For some it’s yoga and meditation, others get their mojo back when they take their annual holiday. For me, I run.
I do not come from a long line of athletes. My Bosnian mother still doesn’t fully grasp the concept of ‘running for fun’.
I think she thinks I run to lose weight, when in fact it’s far more empowering than shedding a couple of kilos. If you had told me 15 years ago that my mental head-space would be so intertwined with shuffling my two feet then I probably would have nodded sarcastically at you for not knowing me.
Like mum, growing up I thought running was synonymous with weight loss and dieting and an unnecessarily punishing activity. “People pay and choose to do this regularly?” I thought.
I am often surrounded by family and friends. We’re a large Bosnian-Australian family of feeders and eaters. I love to eat and to cook with my family and spend a couple of nights a week with them doing so. I work long hours and often finding my weeks jam-packed (all self-inflicted, of course).
So when my partner asked when do I get that “me time” everyone often speaks of, I didn’t know how to answer that.
There wasn’t an exact moment that propelled me into becoming a runner. Like many great bonds, it started by chance.
I started a new job and was invited to run by colleagues in pairs and threes. Small runs of up to 5km on the regular. I remember a feeling of despair the first time I ran, feeling like my fitness and my feet weren’t in sync.
Persevering through a handful of runs, I quickly realised that this was something I needed. It’s a space where literally all the feels come to a head.
I was adamant this wouldn’t be like some of the other hobbies I’ve taken up in the past - rollerblading; cycling and even paddle boarding, all come to mind here. I wouldn’t simply commit for a season, or look for an excuse - well, at least not always.
From there, I began setting my own running milestones. I felt really good and I noticed how mentally clear I felt after each run. My energy, my sleep and my self-worth jumped a few notches within a couple of months.
I still remember excitedly entering my first 10 km run across Sydney Harbour. I knew that as long as my body could, I would keep on top of my running. Those 30 minute stints evolved into 60 minutes, and then two, three hours and more. What began as light runs evolved into my first half marathon, full marathon and then ultra-marathon, all in the space of a year.
Don’t get me wrong, I am by no means preaching the ease of running. You still get sore, feel tired, breathe heavily, and sweat. And for some reason I really missed all of these physiological and physical moments when I tore my ankle ligaments in 2016 and was out of any running action for a year.
My year of recovery made me realise how much I missed the freedom and power that came with running. I felt heavy and deeply frustrated I couldn’t do what I had spent so long trying to gain and maintain. From crutches, to physio sessions, I had to learn to walk, then jog and eventually run all over again. It was a painful journey.
This year away from running taught me patience. It allowed me to understand my body a whole lot more and also the importance of what listening to what it looks and feels like. And most of all, it solidified what I probably never thought of as ‘me time’.
What I didn’t know is how much mental peace becoming a runner would give me. Away from to-do lists and screens, for me it’s not about it being fastest or always comfortable. It’s a mental hi-five moment letting it all out hang out and untangling that mental loop.
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