I didn’t realize running was mentally harder than physically until I trained for my first 10-mile race.

Not on race day.
In training.

I was running distances I had never run before. Twelve kilometers felt intimidating on paper, but physically it wasn’t any harder than other hard training sessions I’d done in the gym.

What was different was my head.

My body would start screaming that it couldn’t go on because it had never been there before.

The strange part was this: nothing actually hurt more than usual. It just felt… wrong.

That’s when I realized running isn’t about toughness.
It’s about ignoring a very convincing internal signal.

When you lift, you understand calluses.

The bar hurts your hands at first, not because the weight is wrong, but because your skin isn’t used to friction.

You don’t overthink it. You keep lifting. Eventually the pain stops being information.

Running works the same way only now in your mind.

A “comfortable” 10K isn’t about pace or fitness.
It’s about having enough mental callus that discomfort no longer feels like a decision point.

Early on, every sensation asks a question:

That last thought was the loudest for me.

“This isn’t the way.”

Stopping felt logical. Walking felt reasonable. It was so easy to justify. I could just stop for a second. And that’s exactly why it was dangerous.

Because that thought isn’t wisdom.
It’s nature.

Your body wants efficiency. Comfort. Certainty. Running long distances goes directly against that. Of course it feels wrong.

Most lifters move through running in three phases.

Every run feels like a negotiation.

You’re not exhausted but you’re conflicted.
Your mind keeps offering exits.

This is like the first time you push squats close to failure. Rep 6 already feels unnecessary. Rep 7 feels like a mistake.

Nothing is broken.
You’re just unfamiliar with staying in the pain.

After a few weeks, something shifts.

For me, it took about three weeks.

I had been in those uncomfortable moments so many times and I didn’t stop. I built proof. Not motivation. Proof.

Proof that I could keep going.
Proof that the feeling didn’t mean anything.

The discomfort was still there, but it became noise instead of a command.

Just like rep 8 or 9: it burns, but you don’t argue with it anymore.

This part surprises people.

Enjoyment doesn’t mean it feels easy.
It means it feels neutral.

The discomfort still shows up especially at the start of every run but now it doesn’t matter. I don’t fight it. I don’t try to get rid of it.

I just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The choice becomes logical.

Running doesn’t ask you to feel good.
It asks you to stay.

A “comfortable” 10K is one where:

You feel it — but you don’t fight it.

You just stop treating that discomfort like a problem.

The mental callus doesn’t remove the signal.
It removes the meaning.

And once you understand that, distance stops being intimidating not because it’s painless, but because it’s familiar.

Just like the barbell in your gym.

If this resonates and you’re trying to combine lifting and running, I’d love to hear from you.

Just reply to this email and tell me what you’re currently struggling with. I read every reply.

– Paco