Back to the Start Line: A Return, A Run, A Reminder

This morning, I ran the Berkeley 10K

—a race I’ve done before, in a city that shaped me, past the Campanile clock tower where I once rushed to class, along streets soaked in memory.

But today, it felt brand new.

Not because the course changed, but because I have.

A Milestone Moment in a Long Recovery

Two years ago, I tore my hamstring. In October 2023, I was still limping. In November, it was surgically reattached. That injury halted everything: my training, my momentum, my sense of self. What followed wasn’t a linear comeback—it was a slow, uncertain, deeply humbling healing process.

Every step, from the first tentative physical therapy session to the first time I jogged a few blocks without fear, taught me how to trust again—my body, my pace, my resilience.

Race Day: Tired Joy, Grateful Legs, and the Energy of a City

This morning, the rain held off like a small miracle. The sky stayed soft and gray, perfect running weather. And the turnout? It felt like all of Berkeley came out to run together—every age, every pace, every kind of body moving forward with shared purpose. The collective energy was electric. I smiled the entire race. Not because it was easy, but because it was possible.

I ran with a steady, consistent pace that I’m proud of—not the fastest I’ve ever been, but the strongest I’ve felt in a long time. No pain. No hesitation. Just forward motion. I was smiling at the start with my friends, and smiling at the finish as we reunited and shared the debrief—the aches, the triumphs, the hilarious moments. The post-race camaraderie is the best.

Running through campus, past familiar landmarks, stirred a nostalgia I didn’t expect. It was a reminder of the many versions of me who’ve walked these streets, who’ve hoped and hustled and healed here. And now—this version, the one who came back from injury, who honored the slow return, who ran joyfully today—gets to join their ranks.

This race was more than a 10K. It was a celebration. A milestone in my long, patient recovery. A confirmation that healing does happen. That consistency, care, and a little stubborn hope go a long way. That I can be strong again—just in a wiser, kinder way.

It was also a reminder to keep listening. Even with the joy, there’s still the truth: I’m balancing a lot. Work, volunteer commitments, personal growth. I’m learning—still learning—how to prioritize what restores me, not just what needs me.

But today? I chose joy. I chose motion. I chose to be fully in it. And my body said yes.

I’ll hold onto this moment. The rhythm of feet on pavement, the energy of a city running as one, the deep exhale at the finish line. I came back—not just to the race, but to myself.