Provide yourself evidence of courage.
There's plenty of it.
Welcome to the extended edition of A Note to the Runners, where each day, I dive into one of the poems from my book, sharing the motivation, inspiration, and backstory behind it. Today, we're looking at the fourth poem, "Remember the Courage It Took."
Remember the courage it took to lace up your shoes for the first time; they probably didn’t even fit.
Remember the courage it took to try this thing they call running.
Remember the courage it took to run with others; they were ones like you.
Remember the courage it took to accept the head noise; now it sits beside you.
Remember the courage it took to enter your first race; those nerves nearly derailed you.
Remember the courage it took to pause when your body said, “No more.”
Remember the courage it took to stand next to the people who first inspired you.
Remember the courage it took to call yourself a runner; you should have done it earlier.
Remember the courage it took to run at night.
Remember the courage it took to do the thing you said you were going to do.*
This poem captures the essence of a runner’s journey—starting with the fear that many of us feel when we first begin running. It’s terrifying to call yourself a runner. So many of us run for years before we’re comfortable telling our friends, family, and community that we are, in fact, runners. It’s a label some of us shy away from because we don’t want running to define us, or maybe because we don’t feel serious or consistent enough.
But if you put on a pair of shoes and head out there, then you are a runner. That’s something I won’t dive into too much today, as it’s the subject of another poem in the book.
Sequentially, this poem begins with the courage it took to lace up your shoes for the first time. I can’t remember the first time I laced up a pair of running shoes—maybe they were old Asics, maybe something else entirely? When we first start running, we often make do with what we have. Maybe it’s an ill-fitting pair of shoes, maybe something borrowed, maybe even barefoot. There’s a purity to that beginner’s mindset—just getting out there and doing your best with whatever you have at your disposal. It’s an energy worth channeling, even as you progress.
The poem then takes us through the courage it took to actually try running. Like many of you, I can’t remember my first runs, the first time I decided to go for an easy jog. And running with others? That’s another milestone. For those new to running, it can be daunting. I used to laugh when friends showed up with headphones, saying, “What are you doing? We’re going to chat on this run.” The idea of talking while running was foreign to them, but it’s just another step in the journey.
Next is the courage it took to accept the head noise. We’ve all been there—days when it seems easier to stay home, to get into bed, to do anything but run. But once you’re out the door, the first few kilometers might be noisy, your mind busy with the stresses of life. Then, gradually, the noise fades. You start paying attention to your heartbeat, the sounds around you, and eventually, the head noise sits beside you. It’s one of running’s wonderful byproducts—mindfulness, a calm in the chaos.
The courage it took to enter your first race is something many of us can relate to. I still get nervous before races, especially big ones. Racing is a courageous act, not in a competitive “us versus them” way, but in a personal “you versus you” way. It’s about challenging yourself, pushing your limits, and yes, facing the fear of failure. But that’s where growth happens. Racing puts you in a place where you might fail, but that’s a gift—it’s a honey pot of knowledge and life lessons.
Remember the courage it took to pause when your body said, “No more.” This might be one of the most powerful lines. It’s brave to rest, to listen to your body, to not push to the point of breaking.
The courage it took to stand next to the people who first inspired you is something I’ve experienced firsthand. This year, at the Madeira Island Ultra Trail, I found myself in the Elite Field, standing next to Luis Fernandes, a local legend and someone who has been a huge inspiration to me. I was thrilled to line up next to him, and there are many more runners I hope to race against in the future. It’s a courageous thing to step into the same arena as those who inspire you.
Running at night is another act of courage, especially for women, who often don’t feel safe running in the dark. Through Notes Night Run, we’ve created a safe space for women to run at night, something I’ve taken for granted. It’s been incredible to witness this and to offer a space where women feel secure.
Finally, remember the courage it took to do the thing you said you were going to do. This is one of my favorite quotes and something I’ve put on a T-shirt before. It’s about being a person of your word, about living life with integrity, following through on your dreams, and becoming the runner you want to be.
Every line in this poem has a story because we’ve all been there. We’ve all been beginners, we’ve all felt nervous, we’ve all dealt with head noise. It’s part of being human, and it’s part of being a runner.
If you’d like to dive deeper into this journey, A Note to the Runners is available for pre-order at anotetotherunners.com. Pre-ordering ensures that as soon as I receive my stock, I can get your book to you as close to the launch date as possible. We’re about 38 or 39 days away now from the book launch, so it’s getting exciting.
Day four, done and dusted. I’ll see you tomorrow for day five.
Ciao for now.
