I’m still here.

I find myself saying that a lot lately.

I’m still here.

Maybe it’s the nostalgia of the internet, maybe it’s lockdown, maybe it’s a completely unoriginal midlife crisis, but I’ve been doing a lot of reflection and a lot of looking back lately, in order to work out what I want going forward.

There have been times when I am literally trying to convince myself that I am still me, when I look in the mirror and barely recognise myself, my dreams and my surroundings.

Running has helped, but in a way that I didn’t really expect and haven’t really used it before.

Over the years I’ve used running as a tool for all sorts of life’s dramas. As a focus point when everything seems chaotic and out of control, as something I can control when life seems overwhelming and random, as an outlet when you really want to just scream or angry type at someone for hurting your feelings.

But at the moment, running is an escape. A place I can go to create, to dream, to wonder.

It’s not beautiful mountains or beachside paths, it’s lockdown (again), it’s a concrete footpath, in a suburban street, in a 5km radius from my home. But it’s also hope and freedom and relief.

It’s probably no coincidence that this month will probably be one of my highest mileage months in a long time.

I’ve done it safely, nothing crazy, no big days or inconsistent weeks. Just the daily shuffle. I’ve relied on it more than I would like to admit. No music, no podcasts, just my own voice in my head, conversations with myself, the good, the bad and the ugly.