Why Are We Running?
I’ve been walking uphill a lot lately.
Not power walking. Not rushing.
Just walking — deliberately.
And it’s not easy.
I’m working. I’m sweating.
My breath changes. My legs burn.
But I’m not forcing speed.
I’m not chasing pace.
I’m paying attention.
So why are we running?
Not in a moral sense.
Not in a judgmental way.
But genuinely — where did this idea come from that running is the default, intelligent, or superior way to move our bodies?
From an evolutionary perspective, running had one primary purpose: escape.
We ran from danger.
And when the danger passed, we walked again.
Walking was how we lived.
Running as a Concept, Not a Necessity
Today, most people run not because they need to — but because they believe they should.
Running has become a symbol:
of fitness
of discipline
of effort
of “doing enough”
Faster feels better.
Harder feels productive.
Sweat feels earned.
But those are cultural values, not biological truths.
When I watch runners now, what I see isn’t freedom or efficiency.
I see bracing.
Rigid torsos.
Minimal arm swing.
Shoulders held tight.
Bodies bouncing forward off the toes.
It looks exhausting — not just physically, but neurologically.
What the Body Actually Does When It Runs Habitually
Many runners are not moving through their bodies — they’re holding them.
The spine stays fixed.
The ribcage barely moves.
The arms pump, but don’t rotate.
The body becomes narrow.
Over time, this trains:
stiffness through the upper back
reduced shoulder blade movement
shallow breathing
jaw and neck tension
reliance on momentum instead of support
It’s not just “wear and tear” on joints.
It’s a loss of movement options.
And that’s what I see most clearly in older lifelong athletes — not weakness, but rigidity.
Strong bodies that no longer know how to soften, rotate, or adapt.
Walking, Done Well, Tells a Different Story
When I walk uphill now, I press my heels down.
I roll through my feet.
I let my glutes take the load.
Immediately, my body responds:
my lower back feels supported
my breath deepens
my shoulders soften
my jaw unclenches
This kind of walking is not passive.
It’s demanding — but in a different way.
It requires presence.
Control.
Time.
Slower is harder.
And slower builds something faster movement often bypasses:
awareness.
Faster Isn’t Better — It’s Just Louder
In Pilates and SomaFlow, this is something I teach daily:
Bigger movements are not the goal.
Faster movements are not the goal.
Slower asks more of the nervous system.
Slower builds strength that lasts.
Slower restores trust.
You can’t rush awareness.
You can’t fake support.
And you can’t override the body forever without a cost.
This isn’t just a movement principle — it’s universal.
So Why Do We Keep Running?
Because we’ve been taught that:
speed equals success
effort equals worth
slowing down means falling behind
But what if the most intelligent movement choice isn’t the fastest one?
What if efficiency isn’t about how quickly you move — but how long you can move well?
The Quiet Truth
I’m not saying running is bad.
I’m saying running by default — without awareness, variation, or support — is costly over time.
Most people aren’t actually walking anymore in a biomechanical sense.
They’re falling forward and catching themselves.
And most people aren’t running toward health — they’re running because they think they should.
Walking — intentional, supported, attentive walking — builds a body you can live in for decades.
And that feels like the smarter choice to me.