When I first started running, I thought it was just mental.

I could lift heavy. I worked hard in the gym. So I assumed running would be the same.

If it got hard, I’d just push through. Don’t quit. Use willpower. The distance will come.

That illusion didn’t last long.

My first run, I planned to do 10 kilometers. I didn’t even make it. Around five kilometers I was completely gassed.

My mind wanted to keep going, but my body just said stop. That was the embarrassing part. I looked fit.

In shape. Strong. And still couldn’t run what I thought was a short distance.

I brought a lifting mindset into running.

In lifting, you learn that when things get hard, you push harder. Progressive overload. More effort equals more progress.

So I tried to run further and faster every time. I thought suffering meant I was getting better.

I wasn’t. I was just destroying my body. I didn’t recover. Small injuries started to show up.

I was proud of outworking the problem, but it wasn’t working.

The shift came when I realized I didn’t want to pay that price.

So instead of turning my back on running, I looked at what others were doing. And it annoyed me how simple it was.

Run slow. Run longer. Add distance gradually. One hard run a week is enough. The rest easy. Just do the kilometers.

It really clicked during my 10-mile race, where I ran a personal best by doing less, not more.

That’s when it landed: to get faster, you have to run slower.

Accepting being a beginner again took time. I wasn’t above average anymore.

Slowing down on purpose felt like not progressing at all. Working harder didn’t give results. Time did.

And that’s what surprised me most. Being bad at running again gave me slow progress.

The reminder that you can’t get around the work. And somehow, that makes it more worth it.

Running is a long-term game. The work just needs to be done.

-Paco Raven