For The Love Of Running

On what actually makes you great

Black and white sells. Not necessarily because it polarises but because it gives certainty. Do this workout and you will get this benefit. Clear. Precise. No thinking needed. Just do it.

Goals in running work often the same. You either ran a sub-3h marathon or you didn’t. You finished a 100 miler or you haven’t. The story behind those numbers are completely made up by the importance we give them. But that doesn’t make them feel any less real when you’re chasing one.

If I have one gripe with the ultrarunning world, it’s this: further is always better. When you meet a new running friend, the conversation goes often the same way. What races have you finished? What was the longest one? Whats the big thing this year? The goal must always be more. Bigger. Further. Faster.

Years ago, I played the same game.

The Chase

I was good at it. I set goals. I trained for them. I ticked them off.

And for a moment, you know that one when the number reflects all the work you have done, it felt like everything.

Then it evaporated. The next thing already on the horizon.

Never truly done. Never truly happy. Always more to chase. No deep satisfaction. No feeling that this was it, that I’d arrived somewhere that mattered.

It didn’t come. It didn’t have to. It was there all along.

The quiet Thursday mornings at 6am to catch a sunrise before work. The long Sundays together with a friend. The days where you not once looked at your watch and moved in whatever pace felt right. No split to hit. No graph to feed.

The numbers where never the point. I’d just adopted someone else’s definition of progress.

The Runner I Want To Be

Once in a while you meet someone with a completely different narrative.

It’s not immediately obvious. They don’t announce it. But spend enough time around them and you feel it. They talk about running differently. Not about finish times or race calendars. But about going out for hours. About the sunset they saw the other day. How they sat at that mountain peak and just listened to the world falling silent around them. About still running in a few decades. About the moments when training is hard sometimes, but what it teaches them and makes them a more compassionate human being.

They care about enjoyment per minute, not pace per kilometer.

When you meet someone like that, you realise it’s infectious. That there is a whole world of running that doesn’t care about metrics. A world that feels more inviting than the endless pressure of performance. Where you progress without chasing.

I slowly became that person. I didn’t plan to become him.

It snuck up on me somewhere after those races. After the highs that didn’t last. After a while when the daily adventures made me feel more. Appreciating nature around me. Grateful for the body that lets me do this. I stopped asking what I was training toward and started noticing what I was training as. Someone who loves to be outside. Who loves moving their own body through the mountains. At their own pace. Their own effort. Whatever is right for that day.

The Byproduct

The biggest learning from all this is that letting go of the outcome didn’t make me a worse runner.

It made me a better one.

When you run from love rather than pressure, a lot of things click. You show up more consistently. You recover better because you’re not fighting your own body. You make (somewhat) smarter decisions on tired days because you think long term. You suddenly are that person that is showing up year after year.

Performance doesn’t disappear. It shows up differently. A byproduct of the process rather than the goal of it. Funnily enough, the best of both worlds.

The runners I know who are out there in their fifties and above are still moving through mountains with that quiet joy. None of them are defined by a finish time. They’re defined by showing up consistently. Because they love it.

That is what lasts. It’s not the numbers. It’s the identity underneath.

Which Runner Are You Becoming?

Outcome goals are black or white. They are clear. You either hit them or you don’t. There is a certain comfort in that certainty.

But they have a shelf life. And when the high fades, and it always does, you’re left with the question that actually matters: who are you when there’s no race on the calendar? When the plan falls apart? When life gets in the way and the only thing left is still going out there anyway?

The runners who answer those questions well aren’t chasing anything.

They just love the run.

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If that resonates – I’d love to hear your story

I’m currently building an app for runners who want to show up, not off. If you recently switched your training app, left your coach or changed your training approach I would love to hear your story. It might shape what I build. Just book yourself a slot.