I Started Secretly Running for 30 Minutes a Day for 30 Days—Here’s What I Found

Running has always been my secret weapon. I started when I was about 11 years old, surrounded by the chaos of a male-dominated household. With three sporty brothers and parents who were both PE teachers, our house was always loud, full of testosterone, and brimming with energy. The only way I could manage my frustration and emotions was by putting on my trainers and running as hard and fast as I could.

(Seems I might have been younger than 11: Here with my Dad: My first Fun Run!)

Running became my escape, my control mechanism. When life threw problems my way, I ran through them. I remember running home from a disastrous exam, running off the sting of my first teenage heartbreak (he wasn’t the love of my life, after all), and running even harder when I was tired and miserable. It was during those moments that I felt strongest, most in control, and undeniably free.

This love for running stayed with me, powering me through life’s ups and downs. By the time I hit my late 20s, I was living in a house full of young professionals, and I was the only one who ran purely for the fun of it. I remember mornings after house parties when I would wake up, throw on my running gear—track shorts, a well-worn T-shirt, and a sports bra that barely supported me—and hit the pavement. My pre-run routine was as simple as drinking some water, taking care of nature’s call, and maybe attempting a toe touch to stretch. Once, after a particularly wild night, I even managed a personal best in a half marathon—1:37 on the hilly streets of Sheffield while heavily hungover.

Then, the accident happened.

At 28, I was forced to hit pause. The injuries left me with pain even while walking, metal work in my limbs, and muscles that were cut through for surgery. Despite being a Pilates teacher, the pain persisted, and the fear of running loomed large. What if I pushed myself too hard? What if the pain returned worse than before?

Fast forward to turning 40, and I noticed my body no longer responding to the exercises I had done for years. Teaching classes and staying active wasn’t enough to stave off the creeping weight gain around my tummy. But deep down, I longed for the strength and empowerment that running had always given me.

So, I set myself a challenge: 30 minutes a day, for 30 days, with no pace or distance goals. The only rule was to run. The danger wasn’t in the running itself, but in the temptation to push further and faster. But I kept to the plan—30 minutes was enough.

At first, my legs felt heavy, I could feel niggles in my ankle and hip, but my mind grew stronger with each run. I dipped my toes into modern social running with friends, and my husband supported me by joining some runs. My kids even became my little cheerleaders. And you know what? I did it.

Some runs were faster than others, and sometimes I snuck over the 30-minute mark, getting more obsessed with the clock than I had intended. But the biggest takeaway from this challenge was realising that sometimes, you just have to try. I’ve learned that I still need to work with a physio to address some lingering pain, but knowing that I can do this, that I can still run, feels incredible.

My next challenge? To keep going—not to sign up for a half marathon or marathon as the old me would have done, but to remind myself that 30 minutes is enough. It’s more than just a run; it’s reclaiming a part of myself that I thought was lost.