Somewhere in 2024, I decided to run five kilometres (at least) every day. It was something I did on a lark, so I didn’t expect to stick to the routine for years. But last February, I had a terrible bout of food poisoning, which ended my streak on day 788.
I know the number because I had posted every day on Instagram, much to the amusement of my acquaintances, who would ask me what day it was every time we met. It was a shame that I had to end the streak, really, seeing how I had kept it alive even when I was quarantined—twice—or even with a pulled back, only to be done in by a stomach bug.
But when every trip to the bathroom felt like a trip to Mordor, it was, in the end, my defining white flag moment. Don’t get me wrong, though. I got right back to business the moment I stopped ejecting, for lack of a better word, but I’ve had to let go of my identity as that guy who ran every day, without fail, rain or shine.
The silver lining to all this is that every failure brings about a valuable learning experience, and this is on top of all the lessons I’d gleaned from putting on my running shoes, day after day, regardless of what went on in my life.
Like I said, I had documented my journey on Instagram, and it was this milestone that first signalled how serious I was about running every day. Questions like “What number are you aiming for?” and “Who hurt you?” began surfacing about now. But other than that, few people showed much concern.
I thought it was a pretty solid achievement myself, but the general public didn’t seem to think so. It was at this moment that I realised I was bordering on the performative, and thus I began wondering if I was running for myself or for an audience—all thirteen of them.
This was when I learned that time does pass by in the blink of an eye. Throughout the year, I ran through business trips, Covid infections, and with a baby pram in tow (welcomed a newborn around the beginning of this challenge).
While I did take the time to bask in my commitment to a rather silly aspiration, I also realised how fleeting my thoughts were, and thus how little my opinions mattered. Because no matter what I thought about my journey thus far, it would only take another blink of an eye before it would be my second year running, and I would once again be left wondering where all that time went. But hey, my total mileage would’ve taken me from Malaysia to Myanmar on foot, so I have that to brag about, at least.
By the time I arrived at this milestone, I had learned the many ways I could bullshit myself. The moment of truth each day would be after my first cup of coffee, when I would have to dress up for the run. This was the moment that I would always try to delay the inevitable. One cup of coffee can turn into three, and, depending on my schedule for the day, it could take an entire morning before I finally lace up my shoes and complete my run for the day.
Sometimes my motivation to go for a run would be to listen to that interesting podcast I’d been meaning to catch up on. Other days, I’d trick myself by deciding to walk the entire five kilometres, only to break into a trot once I’ve warmed up.
This is where I learned that striving for painlessness does not insulate me from the pain. In fact, there have been days when I suffered through my easy runs, and days when I barely broke a sweat despite setting my personal best.
The biggest takeaway here is that pain is inevitable, even if you choose the easy goals. So why not make the pain worth it and aim for something that impresses you instead?
I remember a time when I had tried getting into meditation, and the mantra that helped me with the habit was “just sit”. That was the runner I had become by this point. Despite questions of whether I was forefoot- or midfoot-striking, or what the optimum shoe drop was, what I found worked best was to “just run”.
Some days, that would mean running in your work sneakers because you forgot to pack your running shoes on a business trip. Other days, it would be making rounds in the hospital parking lot because your toddler just got admitted for a nasty cough. There is no preparing for the slew of curveballs life is waiting to throw at you. On some level, you have to simply un-romanticise the process and do what it is you set out to do, no matter the odds.
At this point in my journey, I’ve had my fair share of declarations from friends and strangers alike on how they, too, will embark on their own running streaks. And also at this point, I’ve had a big enough sample size to know which ones would drop out by day three, and they’re the ones that say: “I’ll just wait for the New Year to start”, or “I’ll need to buy my running gear first.”
The pain from my stomach bug is constant. Even sitting upright makes me want to pass out. I can’t believe that this is how my streak—one that I’ve worked so hard on—will end. But between the throes of cramps and prayers, I find bouts of clarity. For the past two years, it wasn’t the running that I had grown weary of. It was the need to carry a mobile phone and film myself every single day. I’m sure I had questioned my intentions somewhere around the 300-day mark, but I felt like I had to stay accountable to the aforementioned 13 people who were keeping track of my runs. As midnight rolled around and I had officially ended my streak, I felt a sense of sadness, but also a tiny bit of relief. Because now, if I were to ever pursue something like this again, I would do things my way.
You know, it’s hard to say what I’ve gotten out of this pursuit. Yes, I did impress a doctor or two during my health checkups, and yes, my Apple Watch has categorised my VO2 max as ‘High’, but I don’t think I’ve gleaned enough benefits to justify a training montage.
But what I do have is a broader outlook on life and the way we approach it. I’ve learned how powerless we can be over what happens to us, and in that same vein, how powerful our minds are when faced with said external events.
I’ve also learned that life is like the lint in your dryer, in that it’s all about averages. Put in black clothes, you get black lint. It doesn’t matter if you mix in the odd white tee. But change your wardrobe to white, and eventually the lint follows suit. It’s a great analogy to remind us that our seemingly mundane, daily actions have the power to change our lives, given enough time and repetition.
Personally, my biggest takeaway is that we shouldn’t let perfect be the enemy of good, to borrow a cliché. Because I’ve learned that it’s better to have run 998 out of 1,000 days, instead of stopping at day 778 just because I broke a silly little streak.
Esquire Malaysia
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