I find myself fond of running—not as a way to turn down responsibilities or cry over failure, but gearing up with my beginner-friendly running shoes and Strava to run at least seven kilometers, twice a week. 

But don't mistake me for a seasoned runner.

I am an amateur with a pace that hovers at 7:30, which is not bad for a rookie, is it?

With all the sweat that stings my eyes and fatigue that weakens my knees, I wouldn't have the energy to even think about my poor stats, especially when I carry something more than my weight—each stride feels heavier than the other as my cloudy thoughts won’t stop dragging me back. No matter how fast I sprint, my legs take me back to the pain that put me in the running track in the first place.

Running has a way of grounding you to reality; you hear your own breath, feel your heartbeat, and expose your inner thoughts. Even when blasting background music, it seems impossible to drown out thoughts that resurface in yearning.

I thought something so quiet could drown out the noise, but I still get caught in the same sensation, even while running, that reminds me how you can still gasp for air, weaken hearts, and become paralyzed by unsaid words.

My runs usually last an hour, enough to take a break from my usual bustle, enough to take a break from the what-ifs and maybes. As I try to shrug these thoughts off, I only find myself running in circles, back to point-zero and worn out than when I began. But instead of stopping, what lingers still haunts and pushes me to run away. 

Faster.

If I continue running forever, will peace eventually meet me on the road? Even if forever is a long time.

I hate how every run feels like another chase, like a gun waiting to be pulled. It was not the 42 km-finisher veterans nor ghosts that stayed where our memories died. It’s only my shadow who’s always under my heels, never slowing down. Even if I try to outpace or hide it in the shade, I am only confronted by the same strides I know I cannot escape.

I wish it was that simple, that running as fast as I can would help me move forward in life faster. But seeing that I am still down in the dumps, I know will never outrun myself. I am forever trailed by no one but myself. I realize it doesn't just drain your time, it exhausts your mind and grapples with the body to keep up.

After all, just running hard won't heal you.

Sometimes, nothing compares to confronting your own struggles even if it takes away more of your breath and thirst for moving forward than running ever could like.

My low weekly mileage only taught me that no one cares if you can run a mile in 15 minutes—it's about finishing. No one notices if you take two hours to cover 10 kilometers; what matters is that you ran them.

Surpassing personal records is the epitome of growth, and I learned that it usually takes endurance. Building up to the race is far more important and smarter than bursting out of frustration, because running won't let you run away from something as near as to your heart and soul.

After all, running requires steps, even if it is thousands, and so does healing. 

- Mark Vincent A. Durano
(Photo by Joshua Kyle Beltran and Jonathan Carlos B. Ponio/FEU Advocate; Layout by Jonathan Carlos B. Ponio/FEU Advocate)