Running, it turns out, is the world’s most unpleasant but effective form of therapy. No appointment necessary - just a vague route and shoes with questionable arch support.

Let’s be honest: running is hard. It’s not just the physical bit - though let’s not gloss over how it often feels like your legs are staging a mutiny, and your lungs are doing an impression of a bagpipe being sat on.

No, the real challenge is getting yourself out the door in the first place.

But here’s the weird bit - it’s worth it. Not for the excuse to buy some new booty-shaping leggings. Not for the smug Garmin stats. Not even for the endorphins (although those little chemical cheerleaders do help). But for the quiet.

You don’t have to be fast. You don’t even have to be good. You just have to start.

Whether you’re a lycra-clad gazelle or a red-faced jog-walker in an oversized hoodie, the benefits don’t discriminate.

The peace doesn’t care what your 5k time is. The mental clarity shows up, even if you had to take six breaks and finish with a limp.

Jog. Shuffle. Walk aggressively with ambition. Whatever. The magic still happens. Your thoughts will still slow down. The noise will still fade. Your brain - normally a chaotic house party of opinions and self-doubt - will finally sit down, take a deep breath, and let you just be.

So, if you’re looking for inner peace and meditation feels too still and yoga too bendy, try running.

Yes, it’s challenging. Yes, you’ll look like a tomato. But for a few glorious miles (or minutes), you’ll get something rare, precious, and genuinely life-changing: A quiet mind. And possibly a couple of blisters…

A 5k in the rain

every inch of my skin is soaked

hair is saturated to the scalp

my ponytail swings rhythmically

flicking fat water droplets left and right

diluted sweat collects in my brows

drips from the tip of my bluish nose

rivers run in the wrinkles of my face

only a shred of vision remains

through my constantly squinting eyes

all parts of me are busy

each has their own kinesis

feet pounding the pavement

arms propelling me forward

legs fighting the lactic acid

my heart is pumping frantically

to force the blood efficiently

through fat-clogged arteries

the result of pizza over-consumption

but I don’t do it to clear coronary congestion

or to set impressive personal bests

I do it to find silence

for my mind cannot speak

while my exhausted body screams

it is empty of thoughts

and for a time

it is so quiet

all I can hear

is nothing