When I run, I feel like I’m doing yoga — elated in a very grounded way, eased and stressed, comfortable and frustrated. I’m thinking about all and nothing; thoughts become more like wisps of air rather than concrete conceptions. When I run away, I come back.

I used to hate running … really hate it. Running around the block would not only be exhausting, but nauseatingly boring. When my mother pushed me outside to go for a run, I would ‘round the corner and stroll for as long as I thought a run should last, then run the half block back home.

That’s why I was very surprised when, one very early morning when I couldn’t sleep, I just put on my sneakers, slipped on my shorts, put my hair up and left. Maybe it’s because I was in Hawaii (too beautiful to go to a gym), maybe it’s because it was 5:30 a.m. and I couldn’t think of what else to do or maybe I decided to check out for myself what all the hype was about it, how running “clears your mind.” However it happened, that is how it began.

I’ve had a few revelations since.

First off, the hardest part of running, like anything, is getting out there. I’m lucky because, unlike so many people, I like mornings. I don’t mind getting up with the sun — I actually enjoy it. Forcing myself to slip on those sweats is always a bit of a battle, but once they’re on, there is no excuse. It gets better with that first breathe of cool fresh air and a semi-forced smile.

Second, the hype is just hype. I’m not sure what people mean by “clearing your mind.” My mind is not clear when I go out most mornings; it is filled with thoughts, frustrations, music (usually “Sunday Morning” by Maroon 5 — don’t judge me). I do think differently when I’m running, but I’m not sure if that means more clearly. I just let the little things go — I have to. Letting go of the little aches and pains in your head is essential to letting them go in your body. They could easily inhibit the effectiveness and true essence of your run.

Which leads me to my next discovery. It takes a fair bit of effort to get to the point at which you just enjoy the run. There are some muscles that don’t necessarily have to be built up, but do need to be woken up. This means a couple of weeks of consistent running while chanting “just keep swimming, just keep swimming” a la Dory from “Finding Nemo.” This is what I call the “transition time,” or more simply, “the sucky period.” It’s totally worth it.

Past the sucky period, though, is a time when I had to start listening to my body more closely. Any knee pain has the potential to grow and develop, muscles should only be driven to a certain point of exhaustion and not past it, the breathing pattern has to be even and regular. The most important — and most difficult — thing I found to listen for was the difference between my brain telling my body it hurts and my body actually exhibiting exhaustion. Recognizing and releasing those thoughts embody the fundamental nature of letting go.

When all of these patterns fit and flow, it really is a beautiful thing. No force, no pressure (in fact, forcing is really bad). If the body doesn’t want to go, it’s just not going to. This doesn’t imply failure, just a need to relax those muscles.

Deep breaths, don’t think yourself into an abyss. Running is more an exercise for the mind than an exercise for the body. It has to do with control of your thoughts and their transfer to the body. That’s what I’ve learned thus far, and that’s what I’ve felt thus far. Tomorrow I will go farther.