How I started to run

I bought an old house out in the country, not far from a two-lane road where cars move too fast for comfort. At first, I didn’t want to go near it. It didn’t feel like a place for walking. It felt like a place to get hit.

But there was this older dude. He walked that road every morning with his dog. I saw him often, and over time, something shifted. The road still felt dangerous, but less alien. He made it feel like it was okay to be there.

Eventually, I gave it a try. I knew to walk against traffic. I stayed as far to the side as I could. In the summer, the weeds were high and the trees pushed in, which made it tricky when cars came flying around a curve. Still, I kept going.

There’s a gravel road that splits off from the main one. The first time I took it, I felt immediate relief. No cars. No rush. Just sky, fields, cows. It was quieter. I could breathe. I started walking that way every morning. A mile or so, round trip. No music, no podcasts, no phone. Just the rhythm of walking and the quiet of being alone.

After a while, I realized something was happening. I felt better on the days I walked. My mind cleared. I paid attention. I started to notice how things changed with the seasons… the trees, the light and shadow, the birds, the smell of the grass. The walk became a daily check-in. A kind of moving meditation.

One day, near the end of winter, I ran. Not far. Not fast. Just a burst, right after I cleared the worst part of the road. I was out of breath quickly, but something about it felt right. So I did it again the next day. I picked two signposts along the gravel road, about an eighth of a mile apart, and decided I would always run that stretch. Every day. There and back.

I made it a thing. When I passed each signpost, I’d throw my arms up and shout “Yes!” Sometimes people saw me. I didn’t care. It felt good to celebrate doing something hard.

Over time, those short runs grew longer. Eventually, without planning it, I ran from the start of my walk all the way to the turnoff. And then I just kept running. I still took breaks, but less often. And then one day, I didn’t need the breaks anymore.

These days I run two miles almost every morning. It’s not about speed. It’s not even really about fitness, though I can feel myself getting stronger. It’s just something I do. A ritual. A way to start the day with presence, with effort, with something that feels real.

And today I just finished my first 5K. From where I began, it took about 3 years to get here but I did it really slowly and found a way to keep moving the signposts. I am proud of it. There is so much more road around here I can run on, many cool areas to explore.

There’s probably a metaphor buried in all of this, but I don’t need to spell it out. This is just the story of how I started walking, then started running.

And now it’s part of who I am.