CHAPTER 7

Conquering the 5K

Cliff stood at the edge of the sidewalk, staring at the empty road ahead, wondering how he had convinced himself that this was a good idea. Memories of childhood games of tag flickered in his mind—back when he was the fastest runner in the neighborhood, darting around corners like a tiny tornado. Those days felt like a lifetime ago, and as he looked down at his slightly snug sneakers, he couldn’t help but think, “What have I gotten myself into?”

But something had stirred within him, a desire to reconnect with that long-lost version of himself who could run without feeling like his lungs were on fire. It was time to start running again, and this time, it was more about proving he still had it than anything else.

With a surge of motivation that could only be described as misguided optimism, Cliff began his routine. Every day, he’d lace up those slightly snug sneakers, step outside, and transform from a brisk walker to a slow jogger. And much like a New Year’s resolution, the initial excitement soon faded, as if his body realized it had been tricked into doing actual exercise. Running along the seaside, he couldn’t help but notice the people around him—families playing cards, grilling barbecue, or simply lounging on picnic blankets. Their curious stares seemed to say, “What is this guy doing?” Cliff could almost hear their thoughts: “Is he lost? Is this a bet?”

The more he ran, the more he felt the weight of those gazes. Cliff was someone who cared about fitting in, and being the only one sweating while everyone else enjoyed their day felt… awkward. It didn’t help that some of them looked at him like he was an alien who’d just landed and decided to take up jogging. “Don’t they have sidewalks on Mars?” Cliff imagined them whispering.

Still, there was something oddly appealing about the solitude of running. As an introvert, Cliff found comfort in the lonely road. It was just him, his thoughts, and the sound of his wheezing breath. Running was a solitary sport, and in a way, it suited him just fine—though he did wonder if there was a way to enjoy it without, you know, actually running.

To drown out the world and his own doubts, Cliff armed himself with technology. He bought a smartwatch, loaded it with his favorite music, and paired it with wireless earphones. The moment he pressed play, the beat of the music synchronized with the rhythm of his feet hitting the pavement. The numbers on his smartwatch—pace, distance, time—became his new obsession, as if calculating his suffering could somehow make it more bearable. Occasionally, the watch would buzz with a message like a well-meaning but slightly annoying friend. “Yesterday you said today—are we running today?” Cliff couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright, I’m going,” he muttered to the watch, as if it could hear him.

But running wasn’t easy for a man who hadn’t done it since the last time his sneakers fit properly. Each step was a challenge, each breath a reminder of how far he’d come—from the couch to the sidewalk, with the sidewalk feeling much longer than it actually was. Determined to push through, Cliff turned to the internet, his trusty guide in all things challenging. That’s when he discovered the Couch to 5K (C25K) program. The name itself was an invitation—a promise that even someone like him, who had been glued to the couch for years, could eventually run a 5K. “Well, if they say so,” Cliff thought. He had nothing to lose, except maybe his dignity.

As the weeks passed, Cliff began to notice a shift within himself. Each completed session brought a sense of accomplishment, a small victory over the part of him that would rather be eating snacks on the couch. There were good days when the air was crisp, his legs felt strong, and his spirit was high—days when he almost felt like he could be one of those people who actually enjoyed running. But there were also bad days—days when he was sleep-deprived from a night shift, when his body ached from exhaustion, or when the oppressive heat and humidity of Seatown’s summer made every step feel like wading through date molasses. On those days, he stumbled across a quote that resonated with him: “Sometimes you run best when you didn’t feel like running at all.” It echoed in his mind, nudging him to lace up his shoes even when the bed called his name. And more often than not, those reluctant runs left him feeling better, stronger, and surprisingly more alive than ever.

To keep himself accountable, Cliff signed up for a charity 5K run in his area. The idea of running a 5K seemed daunting, a mountain he wasn’t sure he could climb. Fear crept in, whispering doubts into his mind. But something stronger within him—a stubborn streak, perhaps—refused to let fear win. Cliff had never been the cool, confident type. On the outside, he might have projected calm, but inside, he wrestled with every challenge like a man trying to put on a pair of jeans fresh out of the dryer. Yet, he was no quitter. If there was one thing Cliff knew about himself, it was that he had the tenacity to see things through, no matter how daunting the task.

As race day approached, the nerves set in. The night before, sleep eluded him as he lay awake, thoughts racing faster than his legs ever could. When the morning arrived, Cliff felt a cocktail of emotions—excitement, fear, and a quiet confidence that had grown over the weeks of training. The atmosphere at the race was electric, buzzing with the energy of the runners and the cheers of the spectators. Cliff took his place well behind the starting line, the weight of the challenge heavy on his shoulders.

When the gun fired, Cliff took off, his legs moving almost on their own, though not nearly as fast as he remembered from his tag days. The race was a blur of sweat, determination, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in his ears. It wasn’t easy—every step was a battle against fatigue, doubt, and the urge to slow down and pretend he was just out for a casual stroll. But as he approached the finish line, something incredible happened. The exhaustion melted away, replaced by a surge of pride. He had done it. His time wasn’t great—okay, it was pretty bad—but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had finished.

As he crossed the finish line, Cliff was met with a wave of applause. Among the crowd, he spotted familiar faces—his colleagues from work, there to cover the event for medical emergencies. The race was small, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but to Cliff, it felt epic. It wasn’t about the size of the race or the speed of his run. It was about the effort he had poured into it, the journey he had taken from the couch to the finish line.

But once again, the joy of the moment was fleeting. As the adrenaline faded, Cliff found himself once again buried under the weight of his endless to-do list. The accomplishment of the 5K was quickly overshadowed by the demands of his work responsibilities and the ever-present concern for his wife, who was growing sicker with each passing year. Yet, the reality was, he often found himself at the mercy of endless tasks that didn’t matter most. The importance of what he was missing hadn’t dawned on him. Not until he learned about the 7 habits...