”All I do is keep running in my own cozy, homemade void, my own nostalgic silence.” -Haruki Murakami

“Mile Mondays”… Those were the days I remember dreading the most in school as a kid, barely remembering to pack my PE uniform that day as I prepared myself to be utterly humiliated by the seemingly impossible feat of having to run a mile in 10 minutes or less. That goal feels much more attainable these days, but back when I was struggling to breathe not only from the unhealthy air quality in my hometown but from my lack of cardiovascular fitness, it was definitely not a day to look forward to. I remember my PE teachers yelling at the kids to stop fooling around and line up on the track as I stood there frozen on the spot, knowing that everyone else was going to smoke me as soon as the timer started. Every Monday I thought maybe this was going to be the day I finally pass this useless test and have my well-deserved bragging rights. But every Monday I would finish the mile in 11, 12, sometimes 13 minutes, feeling about ready to collapse while the teachers shook their heads in disappointment. These moments always seemed to reaffirm for me that maybe my body wasn’t meant for athletics. Maybe it was time to fully lock in to the “nerdy kid” persona, letting the stacks of books in the library be my ultimate escapism from the embarrassment.

It’s fascinating how, given a little time, perspective, and the willingness to take a chance, something I used to hate could turn into something that saves my life.  Long story short, I finally graduated from high school, leaving PE class behind for good (I did in fact eventually pass the mile in just under 10 minutes). I later moved a few hours west to Santa Cruz, California for college, welcoming the cleaner air, endless mazes of redwoods to gaze up at, and trails to follow. Existing amongst such beautiful scenery drew me to the outdoors in ways I had never felt before. I just had this urge to always be outside. One day, without really thinking about it, I threw on my shoes and just started jogging, not paying much attention to where I was going and for how long. All I knew was I just wanted to deeply breathe the clean mountain air that I couldn’t seem to get enough of. It wasn’t until I finished the jog that I felt some semblance of satisfaction. This was a peculiar feeling. It was a far cry from hating my entire existence like I did all those Mondays in PE class. In fact, I felt alive. More alive that I remember feeling, well, probably ever. It was then that my running journey really kicked off. I started experimenting with running different distances, planning my routes in advance, and even started practicing form. I ran during the day with friends, ran alone at night. I ran when I was stressed, happy, sad. I started to perceive every run as “a work of art, a drawing on each day’s canvas”, as writer and running enthusiast Dagny Scott Barrios puts it very beautifully. It was comforting knowing I could always count on my own two feet to get me from Point A to Point B. Even when I took longer hiatuses from running I knew it would always be there whenever I was ready to come back to it. When I ran my first half marathon in Santa Cruz, I knew then that I’d be a runner for the rest of my life.

Fast forward to now, having 3 half marathons and several 5k’s and 10k’s under my belt, I feel very proud of what I’ve been able to accomplish and I’m excited to start training for my first ever marathon in 2025. But running is so much more to me than all the miles I’ve logged on Strava. It’s more than the race bibs I’ve saved and medals I’ve earned. I look back to all the things running has gotten me through, and I don’t know where I’d be without it. It is my only true escapism, a friend when there is no one else, a source of freedom when I feel trapped. Running is a reminder of why I’m alive. I’m sure Sophia would say similar things, as running means so much to both of us, and it has even brought us closer.

So if I could say one thing to that little kid struggling to breathe on the middle school track, it’s don’t give up. Keep going no matter how much your body tells you to stop. And you better get used to the feeling of feet hitting pavement, because one day you’ll love it so much you’ll blog about it.