-30-
I run. But I’m not an avid runner.
I consider myself a casual runner. I try to run about 2 km whenever I can. I know it's not a lot, but as I mentioned, I'm a casual runner.
I run casually enough to know that running isn't about going fast but pacing yourself.
As someone who ran track in high school for a couple of years, particularly 100m dashes and relay races, I grew up associating running with speed. From a competitive perspective, it probably made sense to go fast back then.
But when I moved to Vancouver almost five years ago and decided to test my feet on the pavements of the Arbutus Greenway and the slopes of the Spirit Trail, I found myself losing my breath, much like a fish out of water, within a few short seconds of running.
This isn't high school. This isn't a competition. There's no need to run fast. Pace yourself, Tobi, or you won't finish this run.
I turn 30 today. It seems like a milestone, but I don't have the slightest idea what difference this age makes other than the fact that I now have almost three decades' worth of moments, memories, and miracles to learn from.
Amongst the many lessons learned so far, one that stands out is the need to pace myself.
I lived the first half of my 20s the same way I ran in high school: fast. By 26, I had achieved several things I wanted, albeit too fast, probably a tad early, and with little regard for pacing.
It was all quantity over quality.
I ran through life so fast, doubling my cadence now and then, that I often forgot to make pit stops and attend to the people who meant something to me. And surely enough, I lost a number of them to life and death along the way.
Eventually, I burnt out—mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.
So, I spent the last four or five years of my life learning to pace myself and take things one step, one stride, one sprint, and one day at a time.
I did away with the checklists, checkpoints, to-dos, and must-dos. I let go of the expectations I had put on myself and those bestowed on me by well-meaning family and friends.
Instead, I lived. I focused on learning more about myself and who God says I am, spending time with people I cherished, frequenting spaces that brought meaning to my life, visiting places I used to imagine and write about, and writing to you.
Instead of running multiple 100m dashes in record time and in competition with myself, I focused on running casually, trying to cover a short 2km when I could.
I've found my breath again, thanks in part to being a casual runner on the trail and in life. I’m alive, well, and loved.
If my 20s taught me what it’s like to live on either side of a healthy pace, I'm hopeful that my 30s will teach me how to go further and farther with more grace and stamina and without losing my breath.
Who knows, maybe I’ll complete a half-marathon in the near future.
Thank you for reading.
It's my birthday today, and for my birthday, I want to amplify the work of the Writers’ Exchange in providing literacy programs for underprivileged children and helping them become writers.
Would you be willing to donate any amount of your choice to the Writers’ Exchange and check the dedication box to inform them that you’re contributing on my behalf? I would greatly appreciate that.
donate here
Thank you!
Everything is possible. The impossible just takes longer.
— Dan Brown.
This letter was originally shared as a newsletter. You can sign up to receive letters like this one on a biweekly basis here.