I didn’t know it at the time, but this was the last year I’d run the way I always had. Everything that followed changed the picture fundamentally. But in 2022, I was still blissfully unaware. The year marked twenty years of running. Looking back, I couldn’t quite believe it.
Twenty Years
The year began quietly. I celebrated the anniversary on June 11th — exactly twenty years since my first run. No fanfare, just a run. The way it should be.
The weather was the usual mix: a cold spell in January, snow in February, a heatwave in summer. In March, I ran my first half marathon in years — a small local race, nothing like the big-city events, but it felt good to have a race number pinned to my shirt again. I finished in 1:54:31. No ambitions beyond finishing and enjoying it.
The Lake
In spring, I discovered a lake I hadn’t known about, despite living nearby for months. A colleague mentioned it in passing. That weekend I drove out to see it, and found a beautiful three-kilometer loop around it — flat, paved, quiet. I started going there on weekends for longer runs, twelve to fourteen kilometers: three or four laps, with the water always in sight. A small paradise within reach.
The Crayfish
One morning in September on my usual route, I noticed something on the bike path: a crayfish, fully alive, trying to cross. How it got there — the nearest water was hundreds of meters away — I have no idea. I stopped, picked it up carefully (those claws mean business), carried it to the creek, and set it down in the water. It sat still for a moment, then disappeared. A strange encounter. I’d never held a live crayfish before. Probably never will again.
Autumn Colours and a Warning
October was spectacular that year. The colours along the route were extraordinary — I’d lived here for years but never seen an autumn quite like it. I slowed down several times just to look. Running can be many things, including a front-row seat to the seasons.
In November, the breathing difficulty I’d experienced twice before came back. Slightly more noticeable this time. I told myself it was the cold air, the seasonal change. I didn’t think much of it. I should have.
The End of an Era I Didn’t See Coming
December closed the year the usual way: daily runs, audiobooks, cold mornings, warm coffee afterward. Three hundred and ten runs, just over three thousand kilometers. Twenty years of running, five thousand three hundred sessions, fifty-six thousand kilometers.
I had no idea that the rhythm I’d built over two decades — the rhythm that had become as natural as breathing — was about to be broken. The next year would bring something I’d never imagined. But on December 31st, 2022, I laced up my shoes, went out into the cold, and ran. The way I always had. The way I thought I always would.
2022: 310 runs / 3,108 km
Since 2002: 5,372 sessions / 56,564 km