Why I Only Ever Run Slowly Now (& Finally Learned to Love It)

When a hobby turned toxic and how learning to slow down saved my mental health

When I ran five times a week, every 5k was under 25 minutes, and I was training for a half marathon, I hated running.

Nowadays I run once or twice a week, I rarely run without walking part of it, and I often just sit on a bench mid-way through and contemplate life for a moment. Now, I love running.

Running is a sport that’s often hailed as a miracle cure for mental health. I don’t completely disagree — the endorphins are real, it makes your body feel great, and it’s a welcome distraction from life’s chaos. But let’s not oversimplify. There’s a less glamorous side to running, just like any hobby or sport, especially if you stumble into the wrong mindset. It’s a place where excitement turns into anxiety, pride morphs into disappointment, and self-improvement becomes a breeding ground for insecurity.

My journey with running has all the classic story beats: a promising beginning, a dramatic twist, a breaking point, and then, somewhere along the way, learning to love it again. But if I’m honest, it’s less of a hero’s journey and more a messy, emotional one. One that still feels pretty raw, actually.

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Part 1: When the shiny new hobby feels amazing

Eight years ago, I signed up for a half marathon with a friend. The goal? Get fitter and raise some money for charity.

The high I got from improving my pace and running longer distances was amazing. I downloaded Strava (the very popular running app/kind of social media for runners), tracked every run, and basked in the glory of each personal best. Beating my own records and sometimes those of people on my feed, made me feel unstoppable.

Sure, there was a moment when I fell into the middle of a busy road and earned myself a scar on my knee (still visible today), but aside from that, the half marathon felt like a huge win. I racked up medals from other races and felt on top of the world.

Running at this stage felt genuinely good for my mental health. I treated myself kindly, felt proud of my efforts, and enjoyed the sense of achievement.

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Part 2: When it becomes an obsession

Things took a nosedive when I started treating Strava like any other social media platform — read: I became addicted. It transformed from a nice, encouraging network, into a highlight reel of silly comparisons and relentless competition.

The Unhealthy Side of Strava & Running Comparisons

I logged onto Strava to scroll through everyone else’s runs, scrutinising their routes, paces, and comments like a detective on a case. I’d beam with pride when I saw someone running slower than me and get a buzz of excitement if their pace was nowhere near mine. Ah, the sweet nectar of ‘kudos’ (that’s Strava’s version of a like) and compliments when I posted my runs! I was killing it! I was a bona fide runner!

But then the dark side emerged. I started filtering my posts. If I had a slower run, I’d make it private so no one could see. And when I did share, I’d add my excuses to the comments sections, like “not feeling well today” or “too many people in my way.”

I was curating a highlights reel of my running journey and, in the process, I completely lost sight of what made the sport enjoyable.

I became obsessed — obsessed with this app, with beating others, and with basking in the glory of my speedy times.

For about two years, I had a very unhealthy relationship with running. On the surface, I was a super committed, toned (to be fair, that was the upside) woman who loved her sport. But inside? I was a bundle of obsession and insecurity, and I had grown to truly hate going for a run. Like, full-on despised it.

I had stopped running for fitness, relaxation, or mental health. Nope. I was running to be the best, and in doing so, I completely lost my sense of enjoyment.

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Part 3: When injury forced me to stop

The worst part is, I didn’t have some profound moment of self-awareness that made me step back. I wish I had. But much like with a lot in life, the big revelations came when I was forced to slow down, when I got injured.

One day in 2020, I was living near Hampstead Heath in London, home to Parliament Hill, which is basically a shin-splint machine if you’re not prepared. I decided to tackle it like I was training for the Olympics. Zero hill training, zero interest in ‘easing into it’ pace-wise. Big mistake.

I got shin splints that refused to heal. I tried everything. Resting for weeks, physio sessions, getting back to running too soon (even bigger mistake).

Nothing worked. Eventually, I had to accept that high-impact running was off the table for a while.

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Part 4: Forced to unlearn my unhealthy habits

Being physically unable to run fast forced me to rethink my approach. At first, I didn’t even feel sad about not running. Actually, I felt relief. I wasn’t missing out on anything—I was free from the pressure to perform.

After this period of relief, I realised I actually did want to get back. Once the pressure I’d put on myself had decreased by enough, it allowed that original passion for running to slowly creep back.

I wanted to get back out there but I didn’t know how to be a runner who wasn’t competing, who didn’t have Strava to provide that external validation and motivation to keep going.

Of course, the first thing I did was fully delete Strava. Don’t get me wrong, I loved it for my training, it’s an incredible app with brilliant features and perfect for healthy runners. But deleting it was without a doubt the best thing I could do.

I then eased my way back into it, without allowing myself to see my pace or time or even distance. I did 2k runs, I did 4k walk and runs, sometimes I literally ran for 5 minutes and that was that.

Little by little, I trained myself to run slowly, rather than quickly, and that was what helped to foster a positive relationship between running and mental health.

I’d walk-run. Run-walk. I’d pause for the view if I felt like I was missing it. I started to listen to podcasts, or voice notes from friends, and enjoy the entire experience.

I was only ever slow, and by slow I mean my heart rate barely reached my Apple Watch’s “fat burn” stage, let alone the 90% max heart rate I used to chase. We’re talking being lapped by every single runner in the park, including people twice my age (good for them, to be fair), and people with prams.

The other thing that happened in running slowly was that I stopped feeling like I was chasing something, or running away from anything.

I was no longer in a rush, and that felt good.

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Part 5: Maintaining a healthy mindset towards workouts

Today, my relationship with running is healthier than ever, and it’s been about three years since I’ve had an injury.

I’ll admit that I’m still cautious because I don’t want to hurt myself again, but I’m mainly cautious because I don’t want to ever lose this wonderful relationship I have with running now.

Some things that massively help me sustain this are:

• Adding ‘just go for a run’ to my to-do list. No ‘5k run’, not even ‘30min run’. Just run.

• Reframe why I run — like, to be outside, for fresh air, to simply move my body.

• No expectations on how it’ll go — sometimes I feel like I have no clarity whatsoever on a run, sometimes I feel angry, sad, and other times I’m genuinely on top of the world. I just make sure to take the pressure off now.

• Mix up workouts throughout the week, so there’s less of my mindset on one single thing.

• Delete fitness apps if they aren’t bringing positivity to my workouts.

Friends sometimes ask why I’m not on Strava anymore. I say: “Why do I need to be? What benefit does it give me?” And I’m aware that plenty of people can use Strava in a healthy way (including my husband, who absolutely loves it), but I’m not one of them.

So while I wait to become the almighty “love thy self” Imi and can use social platforms in a non-toxic way (one can only dream, eh?), I’ll stick to avoiding the things that send me into a spiral.

I run slow. I take breaks. I walk-run. I run-walk. And sometimes I cry during my run. Because the emotion is a lot lol.

But mostly, I just run because it feels freeing.

I’m not sure I’ll ever sign up for a 10k or a half marathon again… although don’t hold me to that. Because now I run because it makes me feel good, not because I have something to prove.

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💛 Thanks for reading! If you’ve ever felt trapped by comparison, or watched a hobby shift from joy to stress, I’d love to hear your story. Drop a comment below, share this with a friend, or just hit reply—I’m always up for a chat!