Running Toward Stillness: How Zen and Movement Guide Success in Work and Life
A reflection on how mindful movement has shaped my clarity, creativity, and leadership, one breath and one stride at a time.
I’m not a professional runner. No sponsorships and no podium finishes, just a bunch of worn shoes and a consistent pull toward the pavement. Still, there are a few personal bests I carry with quiet pride: a marathon in 3 hours and 25 minutes, a half marathon in 1 hour and 32 minutes, 10 kms in 41:14, and 5 kms in an even 19 minutes. But those numbers, while satisfying, aren’t the point.
I run without music, notifications, and distractions. There's no phone tucked into my waistband and no curated playlists to pump me up. Instead, I listen... to my breathing, my cadence, and the rhythm of my feet meeting the road. There's the warmth of the sun on my skin, the rise and fall of the wind through the trees, and the beads of sweat trickling down my face. This is the world as it is, not as I curate it.
Running, for me, is a kind of moving meditation. A practice of presence that, over time, has become less about performance and more about awareness. What began as a way to stay fit has grown into something that shapes how I approach my work, my relationships, and my sense of purpose. It’s in this convergence of movement and mindfulness that I’ve come to see a path forward: not just toward better fitness, but toward clarity and resilience.
Finding stillness in stride
What began as a physical practice (measuring kilometres and chasing PBs) gradually revealed itself as something more profound. The longer I ran, the more I noticed something unexpected: a sharpening of my mind as the body settled into rhythm and focus, not forced but discovered.
The Zen in running doesn’t come from silence, but from tuning in. Stripped of distraction, I’ve found that clarity tends to arrive somewhere around kilometre five, when the chatter quiets and decisions I’ve agonized over all week seem to sort themselves out, not by logic, but by presence.
Less tension, more intention
Running also offers me space to unclench, not just my jaw or my shoulders, but my thinking.
As stress dissolves through exertion, what remains is a more grounded version of myself. That shift has changed the way I handle conflict and uncertainty at work. I don’t seek to react. Instead, I try to respond deliberately and humanely.
The road to creativity is paved with repetition
Oddly enough, it’s often during these steady, repetitive runs that my most creative thoughts emerge. Perhaps it's an idea for a story, or a new way to frame a challenge. It aids in providing an unexpected solution to a communication gap. Like Zen meditation, it’s in letting go that insight takes shape.
Running as a mirror for leadership
And here’s the biggest surprise: running hasn’t just made me calmer or more focused, it’s shaped how I lead. It’s taught me the value of pacing over sprinting and of consistency, not bravado. That presence—actually and really being there for people—is more powerful than performance. And that leading with awareness and curiosity creates the kind of trust that no credential ever could.
Breath, balance, and belonging
Running has given me more than clarity in business; it’s given me a steadier sense of self. In moments of personal grief, anxiety, or self-doubt, it’s often the miles that hold me together. There’s something profoundly grounding in the repetition: Left, right, breath. Left, right, breath. As if, with each step, I remember who I am beneath the noise.
I’ve come to realize that the path under my feet is more than pavement; it’s a place to process emotions I haven’t yet named. Running doesn’t ask me to fix anything. It just gives me space to feel, and sometimes, that’s all I need.
And Zen, this idea of being fully where you are, has helped me become more present in relationships, too. Not rushing to respond. Not trying to control. Just listening. Whether I’m showing up to help someone in a hard moment or navigating something tender at home, that stillness I practice on the run gives me the capacity to hold space for others.
This isn’t about becoming some ideal version of myself. It’s about creating a rhythm that supports who I already am, and a way of showing up with more grace, more presence, and more capacity to connect.
Moving with intent
I used to think running was something I did. Now I see it as something that teaches me how to be.
In business, in relationships, and in creative work, it’s easy to get caught up in velocity. But what if progress isn’t always about speed? What if it’s about rhythm? Is it about showing up, one breath at a time, with attention and intention?
You don’t need to be a runner. You don’t need to sit on a cushion with your legs crossed. But carving out a space where your mind and body can meet without distraction and judgment might just become the most quietly powerful habit in your life.
So here’s an invitation:
Find your rhythm.
Notice your breath.
Pay attention to what the world sounds like without the noise.
And maybe, just maybe, success will feel a little less like something you chase and a little more like something you meet on the road.
Further Reading: For those interested in exploring the intersection of mindfulness and movement more deeply, Zen and the Art of Running: The Path to Making Peace with Your Pace by Larry Shapiro offers a thoughtful guide. Written by a philosophy professor and Ironman triathlete, the book blends Buddhist principles with practical training insights to help runners align body and mind, on and off the track.
You can also check out my new ebook, Grief in Motion: Running Through Grief to a New Self. Grief in Motion is a reflective guide for those navigating loss through movement. Blending poetic chapters, emotional prompts, and symbolic journal pages, it invites readers to meet their grief in breath and stride. This ebook doesn’t offer solutions—it offers companionship, honoring both the ache and the healing that unfold across miles. A quiet ritual for those learning to live with memory in motion.
