Why I run?

Running has been my best friend for many years. It is my walking stick when I can barely get up, my therapist when my monkey mind is about to take over, my audience clapping for me when I am bursting with excitement.

It is my dreaming night when I find myself still a girl, running toward the Olympics. It is my testing ground when I push past every limit and do the unthinkable — or my wake-up call when I can't seem to put my plans into action.

Running creates bonds with my kids: when we run together, when they bike beside me, when we talk about my runs and what I saw or felt along the way. And through the example I set — showing that we adults can have passions too.

Running connects me with a community of runners and friends with whom I share a deeper connection.

Running makes me stronger, braver, tougher — on repeat. It allows me to create and train a little voice inside my mind that tells me I can get up. That when everything around me is falling down, I can put one foot in front of the other — push air, move dust, make noise with my feet, my heavy breathing, my heart beating fast and strong.

Running is my meditation room. As the miles go by, my mind grows tired of the same circular thoughts about mostly unimportant things and creates space for stillness within movement.

It is my creative canvas — where that stillness transforms into ideas that flow with every step, every deep breath.

Running reminds me of my privilege. Because running is a privilege: to have the time, the energy, the nourishment that fuels my whole body to do what I love.

Running is my quiet companion — there with me whether everyone or no one is around. It is the quiet inertia that keeps me moving.

I run because I want to. Because I have to. Because I love it. Because it is part of me.