A Journey from Ego‑Driven to Soulful Running

When I first laced up my trainers in my early forties, I was the kind of woman GPs quietly worry about—too many glasses of wine to unwind, and barely able to run for the bus. Life was full to the brim: work, small children, and the particular challenges of parenting a child with special needs. Running began as a simple attempt to feel healthier in body and mind. And it worked. Getting “out of my head and into my body” felt revolutionary. The rush of endorphins, the clarity, the runner’s high—I was hooked.

But I brought to running the same achievement‑driven mindset I brought to everything else. Before long, it became all about distance, pace, and pushing harder. For a while, that approach served me well. I was fitter than I’d been in years. Yet as a middle‑aged woman with a long‑standing back injury, there was only so far I could push. Eventually, the inevitable happened: burnout, over‑training, and finally an Achilles injury that stopped me in my tracks. Literally.

In the slow, frustrating months of physio and gentle walking, something softened. I realised I didn’t have to be all or nothing. Perhaps my body wasn’t failing me—perhaps it was inviting me to listen. To yield. To run for the love of running, not the achievement of it.

Living in rural Somerset, I swapped tarmac for muddy woodland trails, and everything changed. Trail running asked something different of me: presence, awareness, surrender. Uphills demanded patience, mud required acceptance, and grassy downhills offered effortless flow. Nature set the rhythm, not my ego.

In slowing down, I found something deeper—space for breath, for soul, for the quiet voice of God that only emerges when we stop striving and simply inhabit the present moment.As Teilhard de Chardin reminds us, “Above all, trust in the slow work of God.”

~ Katharine