Little Victories

There is something about running man. It's the weirdest thing. I really don't like it that much. It sucks honestly. Almost every time, it's a battle in my head just to get outside and do it. I'm big. I'm heavy. I'm not all that fast. But holy shit am I happy that I get to do it. And almost every single time, I have a few moments where I am almost overwhelmed with gratitude, or the feeling of being truly alive, or something. I don't really know for sure. I wonder if you have something that gives you the same feeling. That sort of internal tug of war that always pays off when the work is done.

For me, it's this tension of knowing what I said that I would do and arriving at the moment that I have to deliver. My mind goes something like this if you can relate. "I said I would do it, but I don't really feel like doing it now, but I am going to feel like shit if I break my promise I made to myself, so I should probably just do it, but I would really rather do anything else." Pretty chaotic, I know. In that small moment though, where I overcome the more negative side of my mind to do something that I know is good for me in the longer term, but is going to kind of suck in the short term, that is victory. Maybe not in the traditional sense of how we may know it, but it is victory nonetheless.

It's not like I will ever win a race, but the winning in running for me is in the little things. The sun in my eyes and on my skin. The air in my lungs. The music in my ears. My heart beating in my chest. The view of Lincoln Park or Lake Michigan. Your list may look different than mine, but take a second to think about what those things might be for you. How often do we take these things for granted? I know that I have. I also know how sweet it is to appreciate them now.

Not so long ago, I didn't care and didn't notice any of these things. Instead, it was, who gives a shit about doing that. Nobody will care. Nobody does care. It doesn't matter. I don't matter. So there is no point. And that wasn't about running. That was about me.

And now, oftentimes when I finish a run, good, bad or otherwise, I will find myself overcome with that wave of emotion. For a long time I couldn't figure out why, but as far as I can tell it is some weird combination of gratitude, accomplishment, and relief, accompanied by a release of self-hatred and pain that have been self-inflicted for so many years. Freedom from the negative narratives we write about ourselves can often feel like a sick joke, but I can tell you as living proof that it is possible.

So when I say it's victory. It's victory over the worst of times, the pessimism and cynicism, and the depths and despair of depression. Each and every time it is a reminder. A reminder that it is worth still being here. This can help us realize that we are not so alone. That we matter to someone. That you matter. As long as we have that, we have something.

So, if I can, I beg you, my reader, who has so graciously read my whole first blog, to look for that reason to go on, to find the spark that may reignite your fire. It doesn't have to be running. If it were up to me, it wouldn't have been running for me. Whatever it is. Find it. And don't stop looking until you do. I promise you there is always a reason to keep going, and you will never lose if you never quit.

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Our stories aren't just for us. This is my best effort at sharing mine with you.

Little Victories - March 25th, 2026

There is something about running man. It's the weirdest thing. I really don't like it that much. It sucks honestly. Almost every time, it's a battle in my head just to get outside and do it. I'm big. I'm heavy. I'm not all that fast. But holy shit am I happy that I get to do it. And almost every single time, I have a few moments where I am almost overwhelmed with gratitude, or the feeling of being truly alive, or something. I don't really know for sure. I wonder if you have something that gives you the same feeling. That sort of internal tug of war that always pays off when the work is done.

For me, it's this tension of knowing what I said that I would do and arriving at the moment that I have to deliver. My mind goes something like this if you can relate. "I said I would do it, but I don't really feel like doing it now, but I am going to feel like shit if I break my promise I made to myself, so I should probably just do it, but I would really rather do anything else." Pretty chaotic, I know. In that small moment though, where I overcome the more negative side of my mind to do something that I know is good for me in the longer term, but is going to kind of suck in the short term, that is victory. Maybe not in the traditional sense of how we may know it, but it is victory nonetheless.

It's not like I will ever win a race, but the winning in running for me is in the little things. The sun in my eyes and on my skin. The air in my lungs. The music in my ears. My heart beating in my chest. The view of Lincoln Park or Lake Michigan. Your list may look different than mine, but take a second to think about what those things might be for you. How often do we take these things for granted? I know that I have. I also know how sweet it is to appreciate them now.

Not so long ago, I didn't care and didn't notice any of these things. Instead, it was, who gives a shit about doing that. Nobody will care. Nobody does care. It doesn't matter. I don't matter. So there is no point. And that wasn't about running. That was about me.

And now, oftentimes when I finish a run, good, bad or otherwise, I will find myself overcome with that wave of emotion. For a long time I couldn't figure out why, but as far as I can tell it is some weird combination of gratitude, accomplishment, and relief, accompanied by a release of self-hatred and pain that have been self-inflicted for so many years. Freedom from the negative narratives we write about ourselves can often feel like a sick joke, but I can tell you as living proof that it is possible.

So when I say it's victory. It's victory over the worst of times, the pessimism and cynicism, and the depths and despair of depression. Each and every time it is a reminder. A reminder that it is worth still being here. This can help us realize that we are not so alone. That we matter to someone. That you matter. As long as we have that, we have something.

So, if I can, I beg you, my reader, who has so graciously read my whole first blog, to look for that reason to go on, to find the spark that may reignite your fire. It doesn't have to be running. If it were up to me, it wouldn't have been running for me. Whatever it is. Find it. And don't stop looking until you do. I promise you there is always a reason to keep going, and you will never lose if you never quit.