Why I Run: A Journey Back to Myself
A raw and honest reflection on how running became my mirror, meditation, and method for healing—across countries, careers, and the quiet reckoning of learning to trust myself again. From Couch to 5K to half-marathon, running became more than movement—a ritual, a teacher, and a way home to myself.
"Why do you run?"
Someone asked me.
…
I paused. And then I realized—
I run because I can't blame anyone else.
It's all on me.
The distance. The pace. The effort. The discipline. The outcome.
Total accountability.
There's no one to blame—no thing to blame—but me. And myself.
And paradoxically, there is a gratifying bliss at the end.
The distance. The pace. The pain cave you hit.
The resilience that follows.
The flow state. (Still waiting on that runner's high.)
The solitude you find solace in.
The mental space you enter—one you can’t tap into through stillness or seated meditation.
Running gives you self-respect.
You build self-trust.
With every completed distance,
one by one,
you slowly earn trust in yourself.
You begin to believe in yourself more.
Whatever you set out to do—
a half-assed approach won’t work.
You have to commit.
Fully.
Completely.
And see it through to the end,
no matter how ugly or disappointing the outcome might seem.
I used to be a perfectionist,
to the point that unless I could see success with 100% certainty,
I didn’t bother trying; afraid of failure.
But with running,
You learn to stomach your loss without despair.
When I was a portfolio manager, veteran mentors used to tell me:
“You have to learn to stomach your loss, own the decision, and move on.”
After witnessing the ups and downs of markets through the '97 Asian Financial Crisis, the 2008 crash, and the COVID market chaos—I get it now.
Running teaches you the same lesson.
Sometimes, you can see the goal ahead. You know you’ll make it.
Other times, you know you've gone off track.
You know the outcome won’t match the vision.
But still, you push on.
Because you started.
There is no stop in this.
Because you committed.
Because you decided to hit the finish line.
Didn’t meet the goal?
It’s okay; you have another chance.
You pick yourself up.
Move forward.
Start again.
From the top.
And because of that—
You get to see the patterns in consistency.
Track records of hit or miss.
And you are always on an upward trajectory over time. Eventually.
You own the result.
You are in control.
You learn the right balance between when to push and when to back off.
Journey of Becoming Myself
I started to run again recently, thanks to my mentor David.
During the pandemic, when I was feeling lost,
he told me, “Go out and run. Get your ass out there under the sun. I’ll buy you a pair of running shoes if you can run 5km under 32 minutes.”
What an impossible task!
I thought to myself: I’ll give it a go, but I was skeptical.
I hadn’t worked out for 15 years. My body was SO unfit.
I could barely run 1km.
It started as a casual, informal endeavor.
Couch to 5K.
Let’s just try it.
Dip a toe in. See how I like it.
I get bored easily. I thought racket sports or horse riding would suit me better.
But after a year of trying,
I started to discover the beauty of running.
Now I understand how it’s become a global phenomenon.
Because for running,
all you need is simplicity:
Your body. Yourself. Your mental.
It is a ritual.
A space where your mind and body connect.
Your brain and your heart become one.
Running is a gateway.
To process the mental fog,
to move through emotions that have been building in the body.
Your body keeps the score, people say.
No matter how good you've been at suppressing emotions,
no matter how tightly you've kept the bottle closed,
your body has been watching.
YOU.
Your life.
Your thoughts.
Your emotions.
And they manifest… in symptoms, in pain, in silence.
Looking back over my running journey—over the past year—I see how my “why” has shifted over time.
Seoul, Middle School
Back in Seoul, I used to run along the river before school.
Back then, I was driven by body image.
As a teenage girl who’d just had to quit her potential gymnastics/ballet career path due to an ankle injury,
all I cared about was losing weight, wishing to look like a model.
Because my mum was a model, I was under real pressure. It was expected of me to look a certain way.
Plus, letting out all that adolescent hormone-charged frustration,
out onto the river.
Running was the only place I found solace.
The only space I could process the simmering anger inside me.
At one point, I pushed so hard I couldn’t walk for two weeks.
My spine and pelvis gave out. My body called a time-out.
My poor mum had to carry me everywhere while I was in the clutches—
Luckily, after some physio, I could walk again.
But oof—wasn’t I afraid I might never walk again.
Toronto, High School
In high school in Toronto, Canada,
I ran in the morning before school—sometimes for track training,
sometimes ahead of field hockey practice.
Running through the forest at a misty sunrise,
in icy cold air,
was poetry.
No one was around.
And you become one with the trees. The birds. The wind. The ground.
Processing emotions in a foreign land.
Away from family, culture, language, and all things familiar.
Back then, running helped me get a grip on myself—
as a foreigner in a gifted student program,
trying to catch up in English, assimilate to new cultures,
read social cues I didn’t yet understand.
I lived in my head.
I needed to prove myself to myself—
because I didn’t trust myself yet.
Running was my outlet.
NYC, University & Early Career
In university and later, working in finance in NYC,
running in Central Park was about trying to fit in.
But I never had the energy.
My body was maxed out—overworked from study and hustle.
There was no room left to run.
London, Now
And now—I’ve started to run again.
In London.
This time, running is about mindfulness.
It’s about connecting with my body.
Really listening to what it needs.
It’s a kind of meditation.
A practice of deep breathing and body awareness.
In what may seem like stupid, repetitive limbic motions,
I find resilience.
I test myself.
I get curious about how far I can go.
Both my mind and my body.
With sweat, clarity follows.
Like military training—
but gentler. More honest.
As a recovering workaholic,
my body’s fitness isn’t “there” yet.
But I’m learning to listen.
With intention. With purpose.
I’ve been treating my body like a machine for years—
completely disconnected from its voice.
I always told it to shut up.
To push through.
To get over it.
Not anymore.
I am learning to respect
both the feminine and masculine sides of the self.
A shift from “how do I look?” to “how do I feel in this?”
I am running only for myself.
To connect with my body.
To be in tune with it.
To learn how to care for it.
And how to nurture it.
When brute force no longer works—
you can’t help but wonder.
And finally, you surrender.
To softness.
To care.
To yourself.
I have a question for you.
Are you a runner or do you have a sport/workout you like?
Why do you do it?
Note) For those who are curious, yes, I ran 5km under 32 min in year 1. Now, after some serious training with a personal trainer for 10 months, and endurance training for a half-marathon. I run 5km under 26 min (5.20/km pace). But again, it is not about the distance or pace; it is about connecting with yourself. Your body.
Other relevant post - New to running and don't know where to start? Check this out.
EJ Elena Shin
