I went for a run today. Not fast. Not impressive. Just a bit hard.
And the first thing my brain did afterward (even during the run) was try to explain why it was slower than I'm capable of.
"I was listening to a podcast."
"Low HR run."
"Did a hard one yesterday, this was recovery."
As if the run needed a story. As if I had to make sure people knew it wasn't the whole picture.
That reflex feels automatic. Social media trained it well. Everything needs a reason, a caption, a little performance. Bonus points if it looks intentional and admirable.
But lately, I've started pushing against that.
I still post the runs. I like the stats. I like the progress.
But I don't dress them up anymore.
No captions. No clever lines. No golden-hour selfies.
Just the run. Quietly logged. For me.
And weirdly, that's hard. Because you don't get the dopamine. No fire emojis. No comments. No "you're crushing it." Just silence.
But I think that's the muscle I'm trying to train.
The one that doesn't need to impress.
The one that can do the thing and not explain it.
The one that's okay being unseen.
I'm not great at it yet. But I'm paying attention.
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