Hey there,
I ran a 5K!

It was mostly unplanned and somehow left me feeling renewed for weeks afterward.

The day before the race, I was walking through the park and thinking about how I wanted to spend more time around other people this year. Somewhat unexpectedly, in the midst of that thought, I decided to sign up for a 5K event happening the next morning.

Once I got home, I frantically searched through my closet for anything remotely suitable to run in. Shoes, shorts, a cap, anything that looked like it belonged on a runner rather than someone who had impulsively signed up less than 24 hours ago.

Running a 5K is supposed to be easy. At the very least, if you train beforehand or already maintain an active routine.

The day was grey and chilly, but I was happy to see the clouds thicken as we approached the starting line. Last year, the weather was sunny and painfully hot, the kind of heat that made the pavement feel like a stove the moment you stepped out from under the canopy. This time, light rain fell instead.

It felt nice on the skin as the race began.

I tried to stay back and avoid matching my pace to the people around me. The crowd at first felt strangely claustrophobic. Too many bodies rushing forward together. So, for the sake of my breathing and sanity, I held back. It felt good to step away from the pile of moving bodies and settle into a pace that felt natural.

The canopy stretched far above me, and raindrops occasionally bounced off the brim of my cap. Puddles formed intricate patterns across the road, patterns I immediately committed to ruining by running straight through them.

The crowd slowly began to spread out. Some people stopped to walk and recover from an unfortunate sprint, while others disappeared around another corner.

The road curved left and right, moving up and down in rolling hills. At times, it almost felt as though the road itself was moving while my body stayed in one place.

The race began to feel endless the moment I saw the first person heading back from the turnaround point.

He flew past me effortlessly, his stride stretching across the pavement like he was out for a casual stroll rather than running a 5k. More runners followed behind him. It was fascinating to watch their faces as they passed. Some were completely apathetic, some were focused, some were still excited, and others looked dangerously close to losing their footing.

I passed more people walking near the side of the road. By then, the rain had stopped, though the clouds never parted.

Then came the hill.

That part felt miserable.

Without realizing it, I had started adjusting my pace to a family running in front of me. The younger kids would randomly sprint ahead before slowing down again, and I unconsciously followed their rhythm.

I only noticed what I was doing when a sharp pain hit my side hard enough to force me to slow down.

For a minute that felt like an eternity, my entire body turned inward. I heard my footsteps from inside my ears. Cold drops slid down my face. My hair scratched against my neck. I could feel each finger and toe separately. Every sensation suddenly became overwhelming while I tried to recover my breathing and ignore everyone around me.

Somehow, beyond my comprehension, it worked. And I was climbing up the last hill.

There, many people walked to recover before the final stretch towards the finish line. I overheard conversations from nearby runners about how to train for marathons, proper dieting, correct forms, and how impressive it was for some of them to even show up for a 5K.

I focused on my breathing again and tried not to let my mind invent new ways to sabotage the rest of the run. One step forward, then another. Rince and repeat.

Then I heard the roar of the crowd.

People rang brass bells near the finish line while others shouted encouragement at exhausted runners passing through. Crossing the line itself feels blurry in my memory, but I remember the high fives afterward and the wonderful silence that came once everything stopped moving.

When the results came out, I realized I had actually run faster than last year despite barely preparing at all. Last year, I trained almost every week for months beforehand. I think the weather helped significantly, but I also have another theory.

Earlier this year, I began practicing calisthenics because I wanted to build strength without relying on a gym. Calisthenics is a form of bodyweight training that originated from the ancient Greek words “kallos” (beauty) and “sthenos” (strength). From an ancient system of warrior training, it evolved into a 19th-century educational system, and today it represents a globally recognized form of street sport or workout. I am still far from being good at it, but I have managed to stay fairly consistent. Most days, I spend around 45 minutes stretching and doing bodyweight exercises through a simple push, pull, legs, and rest cycle.

Slowly, it became a habit I genuinely enjoy.

Looking back on the race, I think calisthenics helped more than I expected. My flexibility improved, my core and leg strength felt more stable, and recovering my form during the run felt easier than before.

The strangest part came afterward.

For weeks after the race, everything felt lighter.

My body ached, of course, but everyday tasks and even other exercises suddenly felt easier. Carrying groceries and heavy boxes up and down the stairs left no strain on my back or body at all. Push-ups, which I usually dread doing, became manageable. I could suddenly do far more than I normally could.

Maybe my body needed a reminder that it was capable of more than I thought. Or it was simply delighted to be done with the race.

— Zhenia

P.S. I will definitely run again.

Preferably with some practice next time.