Running was something I used to dread. As a kid, I remember dreading every time PE class rolled around and we had to run “the mile” knowing it meant laps around the field and me gasping for air. I was the one looking for excuses, tying and retying my shoes to stall, and generally doing everything I could to avoid the pounding of my feet against the ground. Running felt more like punishment than anything else—a necessary evil at best, a cruel joke at worst.
But life has a funny way of changing your perspective.
In my late twenties, I found myself at a crossroads. I was juggling work, family, and the weight of responsibilities that felt heavier with each passing day. One afternoon, almost on a whim, I laced up my sneakers and decided to go for a run. I didn’t have a plan or a goal—I just needed to move, to breathe, to feel something different. The first few steps were awkward and uncomfortable. My legs felt like lead, my lungs burned, and I couldn’t help but wonder why people did this for fun. But something shifted as I pushed through those initial moments of resistance.
It wasn’t about speed or distance that day. It was about the rhythm—the steady beat of my heart, the cadence of my feet hitting the pavement, and the way the world seemed to slow down as I moved forward. For the first time, running didn’t feel like an obligation; it felt like freedom.
The more I ran, the more I began to understand its appeal. Running became a refuge, a space where I could clear my mind and reconnect with myself. It challenged me, pushed me out of my comfort zone, and taught me to embrace discomfort as part of growth. I learned to listen to my body—to celebrate its strength on the good days and to offer it grace on the hard ones. Each run became a small victory, a reminder that I was capable of more than I believed.
Physically, the benefits were undeniable. I grew stronger, leaner, and more energized. But it was the mental rewards that surprised me the most. Running became my therapy, my meditation, my way of processing the complexities of life. There’s something profoundly grounding about being out in the open air, surrounded by nature, with nothing but your thoughts and the sound of your breath. It’s where I’ve found clarity in moments of doubt, courage in the face of fear, and gratitude for the simple act of movement.
Today, running is woven into the fabric of my life. It’s not about chasing a personal record or completing the next big race (though those can be thrilling goals in their own right). For me, running is about connection—to the world around me, to the people I meet along the way, and most importantly, to myself.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned through this journey, it’s that the things we resist the most often hold the greatest potential for growth. I never imagined that something I once loathed could become such a meaningful part of my life. But running has taught me to embrace the process, to find joy in the journey, and to celebrate every step—no matter how small.
So if you’re someone who’s avoided running, who’s convinced it’s not for you, I encourage you to give it another shot. Start slow, be patient, and let yourself experience the transformation that comes with putting one foot in front of the other. You might just find that the thing you once dreaded becomes the thing you can’t live without.
