Running as meditation
- Chaitanya Ramji
- Feb 26
- 3 min read
Updated: 3 days ago
Every mile I run, life gets a little easier!
The first step
Ten years ago, I slipped on a pair of running shoes and stepped into a practice that would become my sanctuary. What began as a way to clear my head evolved into something deeper—a moving meditation. With every stride, the noise of the world faded. The rhythm of my breath synced with the pounding of my feet, and for those miles, it was just me, the road, and the quiet hum of my thoughts.
Running isn’t just exercise; it’s where I untangle life. There’s a dopamine hit in crossing a finish line or beating a mile time, but the true magic lies beyond the numbers on my watch. It’s about letting my body feel alive—trusting it to carry me farther than my mind thinks possible.
The marathon that redefined my limits
I’ll never forget my first marathon in Mumbai. At mile 20, near Peddar Road, my IT band screamed in protest. Doctors at the aid station urged me to stop. “Take the ambulance,” they said. But something primal kicked in—a stubborn refusal to quit. Coach Bennett’s words looped in my head: “This is it. You’ve trained all year. You’re so close.” So I walked. Limped. Hobbled. For six endless miles, I moved forward, tears mixing with sweat. When I crossed the finish line, it wasn’t pretty. But it was mine.
That day taught me what Bill Bowerman, Nike’s co-founder, meant when he said:
“The real purpose of running isn’t to win a race; it’s to test the limits of the human heart.” My heart didn’t break that day—it grew.
Running is just Math (until it’s not)
Last year, I missed my marathon goal time by two minutes. I was crushed. But this year, when I shattered that same target, I realised something: running a marathon is just 21 easy 2K runs. Or eight 5Ks. Or four 10Ks. It’s all about how you frame it.
Phil Knight, the visionary behind Nike, once wrote: “Life is growth. You grow or you die.” Running taught me to reframe obstacles into equations. A project deadline? Break it into 'mile markers.' A personal conflict? Treat it like a hill—steady effort, not speed. The marathon is a mirror: it shows you how to dissect the daunting into the doable.
Forrest Gump and the joy of the journey
I’ve always loved the whimsy of Forrest Gump—the man who ran across America simply because he just felt like running.
There’s a limerick I scribbled years ago after a rainy 10K: “There once was a runner so bold, who chased sunrises, young and old.
With miles as his song, he’d hum right along—And found all the stories untold.”
Running, for me, is that limerick. It’s playful. It’s curiosity. It’s showing up even when the finish line feels fictional. Some days, I chase speed. Others, I let my legs wander, exploring trails like Forrest exploring highways. The phone stays in my pocket. The joy stays in my stride.
The numbers lie (but the truth is in the motion)
Yes, I’m among the “top 1%” who’ve run a marathon. However, that stat means nothing compared to the quieter victories: the mornings I lace up when depression whispers “stay in bed,” the times I choose gratitude over self-pity when I am in the middle of a race and the humility of finishing last in a 5K, yet still finishing!
Running stripped me of my ego. It taught me that progress isn’t linear. Last year’s “failure” was this year’s fuel. As Bowerman said: “There’s no such thing as bad weather—just soft people.” I’ve learned to embrace the grind, the rain, the doubt. To run through, not away.
The finish line is a doorway
Crossing a marathon’s end used to feel like a climax. Now, it feels like a comma. Running taught me that growth isn’t a destination—it’s a cycle. You train, you race, you recover, you begin again. Life, too, is a series of starting lines.
When I think of what running means to me, I return to Phil Knight’s reflection:
“The cowards never started, and the weak died along the way. That leaves us.”
Us—the ones who keep showing up, mile after mile, year after year.
The road ahead
A decade in, running is no longer a hobby, it's my compass, it’s how I grieve, celebrate, problem-solve, and reconnect with the world. It’s the friend who never judges, the therapist who never bills, the teacher who never lectures.
So here’s to the next ten years—to IT band flare-ups and unexpected PRs, to silent dawn runs and finish-line fireworks. Here's to running like Forrest, coaching like Bennett, and building resilience like Bowerman. The road never lies. And as long as it stretches ahead, I’ll keep chasing it.
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