What keeps me running
On an early Sunday dawn, I found myself waking up just past 3 a.m. This was not a morning reserved for rest and recovery before the busy workweek. Instead, it was a deliberate choice, a plan set in motion weeks earlier when I decided to trade comfort for the thrill of chasing the sunrise for what I call “race day.”
I refer to running events I join as “race day,” even though it’s not strictly about racing in the traditional sense. For most participants, including myself, the goal isn’t a podium finish. It’s a personal challenge, a test of endurance, or a chance to break a personal record. It’s less about competing with others and more about pushing one’s limits.
Before heading to the venue, I prepared my essentials: running shoes, earphones, compact belt bag, energy gel, and an electrolyte drink. Upon arriving, I was greeted by the sight of thousands of runners. Scanning the sea of runners, each likely with their own goals, I focused on mine: completing the 10-kilometer run in under an hour.
I wouldn’t call myself a dedicated runner who trains religiously for these events. I simply run whenever I find the time. Initially, my goal was to burn calories after gaining weight. When I eventually returned to sports, I started running to build endurance, but my efforts were inconsistent.
The first “race day” I joined was a relatively easy five-km run about two years ago. I had no expectations and my only goal was to finish the race. It wasn’t until last year that I took on my first 10km run during a running event my college friends and I spontaneously joined in Baguio. Back then, I wasn’t an active runner, and the challenging route in Baguio, with its steep inclines and high altitude, made it even tougher. I managed to finish, but without proper training, it was an exhausting experience that left my body aching for days.
Not long after that run, my plans to improve as a runner came to an abrupt halt. A cyst was discovered in the area between my legs and gluteal region, requiring urgent surgery to remove it. Following the procedure, my surgeon advised me to avoid any strenuous physical activities, especially running, for at least three months. I had no choice but to put my running goals on hold.
What was supposed to be a three-month recovery period eventually stretched longer. I lost my momentum and never fully got back into running.
That changed when I was challenged to join a friend for a long run during a vacation in La Union. Reluctantly, I agreed, not expecting much from myself. To my surprise, I managed to run eight km. Though it fell short of 10 km, it was a continuous, uninterrupted run, something I hadn’t done in a long time.
After that, I committed to running with greater intensity. I worked on finding the right balance within my busy schedule, learning proper techniques, and discovering a pace that suited me. My confidence grew until I felt ready for another race.
As with any running event, the host called participants for each distance to gather at the starting line a few minutes before the race began. The air buzzed with excitement as the countdown commenced. When the gun start sounded, the sea of runners surged forward. I started my time tracker as I crossed the starting line, marking the beginning of a challenge I had trained and prepared for.
I usually start with a faster pace, gradually slowing down to a steady rhythm. By three kilometers, I typically find a pace that feels comfortable.
However, there’s always a point in the run where exhaustion sets in, and doubts begin to creep in. At the six-km mark, those doubts hit hard. I found myself questioning why I was even doing this. Why was I pushing so hard to break my personal records? What was I trying to prove? The thought of stopping crossed my mind more than once.
This is where the phrase “mind over matter” truly comes into play. Running isn’t just physical; it requires mental strength. In moments like these, it takes a conscious effort to push forward and summon the willpower to overcome both physical and mental barriers. “I can do this,” I told myself as I moved forward.
Upon reaching the eight-km mark, I felt confident that I could finish the race. There’s a term called “runner’s high,” a euphoric state usually experienced after an intense run. For me, it happens during the final stretch when I feel a surge of excitement to finish what I started, finding my flow in each step as everything falls perfectly into place.
When I crossed the finish line, I stopped my tracker. I had met my goal: 10 km under one hour, breaking a personal record. A staff member placed a medal around my neck, marking me as a finisher.
I took a moment to pause and feel my body. My mind wandered back to the questions I had mid-run: Why am I doing this? While breathing heavily, I could feel my sweat dripping, the soreness in my legs, and the pressure of my feet against my soles. I heard the rhythm of my heartbeat.
And that’s the answer. In these moments, I am reminded of what it feels like to be truly alive.
—————-
Jason Renz Barrios, 25, is a writer and artist who works at an advertising agency.
