feet seeming to float, rather than touch the ground. It was one of those runs (yes, you can laugh at me here, go ahead) that felt, well, transcendent. I wasn’t in agony as I’d been whenever I attempted (key word) to run around my neighborhood during high school. Instead of gasping for breath, throat tasting like blood, heart about to go into palpitations, I felt renewed. Restored. Relaxed. Yes, I run to relax, and I know many a runner will agree with me. On that day I proved I could run, and not just run, but push myself physically and mentally further than I ever thought.
This day will forever be a bright jewel in my heart. A gem amongst many running gems. For unknown to me on that very same day, a girl, an even more dedicated and passionate runner, similar in age to me, took her own life. Her name was Madison Holleran.
Madison’s Story
Before I continue any further, I want to say this piece will not divulge any details regarding Madison’s last days and manner of death; I feel that has happened enough already. Rather, I write about her given our shared love of running and tennis, and participation in college sports (I played college tennis).
I never knew or met Maddie, so I really can’t say how or what she was like. I honestly don’t remember how I first came across her story: was it Facebook or MSN? It was a few months after her death. Regardless, I found her story and then shortly after read “Split Image,” a highly detailed account of Madison’s last days and struggles with mental illness. Written by ESPN journalist Kate Fagan, the work examines the role in which social media affects today’s adolescents: “Instagram perfect” persona vs. actual reality. A well written and moving piece, the article struck a chord with me. For someone I never met, and will never meet, I felt as if knew Madison. That we could have been friends…
From all accounts, she was very close to her family (as I am), and very athletic. A talented runner in high school, she was accepted to Ivy League school UPenn and ran track there. From looking at her Instagram account alone, it looked like Madison had it all: friends, family, looks, talent, popularity. So, what drove such an individual to take her life?
A college freshman in the fall of 2013, Madison became depressed. Being away from home for the first time, I understand. I felt very homesick when I first went to college, and I can say going to tennis practice almost daily helped a lot. But Madison felt out of place. A perfectionist, she felt she couldn’t keep up with her classes and homework, with track practice on top of it. Others assured what she was experiencing was normal, but Madison insisted it was not.
She began seeing a therapist and informed her parents what was going on. She was diagnosed as suffering anxiety. I speculate (key word), did something horrible happen to her on campus? I hesitate here as well, as we just don’t know. Whatever it was or wasn’t, Madison’s life came to an end on the same day I discovered I could, and can, push myself.
…………..
Madison was just 19 years old when she died; I was 21 at the time. I was in college and loving every moment. Not an exaggeration. To know she will never get to experience the fun times I had, to never graduate, saddens me. And there is another connection I have with her. Besides our love for running, Madison loved tennis. Both her parents were college tennis players, and the family annually visited Flushing Meadows, the site of the US Open. Together they would watch the world’s best tennis players battle it out, while cheering for their favorite players. But that year, 2013, she declined to go. It was so unlike Madison that her parents were shocked and worried.
Learning this both angered and saddened me. Something was wrong. What Madison used to love no longer brought her any joy. And it was the same with running too. Any zest she had for it, was gone. She thought about leaving the track team, but reconsidered. She feared what she viewed as failure, walking away from school and sports, anything.
One Runner To Another
I don’t know what could have saved Madison. I wish I did. Maybe there is a way, and I just don’t know it. Maybe transferring to a different school? Taking a gap year? She did the “right” things: saw a therapist, told others how she felt. But it was not enough. All I can say is, Madison, I’m sorry for what you experienced in the last months of your life. I’m sorry you felt fear, pressure, shame, anxiety, sadness. No one in life is immune to these feelings. But I am sad it got to the point where you felt you had no way out. I never knew you, and now I never will. I’d like to think we would’ve talked about tennis, our favorite pro players, and whether we preferred singles or doubles (singles for me). Perhaps you could’ve been a practice partner for me, someone to rally against while talking about boys and school during switch overs. On running, I maybe could’ve asked you on advice for faster times, quicker recovery, training methods you liked. But I will never get an answer to these questions.
On the day I pushed myself, and reaffirmed my love for running, a new beginning, a new era in my life, yours ended all too tragically, far too soon. Today is your birthday; you would have been 23. Madison, I sincerely hope you are at peace.
-LMC
*If you or a friend are experiencing suicidal thoughts or need emotional support, please call National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.