Running. The place where all my parts can breathe.
From a health coach you might expect a message on benefits of running for your health - that it strengthens your cardiovascular system, supports metabolic health, helps regulate blood sugar, boosts mood, improves bone density, and is one of the most accessible ways to care for both body and mind. And while all of that is true, there’s also another layer - if you’re willing to dive deeper.
My relationship with running started early. As a child and teenager, I competed in 800m races, pushing hard in every training session. Later, life shifted, I moved, and running faded into the background but movement never did. Volleyball, Pilates, kickboxing, BodyPump, functional training, yoga… something was always there.
Then, close to turning forty, running came back. At first, it was practical, something to do while my son was at swimming lessons. But very quickly it became more than that. It became a place where I felt a sense of control at a time when other parts of life felt messy. Just me, my legs, my lungs, my heartbeat (very high back then). I thought it was my space, but to tell you the truth, it was a way of running away from things I didn’t yet know how to face.
And that was my first lesson: you can’t outrun what needs your attention. Movement can support you, but it can’t replace the inner work.
Eventually, my body made that clear. I overtrained, burned through my reserves, and ended up with a stress fracture - a forced pause, a wake‑up call, an invitation to solve things differently. The body always speaks first.
Coming back after the injury was slow. Gentler. Outdoors. No pressure. Just me and the New Zealand landscape. The supporting power of nature. And in that slow return I learned something else: progress isn’t linear - but it is visible. Even when life feels messy and you think that whatever you do - it’s not enough, the body remembers. Small, consistent steps add up quietly.
After a while, the competitive part of me had woken up, so I decided to honor it: I signed up for races. They gave my training rhythm and purpose. Each race had its own role - the January one, always the same distance and place, became my annual “progress marker.” Trail races tested my mindset and showed me where I needed more strength - legs or lungs.
Earlier this year I finished my first ultra trail at Tarawera. Those 52 km held everything: accountability, discipline, mud, rain, and the reminder that you don’t have to feel strong to keep going. I embraced the quote I once read that endurance isn’t about pushing harder - it’s about staying present longer. Hours of moving forward while emotions rose, peaked, dropped, shifted. And I kept running.
Over the years I have learned how meet different parts of myself on my trainings:
Short sprints for the inner girl who still loves to race.
Threshold runs when I need to feel powerful.
Long trail runs for the wild part of me that wants to play in nature without pace or pressure.
Easy runs to shake off tension and breathe deeper.
And this taught me another truth: different days and moments need different kinds of movement. Your needs shift and your movement can shift with them. Some days my legs feel light. Some days they feel like concrete. Neither is a failure. Both are information - the body is always communicating, not judging. That’s the shift that happens when you see movement as a conversation, not a performance.
And maybe the biggest lesson of all: there is space for all my parts:
The powerful one.
The playful one.
The wild one.
The stubborn one.
The structured one.
The tired one.
The compassionate one.
Running makes room for all of them. Maybe that’s why it makes me feel so alive.
Running keeps reminding me of something I see so often in my coaching work too: that our bodies are always inviting us into a deeper conversation with ourselves. Not to push harder, not to perform, but to notice. To adjust. To include all the parts of us that show up on any given day. The more I run, the more I understand that wellbeing is a relationship. One that moves with you, shifts with your seasons, and grows every time you choose to meet yourself with honesty and compassion. And maybe that’s the real gift of running: it teaches me, again and again, how to just keep moving in a way that feels true.
A gentle reflection for your own rhythm
If you want to take this into your own life, you might pause with one or two of these:
Which part of you has been showing up most often lately?
Which part might be asking for a little more space?
What kind of movement meets you best in this season: powerful, playful, grounding, or gentle?
What is your body trying to tell you right now, without judgment?
Not to analyze. Just to notice.
If this made you wonder which parts of you are asking to breathe a little more, or what your own rhythm might look like right now, you’re invited to book a Free Clarity Call. It’s a calm space to explore your current terrain and sense whether coaching could support the direction you’re ready for.