Finding My Rhythm (After Losing It)
The reach equilibrium, one must be shaken off balance.
My birthday tradition typically involves a run followed by a slice of carrot cake at some point in the day. The beginnings of this ritual are lost to memory, but I feel unbalanced when I don’t uphold it.
Last Thursday, I celebrated another year around the sun, greeting the morning with a 10-mile run along winding backcountry roads surrounded by verdant pastures full of fiery orange tiger lilies. The rhythmic pounding of my feet became a backdrop to a mental deluge as a cascade of reflections—moments of elation and challenges that defined the past year—flooded my mind.
Traveling to Namibia last April—where I faced my ultimate test of endurance by running just over 100 miles in four days across the Kalahari and Namib deserts—was a high, high point. The transformative journey taught me about the depth of one’s inner strength, and after that running pilgrimage, nothing has felt too out of reach.
A month later, I returned to Africa and sat across from two-time Olympic marathon champion Eliud Kipchoge in Kaptagat, Kenya, in conversation about his aspirations for his fifth Olympic appearance and his future after he eventually retires. He told me his goal was to win a third gold medal, adding, “You never know what will happen, but the only thing is to go there, enjoy, run, and inspire people.”
And he left with me a piece of advice, wisdom akin to Buddhist teachings: “Don’t be attached or glued to anything,” he said. “If you feel that thing is going, leave it. You will be free.”
That afternoon, I ran with Kipchoge and his training partners through Kaptagat forest, inhaling air so thin that each breath felt like a frantic gasp that sent my heart racing like a trapped bird. I was humbled by the experience as a dozen world-class elites effortlessly glided ahead of me. My lungs burned too much to keep them within eyesight. One man, noticing my struggle, remained by my side. What felt like a demanding pace for me was clearly just a casual jog for him. It was a comforting reminder that support often appears when we need it, even if we don’t ask for it.