When I was a kid, riding around town as a passenger, I remember seeing runners and thinking: W H Y???
Do these people enjoy being out of breath? Sure, it’s good exercise, but… why?
Why would anyone willingly subject themselves to painful repetition? Were they trying to lose weight? But some of them already looked amazing. Could it actually be fun? And if so… how?
So many questions.
It wasn’t that I was inactive. I loved sports (especially swimming and tennis) so when high school PE rolled around, I was excited… until the coaches uttered those dreaded words:
“Warm up on the track.”
or
“Run a mile - you’ll be timed.”
That pebbly, crumbly, graham-cracker–colored track. The sight. The sound. Instant dread.
A few months into freshman-year PE, I started having knee issues. After multiple doctor visits, I landed in physical therapy. The highlight? A doctor’s note excusing me from PE. So there I was on the sidelines, eating vending-machine Twinkies three times a week while my classmates ran endless loops.
I was told running was bad for my knees - and I believed it. Whenever someone asked if I ran, or why I didn’t, that was my answer. Eventually it turned into a quiet conclusion: running just isn’t for me.
Looking back, that belief was a powerful teacher. We’re often limited less by reality than by what we accept as truth.
At the time, I didn’t fully understand what physical therapy was. I was one of the youngest people there, and it felt like a very specialized gym, where someone showed you exercises, and then praised you enthusiastically when you did them correctly.
At one point, as I moved from squats to the balance board, I remember thinking, Why am I even here?
Then, while I sat at the leg press, my PT said, “Good. Your quads are getting stronger.”
Fast-forward a few years to my senior year of high school. My family and I signed up for a local 5K - our first race ever. Three miles felt like a lot, but my mindset was simple: It’s for charity.
Being total newbies, we lined up near the front. The logic? Maybe it’ll be over sooner.
The horn blew. I was passed by about 99% of the field. I went out way too fast and earned myself a side stitch by the end of mile one.
And mile one was downhill.
That was 2001.
After that, I didn’t own a proper pair of running shoes, and I didn’t seriously attempt running again… until 2014.
By then, I’d been doing cardio dance classes and lifting light weights for a couple of years. One day, feeling peppy, I found myself standing on the edge of a familiar track. This time, though, there were no classmates. No competitors.
Just me. My shoes. And the loop.
I could go at any pace I wanted.
So I jogged. Slowly. I’m pretty sure a turtle could’ve passed me.
But I kept going. I didn’t push until I was breathless. I just moved, step by step.
Step by step.
And today, on Global Running Day, I think about that journey and how running eventually became something I enjoy. I might even be one of those runners you see outside now.
And if you ever catch yourself wondering… why?
I invite you to lace up and see what you might discover out there.
