I am on day fifty one of the three hundred sixty five commitment, sitting in a hotel room in Las Vegas, counting which day I have been stuck here. Three days, maybe four. The days blur a little. The routine does not. Crossing the fifty day mark made me reflective; a few practices have helped more than I expected, and one of them is running.
I was not a runner when I was young. I tried out for the cross country team in high school, and I was always dead last. I remember one track meet where I lined up for a distance race, maybe the mile, maybe fifteen hundred meters, and I fell so far behind that I simply walked off the track. My coach was furious, and I never returned to running after that. I carried that failure with me for years.
I did not pick up running again until my late forties. I remember the precise moment. I was at a sales conference in Phoenix, feeling miserable and out of sorts. I had just listened to a motivational talk, then found myself staring into a hotel mirror at two or three in the morning. I did not like how I looked; I did not like how I felt. I was overweight, out of shape, and discouraged. I needed to change something. I decided to do the thing that sounded the worst, the thing I least wanted to do. If I could overcome that, I figured, I could overcome anything. The answer that formed in my mind was simple and unwanted. Go run.
The next morning, at five, I slipped out of the room before anyone could see me. I had no running gear. I wore a T shirt, the shorts I slept in, and dress shoes. I jogged down a path beside the golf course and made it to the end of the eighteenth green. That was it. Maybe one hundred yards. I walked back, chest heaving, feet sore, and spirit a little bruised. But I had done it.
The next day I did it again. Then again. Back home, I would jog to the mailbox, or down to the park and back. A little more each morning. I kept that up for about fifty days. Around day fifty, I finally looped the neighborhood and finished a full mile. That was the true beginning. From there, I started to enjoy it. I ran a half marathon. Then a marathon. Then a fifty miler. I put myself into a few ultra marathons because I loved the long quiet of the miles.
Then my hip gave out. The injury took running away from me for a while, and it felt like losing a part of my soul. I am easing back into it now. It is slow; it is humbling; it is also good. Each day I feel a little more like the runner I was before I got hurt.
After several steady years, there was a period when running became as natural as breathing. I would wake up, step outside, and go. No debate, no inner commentary. It felt impossible when I was younger, yet there I was, floating into an easy rhythm, thoughts untangling as my feet found their cadence. Sometimes I dropped into a meditative state and the miles slipped by. The run became my place of quiet, the place where I could think without forcing anything.
Running did more than help my fitness. It burned off nervous energy; it gave me a way to process stress. The movement brought endorphins and clarity, and my immune system felt stronger. On many mornings, I would plan my day while I ran. I would roll problems over in my mind, look at them from different angles, and let solutions surface without pressure. Running created a paradox that I came to rely on. The body in motion; the mind freed to be still.
I also learned that not everyone can run, and running is not for everyone. Some people simply cannot. Still, if you are one of those who feels you cannot run but your body can handle a gentle start, I believe you should try; even a very slow pace and a very short distance matters. That first morning in Phoenix, I was gasping, praying under my breath, sure I could not make it to the end of that green. One year later, at the same conference, a friend and I went around the entire block that surrounds the venue. It turned out to be about ten miles, and I finished it at a quick pace, surprised by how normal it felt. A year can do that if you keep showing up.
I am convinced the human body was designed to run. When we return to that simple motion, we reconnect with something elemental. Nature is closer; the mind is quieter; the spirit steadies. It took me forty years to understand what committed runners talk about with a knowing smile, and I am grateful I finally found it. These days I feel like I am crawling back to a love I once had, and that is fine. Love is worth the crawl.
Running even lets you run from your problems in the best way. Not to avoid them, but to carry them to higher ground. You begin the run feeling trapped; you finish feeling capable. You rediscover agency. Your heart gets lighter. Confidence returns. You face the rest of the day with a steadier hand.
So for me, running is more than exercise. It is a foundation that supports physical health, emotional processing, creative thinking, and spiritual grounding. It is a simple practice with a large return. When it is working well, I run like I breathe.
