Running into my soul
When I run, I intentionally go unplugged: no phone, no music, no podcasts.
Just me, the road, and whatever my mind decides to surface.
Sometimes it’s pretty mundane: "Remember to add fabric softener to the shopping list," my unplugged brain offers helpfully.
Other times, the insights are deeper. Unsettling even. The kind that arrive uninvited and refuse to be ignored. (Which inevitably makes me wonder why I keep choosing to run this way.)
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been back in my place of birth - visiting my parents, my siblings, my roots. And on one of those goodbyes, standing in an airport a week ago, I felt something I thought I'd come to terms with many years ago.
My heart was in two places at once.
Part of me wanted to turn around, cry and stay put. Another part was already reaching across the globe - toward my wife, my children, my responsibilities, my life on the other side of the world. I did what I’ve learned to do well. I swallowed the ache. I put on the brave face. I held the hugs a little longer than usual and walked toward the departure gate.
Stoic. Composed. Capable.
At the time, I didn’t dwell on it. But this morning, on my run, those thoughts resurfaced.
Did my bravery look like distance? Did my composure come across as hardness? How do you truly show up when your obligations are spread across continents?
How do I be the best son to my ageing parents, the best support to my caregiving siblings and the best husband, father, provider and community servant where I now live? How do I honour my passion for coaching and serving others without quietly burning myself out trying to be everything, everywhere?
Mid-thought, I was pulled back into the present by a conversation unfolding beside me. A fellow runner moved steadily forward, with a friend riding an e-bike alongside him.
“I can’t see how I could ever run that far,” the rider said. “If you told me I could run from there to there, I just wouldn’t believe you.”
“But you don’t start there,” his runner friend replied. “You start small. Then you build.”
“Still,” the rider said, “that would take months. Maybe years. I don’t think I could do it.”
As they drew level with me, I couldn’t help myself.
“Sorry,” I said, slightly breathless. “I overheard you. I was exactly where you are when I started, mate.”
The friend smiled. “That’s what I’m trying to tell him.”
“You can do it too,” I added. “Just start.”
The moment passed quickly. The heat set in. I realised I’d underestimated the time it would take to get back for a scheduled coaching session and had to find a crossing to get back.
But later that day - after the session, while kicking a ball around with my seven-year-old - the earlier thoughts returned. And this time, something clicked.
I realised I was doing the very thing I help my clients unlearn.
I was segmenting my life into competing responsibilities. Carrying burdens that were never meant to be held alone. Relying solely on my own resourcefulness, my own planning, my own capacity - instead of surrendering first.
Somewhere along the way, I had shifted from trust to control. From guidance to self-management. And in doing so, I’d narrowed what was possible.
The truth is, authenticity isn’t about having all the answers or holding everything together flawlessly. It’s about recognising where effort ends and surrender begins. It’s about knowing when strength looks less like stoicism and more like honesty: with ourselves, with others and with our Creator.
Running, it seems, doesn’t just clear my head. Sometimes it runs me straight into my soul.
And while the depth of those moments can still scare me a little… I’m learning not to run from them.
Final thought
Many of us are entering another season asking, How do I do more? How do I be better?
Perhaps the deeper question is, What am I carrying that was never meant to be carried alone?
If you’re navigating competing roles, quiet tensions or a sense of being stretched across too many places, know this: you don’t have to have the whole route mapped out. You just need to take the next best step (thank you Lynne).
This is the space I work in - helping people slow down enough to reconnect with themselves, their purpose and the part of them that already knows the way forward.
If this reflection resonates and you’d like a thinking partner on that journey, I’m here. No pressure. Just a conversation.
Go on, take the Next Step.
