Week 6 of Morning Running — What Actually Changed
Morning Running Log | Week 6
Week 6 of Morning Running — What Actually Changed
Six weeks in. My Garmin shows 326km over the past four weeks — the first time I've crossed 300km in a single month.
Honestly? That number doesn't feel like the point.
I don't know if I've gotten faster. My body hasn't visibly transformed. But something has changed. In Week 3, I wrote that the problem wasn't the morning — it was the evening. Six weeks later, I think the real change has been somewhere else entirely.
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I. The Mind Gives Out Before the Body Does
Back in college, I worked a part-time job at a factory — packing boxes on an assembly line. I told myself it was hard because it was physical work. But thinking back now, it wasn't my body that gave out first. It was the endless repetition. The conveyor belt that never stopped. Nothing to think about, no one to talk to. My body said it was tired, but my mind had already quit.
Office work isn't so different. It feels like the job is exhausting — but if you look closely, it's the people, the meetings, the emotions. Holding things in. Pushing through. Swallowing frustration all day long. At some point, the mental energy just runs out.
And on the days it runs out,
the people I care about most
are the ones who get the worst of me.
I don't think I'm alone in that.
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II. So I Started Managing Myself
The reason I started morning runs wasn't grand. It wasn't about losing weight or hitting a personal record.
To keep the mental energy from hitting zero.
To have a little more patience when things get hard.
To be a little more forgiving with myself —
and a little better to the people I love.
· · ·
III. Is There Actually Science Behind This?
Psychologist Roy Baumeister has argued for years that self-control works like a muscle — it gets depleted. Push through enough in a day, and eventually it gives out.
Exercise physiology points in the same direction: during a run, the brain's default mode network — the circuit responsible for rumination and scattered thinking — quiets down. Serotonin and dopamine are released. Whatever mental reserves were spent during the day start to refill.
Of course, the mind isn't a battery. One run doesn't transform a person.
after a run, things feel a little more okay.
That's enough.
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IV. The Change Wasn't in the Numbers — It Was in a Few Scenes
Monday mornings are still rough.
I hit snooze a few times. The first thought in my head is my team leader's face. "How am I going to get through another week."
Those are exactly the mornings I lace up and go out anyway.
Each step is heavy. 300m. 500m. When the breathing gets hard, the noise in my head starts to thin out. The stream along Anyang-cheon comes into focus. The sky opens up in the distance.
And somewhere in there, I notice: I'm actually out here running. I kept the promise I made to myself this morning. That feels like something.
· · ·
A while back, my wife called mid-afternoon.
"Daehyun says it's his birthday today so he's skipping his math tutoring."
I felt the irritation rise immediately. If you're going to cancel, you give notice. The tutor deserves better than that.
That evening, when my younger son came home from the PC café, I called him over.
"Yeah?"
"Are you serious right now?"
"You need to let the tutor know the day before. That's just basic respect."
"Yeah, you're right."
We talked about consideration. And then it was done.
A few months ago, it wouldn't have ended there.
· · ·
V. A Man in His 40s and 50s — Getting Ready
It occurred to me the other morning.
Women put on makeup before going out. There's something about that ritual — sitting at the mirror, taking the time to prepare — that changes how you carry yourself. It's not about the lipstick. It's the quiet confidence that comes from having taken care of yourself.
So what's the equivalent for a man in his 40s or 50s?
After a run and a shower, the face in the mirror looks the same. No weight lost. No wrinkles gone.
But I know something.
I took care of myself.
And that fullness doesn't stay inside. It shows up in the expression. The tone of voice. The patience. The ease. Maybe it's something other people can sense without quite being able to name it.
At this age, presence comes less from how you look and more from how you carry yourself. Ease. Confidence.
Maybe running is a man's way of putting on his face.
· · ·
And on evenings when there's still something left in the tank —
I go out with my wife to Anyang-cheon.
We run a little. Then we walk back. I hold her hand.
She talks about the kids. About work. Nothing in particular.
Listening to her voice — calm, unhurried, just whatever's on her mind — something settles in me.
Nothing special about it.
Just an ordinary day ending the way ordinary days should.
Nothing happened today.
That was enough.
