On running slowly, starting over, and showing up no matter the pace.
My journey back to running has been humbling. Every step reminds me how far I am from the runner I used to be. More than once, I’ve wondered if I could really do it again, if I still had it in me, if too much life had happened between then and now. And I’m slow. Painfully slow. Slower than I used to be. But here’s the thing: the greatest measure of running has never been speed. It’s persistence, showing up again and again, even when it hurts, even when you fall short. Each time you return, you learn to carry yourself a little farther.
For years, I said I’d get back into it “someday.” In my head, it was always this big, monumental thing: something I had to prepare for, something I wasn’t ready for yet. But the truth is, it doesn’t take much. Sure, maybe new shoes. Yeah, maybe some music. But really, it just takes yourself, walking out the door. One day I decided: today is the day. And I went.
It’s been both easier and harder than I imagined. Easier, because starting wasn’t as impossible as I’d built it up to be. Harder, because my legs are stiff, my injuries range from blisters to shins to knees depending on the week, and every step feels like dragging through wet cement. I keep waiting for that magical moment when running feels light again, when my legs don’t ache, when I stop feeling like I’m wading through resistance.
But maybe the magic isn’t in waiting. Maybe it’s in choosing. It’s refusing to quit. It’s going back again and again, even when it feels impossible. And then one day, without realizing it, you’re suddenly stronger than the version of yourself who almost gave up.
I thought I was waiting for life to begin again before I could start running. What I really needed was a change in perspective: to decide it was time to reclaim myself, to challenge myself, to remember who I was, and to trust that I still could.
Running has never been about being “good” at it. It’s about being consistent. It’s about showing up, even when I’m slow, even when I struggle. Because the more I return, the less I struggle. And eventually, I realize the point was never perfection — it was persistence.
And here’s what I’ve learned: persistence isn’t the finish line. It’s showing up at the start, over and over again, even when everything in you resists.
Truth be told, I almost never feel like going out for a run. My legs always ache and the couch is always easier. But life doesn’t get good by choosing easy. It doesn’t get better when you sit still, watching from the sidelines. It gets better when you step into the hard things, the uncomfortable things. It changes when you keep moving... one heavy step at a time.
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