My relationship with running is like a dramatic love story—full of resistance, obsession, and a touch of madness. Some mornings, when my alarm blares at 4:30 am, I lie there thinking, “Absolutely not. This is ridiculous. Who even does this?” But somehow, I drag myself up, lace up my shoes, and start moving. And without fail, every single time, I finish my run feeling invincible.
The thing is, I never regret a run. Not once. Not ever. In fact, after every run, I morph into this annoyingly enthusiastic person who’s already obsessing about the next one. It’s like running has some sneaky psychological grip on me—one minute I’m groaning, the next I’m plotting my next run like it’s the heist of the century.
Now, let me make one thing clear: I was never “a runner.” Actually, I spent a solid decade of my life (ages 14 to 24) being a dedicated smoker. Yep. Full-time. My poor lungs deserved an apology letter, a bouquet of flowers, and possibly some therapy. When I finally quit cold turkey at 24, I thought, “Great, now I’ll be healthy!” But the universe laughed. I couldn’t run a single kilometer without feeling like I was auditioning for the role of “person dramatically dying of lung failure” in some B-grade movie.
Fast forward to today—40 years old, running 10 kilometers, 3-4 times a week, like it’s my part-time job. And here’s the plot twist: I bloody love it.
Running is like a mental exorcism. All the cobwebs of self-doubt, imposter syndrome, random overthinking (like, “Did I really need to say ‘you too’ when the barista said ‘enjoy your matcha’?”), work stress, life stress—all gone. Cleared. Poof. It’s as if each step is stomping on negativity.
After every run, I feel like I’ve been handed the reins to my own life again. Like I’m wearing an invisible superhero cape that says, “Come at me, world.” It’s not just exercise; it’s a full-on mental reset button.
And yet—I’ll say it again—I am not a runner. I just love running.
It’s wild how something I used to hate (and I mean deep, soul-level hatred) has become one of my favorite ways to start the day. At 4:30 am, no less. Whether it’s pounding the pavement or sweating it out on the treadmill, before I know it, my 10K is done, and my mind feels clearer, my mood lighter, my life… better.
If you’ve ever thought about running but immediately followed that thought with, “Nah, I’d rather wrestle a cactus,” hear me out: running is magic. Seriously. If I can go from “feels like death after 1K” to “obsessed with running everyday”—literally anyone can.
So, lace up, give it a shot. Worst case? You’ll hate it. Best case? You’ll fall in love with it—and with how it makes you feel.
And if you do? Welcome to the complicated, glorious, life-changing world of running. You’ll never look back.
Boundless and Unfiltered 