Running was never about chasing medals, personal records, or crossing finish lines first. It became something much deeper than that—a way to honor the people I’ve lost and the ones who can’t run beside me. Losing family members to different diseases, including my grandma to breast cancer, has shaped my “why” in a way I can never ignore. Every mile feels like a tribute to them, a reminder that I run for all those who can’t and for all those who are no longer with us. Somewhere along the roads and trails, I’ve found strength, purpose, and a way to carry their memory with me in every step.
Living with an autoimmune disease has given every run a deeper meaning. I know there may come a day when my body no longer allows me to run the way it does today, and that possibility is never far from my mind. Because of that, I don’t take a single mile for granted. Every sunrise run, every aching leg, every finish line, and every quiet moment on the trail is a gift. My “why” is rooted in gratitude—for the body that carries me today, for the peace running brings to my soul, and for the reminder that the greatest privilege isn’t running fast or far—it’s simply being able to run at all.