Running has not removed the anxiety in my life but each time I wake up and pull on my trainers I ease the strain on my fleeting mind and achieve something

Every morning as the sun comes up in Sydney, there are thousands of people running. Their pace and intentions vary. For some it is purely for athletic or aesthetic purposes. For others, such as myself, they are running to live.

Growing up, when I had a problem, whether it was personal, public or more often than not academic, I would run. Always alone. When I left the house panicked and upset, I would increase the pace to the point where my mind’s only focus could be getting oxygen into screaming lungs. The orange street lamps of Belfast whisked past me as I ran high into the city’s hills. My only goal was to return home calm.

Anxiety has been an unwanted companion in my life for as long as I can remember. It resides on my shoulders late at night, causing them to involuntarily tense into a knotted fist. It will then slowly and stealthily crawl into my brain, causing a multitude of unhelpful thoughts to whir through my mind late into the night, offering no respite.

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My running shoes have offered a refuge to this unwanted black dog that sits by my side. I wake up early in the morning sometimes with a cold film of sweat on my brow, brush it off and lace up my shoes. I put on my shoes in the morning with the same monotony of routine as one would brush their teeth. In the same way that applying toothpaste to my teeth protects them, my running routine helps a mind that rarely slows down.

My mother was a talented middle distance runner who set a school record for the 800m that stood for years. Regrettably, I never inherited that talent for speed. I don’t run to beat a clock or win a medal; I run simply to break my own thought processes. I run without a watch; my achievement is simply being out and moving.



Running is mechanical and at times highly mundane. Its simplicity comes from the fact that you need very little to do it. Lace up your shoes, find a clear piece of ground and off you go. Most of us are blessed with bodies that can move and this is the greatest gift that we have been furnished with. Nothing can extol this gift greater than running to the point of exhaustion, our bodies are built to move.



When I start to run, my mind is in the midst of its normal convulsions. It is concerned with a million unexplained possibilities, most of them illogical, and all of them designed to cause a stabbing and pounding anxiety. With each step I take, my mind is forced to slow down to almost silence. It is sending one simple message, keep sending oxygen to my lungs. If I can’t define my mind, I can at least define myself physically.



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Within one kilometre of running, I feel as free as I ever do in my life. I can hear only the rhythm of my feet hitting the floor and my breath as I exhale. Its simplicity provides a joyful respite. I start to relax into a rhythm of sorts, imagining that I am Eric Liddell in the opening scene of Chariots of Fire: smiling, running barefoot through the water and throwing his head back in a simple sign of joy of how good it is to run.

I find that running defines my life. It is a constant companion that has never provided any lasting solution, but always seemed to understand. Perhaps my brain will be something I will never understand, its frequent machinations and whims. I do know that by the simple act of swinging my legs over my bed and stepping into my running shoes, I have achieved something. I have got up to face another day, and that is something to hold as an achievement.

They say you should never run away from problems, but I have been my whole life and I don’t intend to stop now.

• This article is from Behind the Lines

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