Before the pandemic, I lived by finish lines. I set race goals, weight loss goals, calendar goals. Running was my structure—something I could measure, control, and chase. I trained hard, tracked everything, and believed that progress meant pushing through.
Then life fell apart.
The pandemic didn’t just cancel races—it unraveled my rhythm. My nervous system collapsed under the weight of uncertainty. And in the five-ish years between then and now, I disappeared. Not dramatically, but slowly. I was erased by survival mode, by the quiet erosion of clarity. The goals that once gave me purpose felt meaningless. I stopped running. I stopped moving. I stopped believing that movement could help.
It took years to find my way back.
Still I Run’s Mental Health Runner Program met me in that long pause—not with pressure, but with permission. As part of the first cohort, I wasn’t asked to perform—I was invited to reconnect. The program didn’t just offer gear and guidance; it offered grace. It reminded me that running could be a lifeline, not a finish line. That movement could be grounding, not punishing.
One of the most powerful tools in that journey was the Forward is a Pace workbook—a 12-week guided journal that’s half training plan, half mental health companion. It offered weekly themes, reflection prompts, and space to log not just miles, but moods. It didn’t ask me to be fast—it asked me to be honest.
Some days, my run log was a celebration. Other days, it was a quiet record of survival. But every entry reminded me: forward is a pace. Progress isn’t always about speed—it’s about presence. It’s about showing up for myself, even when I’d rather disappear. It’s about being present with my breath, my body, my truth.
This workbook didn’t just help me track movement—it helped me witness it. It reminded me that I am worth showing up for. That my story matters, even when it’s messy. That running can be a ritual of return.
Running isn’t about reclaiming who I used to be. It’s about honoring who I am now. I don’t run to erase the years I vanished—I run to mark that I’m here. That I chose to return. That I’m building something new, one step at a time.
And the reality is twofold: races just don’t happen close to me anymore. The local calendar dried up, and with it, the external structure I used to rely on. But deeper than that, I no longer need a finish line to validate my movement. I’ve learned to run for connection, not competition. For grounding, not glory.
If this story resonates, there are ways to support. Still I Run offers multiple entry points—whether you’re a runner, a mental health advocate, or someone simply learning to show up for yourself. You can donate to support future cohorts, purchase the Forward is a Pace workbook to begin your own journey, or apply to join the next round of the Mental Health Runner Program. Even sharing the mission helps. Every step, every story, every act of presence moves the movement forward. Because forward is a pace—and we’re all worth the miles.
