Running is undeniably having its moment right now. You only have to wander into any relatively green or open space and see people clad in spongy shoes and high-vis vests darting towards you with impressive speed to realise its cultural relevance. But when I took up running back in 2021 – it was a very unoriginal lock-down hobby – I had no idea of the impact my steady plodding would have, far beyond just my physical health.
Growing up I was relatively sporty, enjoying netball and tennis before puberty robbed me of the confidence to sweat in public. Thanks to a teenager’s metabolism, I managed to muddle through those years without giving much thought to my own health, or the health of my family.
Having also undergone two minor knee surgeries before the age of 20 (thank you genetics), I took this as an indication that I should resign myself to a life without high impact activity. There were brief moments during university where I dabbled with the gym, however these efforts were promptly undermined when my friend and I developed a habit of stopping to buy cookies from Subway on our way home.
Although I largely left sports behind as I grew up, it wasn’t until my dad’s illness struck that I began to understand the immense benefit I felt from physical movement. In 2021, my dad died after a two-and-a-half-year battle with a brain tumour. As a way to express our thanks to the wonderful nurses and doctors who cared for him in his final weeks, my brother and I pledged to run a half-marathon to raise money. Having just graduated into the hangover of covid with little to do and a whole lot of emotions to process, the structure of my first half-marathon training plan gave me the purpose and direction I so desperately needed.
As the distances I ran began to increase, so did the depth of my relationship with running. What began as a vague attempt to get out of the house to complete my charity run training became an almost essential form of therapy for my brain.
Running gave me a focus and a chance to be alone with my thoughts in an environment that felt safe. Where home was often heavy with sharp reminders of my dad’s absence, continuously pounding the pavements with the wind in my face or the sun on my back, reminded me of the reasons to keep going.
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Exercise, such as running, can be a powerful way to manage grief, particularly after the loss of a parent,” explains Dr Sophie Mort, clinical psychologist and mental health expert at Headspace.
“Grief often stirs up intense emotions like sadness, anger, or anxiety. It can make you feel like you can’t contain these emotions as they are so powerful and overwhelming.”
“Running can provide a physical outlet for these feelings, helping to release pent-up energy in a healthy way. It also triggers the release of endorphins, natural mood boosters, offering a brief but important lift during difficult times.” she explains.
I read somewhere that people either run to feel nothing or run to feel something, but I think both can be true. While I often think of my dad while breezing through the park we used to visit together, sometimes all I want is to escape by letting the sound of my blood pumping loudly in my ears mask any thoughts. To get away from the bleak reality of being a 25-year-old missing her dad. On other days I run to remember him, particularly his tenacity, bravery and strength.
There’s something about the rhythmic beating of my shoes on the concrete, and the faint hum of Sabrina Carpenter in my ear, that somehow creates the perfect atmosphere to untangle my feelings. Occasionally, the emotions bubble over, tears spring out and my breathing becomes fractured, but the gentle release of grief is cathartic and strangely comforting. It feels contained and controlled. For a control freak like me, my runs are a gift to myself. They offer an unapologetic moment to feel sad, to reflect, or just to be.
“Usually when people exercise, they tend to focus on being present for that physical activity, thus creating a sense of purpose, connection and sense of self outside of grief,” says psychodynamic counsellor Linzi Littleford. “Exercise may not entirely eliminate the pain from grief or loss, however, it has a valuable role in helping to combat the physical and mental impact which grief can command.”
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“Exercise can give permission to take that designated break, to elevate mood, to provide a sense of achievement or meaning when the world seems bleak. Choosing to exercise means consciously deciding to invest in your wellbeing and connecting to the present” explains Littleford.
This is exactly what my regular 5K became for me. No matter what had happened that day, or what could happen tomorrow, I knew I had the constant promise of a 30-minute run to undo the chaos, gain some perspective and anchor myself firmly in the present.
I also found it helped me feel connected to my dad. I have vivid memories of cheering him on at the yearly YMCA fun run and I know he’d have loved to see me cross the finish line at a race after my weeks of training.
Littleford explains that, “grief, like our love for those lost, never fully disappears, it simply adapts. Exercise can be a fantastic tool in which to help us continue that process.”
Running has remained a constant in my life. Although I naturally have become stronger, and therefore faster, it’s not time or distance that motivates me to leave my house in the lashing rain. It’s the way it makes me feel. I hate to say it, but the runner’s high is real.
Dr Mort points out that running and exercise can bring much-needed structure to days that might otherwise feel aimless. “Establishing a routine can help you regain a sense of control and purpose, which can be grounding in the midst of loss. The repetitive motion and solitude often feel meditative, allowing you to process your emotions and find moments of clarity. While running can’t erase the pain, it offers a way to connect with your body, and take steps, literally and figuratively, toward healing.”
Having picked up running as a relatively unserious hobby, I have since completed five half-marathons, all accompanied by my nearest and dearest. It’s not about the medals, although they do serve as a nice little ego boost hanging in my room.
For me, running represents my resilience and my ongoing relationship with grief. When I hit the wall, when my legs feel wobbly and my mind whispers that I can’t go on, I think of my dad.
I imagine him running beside me, holding my hand, his grin cheering me on. Because of him, I run with my head held high, knowing that whether I’m fast, slow, sweaty, or ungraceful, every step I take is in his memory.
If you are struggling with grief, support is available 24/7 via the Samaritans helpline.
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