‘A meme that’s been circulating lately shows a runner proudly posting a new personal best while the world behind him is literally exploding. Mushroom cloud, burning skyline, cheerful caption: “New 5K PR!”

It’s ridiculous. But it also feels weirdly accurate.

That’s more or less how life works nowadays. You’re checking your pace on a running app, wondering if you can shave a few seconds off your split, when a notification appears: airstrikes somewhere, casualties somewhere else, a city you may have recently travelled to suddenly becoming the center of the global news cycle.

After the long stretch of pandemic anxiety, I assumed we had already used up our lifetime supply of existential dread. During those lockdown years, the promise was simple: once Covid loosened its grip, the world would stabilize. We would breathe again — literally — and normal life would slowly reassemble itself.

Instead, the headlines now read like someone left the “crisis” setting permanently switched on.

Countries behave irrationally. Leaders posture. Diplomacy sometimes resembles a bar fight conducted with press releases. And once again the same question surfaces in quieter moments: what’s the point of planning anything if everything can unravel overnight?

Two months ago, I flew to Dubai to run a marathon. If there’s a city that seems built to defy fragility, it’s that one. Towers rise out of the desert like someone’s architectural flex. The skyline gleams so brightly it almost feels theoretical — less like a place people live and more like a concept someone sketched on a very expensive tablet.

I remember standing outside before dawn on race morning. The desert air was cool, the streets were still, and the first light was bouncing off glass towers that looked indestructible.

At the time it felt inspiring. Now the memory feels slightly different. The idea that anything is permanent — cities, systems, even the calm stretches of history — suddenly seems overly optimistic.

Normally when the news gets overwhelming, I deal with it in the most unsophisticated way possible: I go for a run. Running doesn’t solve anything, but it organizes the noise. The steady rhythm of footsteps has a way of sanding down whatever jagged thoughts the day has produced.

Unfortunately, I’ve been sidelined the past two weeks. During a marathon I took a fall dramatic enough to earn a respectable amount of road rash. So the routine that usually keeps my brain balanced has temporarily disappeared.

I recently read the Runner’s World conversation between Haruki Murakami and Harry Styles. It was oddly reassuring. Styles didn’t describe running as some grand philosophy. Sometimes, he said, it’s simply structure — a small, repeatable act that keeps your mind from drifting too far into the chaos.

I’ve also been watching YouTubers debate early reviews of the upcoming Adidas Hyperboost like it’s the moon landing of foam technology. Compared with casualty counts and geopolitical brinkmanship, running shoe midsole engineering is gloriously trivial.

And yet that triviality is exactly what makes it calming.

Running is maintenance. Like brushing your teeth or charging your phone — small habits that keep the system running.

Each kilometer becomes a place to dump the frustration that builds up after reading too many headlines about powerful people behaving recklessly. The rhythm helps — not because it symbolizes resilience or triumph, but because it reminds you that forward motion still exists.

Hoping to be pounding the pavement again soon.