Running Takes Courage
And So Does Getting Out the Door
Running takes courage.
Not just to start, but to keep going.
To try again.
To start over.
To come back after life derails you.
To return when the momentum is gone and you’re staring at your shoes as if they owe you money.
And here’s something I want to say out loud:
So does walking.
Walking, especially in winter when you’re wearing extra layers, especially when you’re already tired, and it’s dark (and cold) outside, especially when you’re 35+ and carrying a whole life on your shoulders, takes every ounce of courage you’ve got.
It counts.
It always counts.
Movement is movement, and courage doesn’t measure pace.
The Quote That Started It
I read a line in a book that stuck like an earworm:
“The miracle isn’t that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start.”
— John “The Penguin” Bingham
But here’s what I’d add:
The miracle is also every single time you decide to begin again.
Running takes courage.
Walking takes courage.
Getting out the door when it’s minus too-cold-to-function absolutely takes courage.
Why It Takes Courage to Start (or Start Again)
Starting is hard.
Doing something new is hard.
But doing something new when:
People tell you you’ll hurt yourself,
Some jackass says you’re “not really running,”
You’re stepping out the door alone,
You don’t think you have the “right” body,
Your brain whispers that you’re too slow or too old or too far behind…
That’s brave work.
And walking?
Walking in a world obsessed with pace, PRs, Strava screenshots, and winter-warrior content?
That’s brave too.
A lot of walkers feel invisible, or worse, judged, like unless you’re running, suffering, or sweating buckets, it “doesn’t count.”
But every walker I know:
has fought the same doubts,
felt the same intimidation,
faced the same internal critic,
and has just as much grit as the runner beside them.
Walking is not a lesser version of running.
It is its own discipline.
Its own courage.
Its own triumph.
And winter walkers?
You deserve medals for simply existing.
Why It Takes Courage to Keep Going
Here’s the thing about running (and walking):
It’s not just the start that’s hard.
It’s the middle.
It’s the getting through.
It takes courage to continue when:
Your run goes sideways, and your stomach flips you the bird,
You develop surprise blisters,
You go off-course (sometimes way off… been there),
You hit your first DNF (trust me, this one hurts),
Your running group leaves you behind (also been there),
The trail goes dark, and your headlamp suddenly feels inadequate,
Thunder rolls over the mountain you’re climbing,
Your brain whispers “quit” louder than “keep going,”
something more fun pops up and temptation wins,
Or the weather gives you absolutely no reason to leave the house.
Walkers feel this too.
Wind in your face, snow underfoot, drivers splashing slush, the mental battle of “why am I doing this again?” This is real.
Courage is not exclusive to running.
Movement is movement.
Effort is effort.
Your body does not care what pace you choose, but your spirit knows when you show up.
Why It Takes Courage to Come Back
Starting over is its own brand of brave.
Maybe it’s:
After an injury,
After illness,
After a few months (or years) of life happening,
After the holidays derailed everything,
After stress,
After burnout,
After “I’ll go tomorrow” turned into two (or more) seasons,
After you sacrificed yourself for everyone else,
After the trail felt foreign instead of familiar.
Coming back, running OR walking, asks you to face the gap between where you were and where you are now.
It’s humbling.
It’s damn uncomfortable.
And it’s courageous as hell.
Why We Keep Returning
For runners and walkers alike, movement becomes home.
It’s where we remember who we are.
It’s where we breathe differently, think differently, feel differently.
It’s where our minds loosen, and our hearts soften.
Running or walking, it’s the place we land when the world feels heavy.
And you’re allowed to admit that you need it.
You’re allowed to come back to it, again and again.
You’re allowed to take the long road home.
Because that’s what courage really is:
The willingness to begin again, at any pace.
If you’re starting today, or starting over:
I’m proud of you.
Not because of your pace, or distance, or data.
But because you showed up.
One brave walk.
One brave run.
One brave step.
That’s courage, and you wear it well.