Running – one of the very first milestones we reach as humans.
As babies, we first fought to stay awake, then learned to crawl, then took our first steps. Eventually, we ran – fast and free, like the wind. It felt exhilarating. It was new, exciting, and almost impossible to stop.
We wanted to move, to play, to stay active for days on end. We dreaded bedtime because our mission in life was simple: get as much playtime as possible. It was such an important mission that when our parents told us it was time to go inside, we would plead for “just five more minutes.” And if they agreed, we would savour those moments like they were our last chance to ever play again.
As we got older, running took on a new purpose. For me, it became about racing another kid who claimed to be faster. The adrenaline rush of winning was unmatched. And when someone outran me, I looked at them in awe, as if they had superhuman speed.
Then came organized sports. My goal shifted toward improving – running faster on the soccer field, the basketball court, the track. I wanted to be a better athlete. Running became a core part of my identity. There was always that unspoken question: Who’s the fastest on the team? There was never a final answer, and that uncertainty pushed us to try harder. Those truly were the golden days.
If we were lucky, some of us got a taste of the athlete’s life in university. We experienced the drive for high performance and peak physical fitness. We were motivated, and we worked hard – sometimes for sport, and sometimes just to get “the body.” Either way, we trained like we meant it.
Then adulthood happened.
Suddenly, work, bills, and responsibilities took over. Staying active wasn’t a priority anymore. We gained weight, our clothes didn’t fit, and we found ourselves breathless after climbing a few flights of stairs. We saw and felt the changes in our bodies – and still told ourselves we were “too busy” to work out. We felt uncomfortable, and we wanted to feel different.
Every New Year brought the same resolution: get back at it. We started strong for a couple of weeks… then life got in the way. Again. Fitness became a secondary — even tertiary — priority. Eventually, it felt normal to feel unwell. We got used to it. We accepted that this was just who we were now. There was no going back.
Maybe I’m generalizing. Maybe this isn’t your story. But it is mine.
I went from being fit and healthy to being in the worst shape of my life. From loving how I looked and felt to having to size up my clothes. From wearing all my favourite outfits to avoiding them altogether. I’ve experienced it all.
At one point, I gave up on the idea of being “an athlete” again. I figured my life was different now. I was meant to sit at a desk, build a future, and let fitness take a backseat. I told myself I had bigger fish to fry. But deep down, uneasiness festered. I knew I wasn’t happy. Food — especially something sweet or greasy — numbed that feeling, at least temporarily.
Everything changed a few years ago when my best friend convinced me to train for a sprint triathlon. I had knee issues that made even two blocks of running feel impossible. I hadn’t swum in years and was sure I’d sink. My bike was collecting dust, and I wasn’t sure I even remembered how to ride properly. But I decided to give it a shot. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll enjoy it. And if I don’t, I can always quit.”
My first run was a slow, almost-walking 2 km. My knee burned, and I coughed like my lungs were giving out. It was more painful than I remembered — and humbling to realize I couldn’t do more. But it was also empowering. I had “jogged” 2 km for the first time in years. That’s when the question hit me:
If I could do this today… what else could I do if I kept trying?
Fast forward to today: I’ve got a drawer full of medals. I’ve run 5Ks, 10Ks, half marathons — and even three marathons in 2024. Each one challenging. Each one rewarding. For the second year in a row, I’m proud to be an ambassador for the Servus Calgary Marathon.
I’m still training, still trying to be better — but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
After the 2024 running season, I stopped training again. Work got hectic. Life got busy. Suddenly, I was back at my desk, “taking care of things.” Running and lifting weights were once again afterthoughts. Deep down, I knew it was affecting me. I knew I could find 15–20 minutes a day. I knew I needed it. But it still didn’t happen.
By the end of January 2025, I hit a wall. Stress from work overwhelmed me, and I left the house — not with a plan, just a need for fresh air. Then, out of nowhere, I started running.
I didn’t have my workout clothes. I wasn’t wearing running shoes. I didn’t even have my watch on. It was just a click in my brain:
Run.
And I did.
It felt freeing. My heart was pumping, lungs filling with air. It was liberating to move — to let go of stress, of pressure, of everything else — and just run. I noticed my surroundings again. The grass. The warmth of the sun (I happened to be abroad, escaping the Canadian winter). My legs ached — and I loved it. I had missed that feeling.
In that moment, I remembered why I run. Why I move. Why it matters.
Life won’t slow down. There will always be stress, obligations, reasons not to train. But I learned — again — that we have to make time. We have to say no to excuses. We owe it to ourselves to move.
That’s my goal for 2025:
To move. To do what I love. To inspire others — and to inspire myself.
No more obsessing over metrics. No more stressing about pace, heart rate, gear. Just running for the joy of it. Just moving. Just like that kid I once was — chasing as much playtime as possible.
I want to feel good in my body. I want to feel balanced. I want to enjoy the little things. I want to work to support my life — not live to support my work. I want to inspire someone, even just one person, to take care of themselves.
I want to play like a kid — without a care in the world.
