It was still dark when my alarm went off.
That soft, quiet hour when the city hasn’t fully woken up yet, when your body feels heavy but your mind feels strangely open. I slipped out of bed at 4:30 a.m., tied my shoes, and headed to Sala while the streets were still calm and forgiving.
Some Saturdays feel rushed. This one didn’t.
This Saturday felt like a deep exhale.
Jerome hadn’t arrived, so I started to warm up. I met him at 5:06 a.m., and the sky was still very dark. We know each other through our mutual friend Hippo, and we share that bond that people who love sports often do. Jerome is an avid swimmer, a seriously strong one. He once qualified for the swimming world championship, which still blows my mind when I think about it. He’s also a much stronger runner than I am.
And yet, that morning, we simply ran side by side.
No pressure. No proving. Just movement.
Running the Same Distance, in a Different Body
We ran 15 kilometers at a very easy pace.
The number itself isn’t what mattered. What mattered was how different it felt compared to the last time I ran that same distance with him.
The first time we ran together was right after I came back from injury. I had gained a few kilos, hadn’t trained properly for months, and my body felt unfamiliar. Even at an easy pace, I struggled to breathe. Every kilometer felt like a negotiation with myself.
That run humbled me.
This time was different.
My breathing was steady. My legs felt cooperative. I wasn’t fighting my body, I was moving with it.
Have you ever repeated something, a route, a habit, a challenge, and realized how much you’ve changed without noticing it day to day?
Progress doesn’t always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it just shows up quietly, in how less hard something feels.
The Quiet Safety of Running With Someone
We took a long route along the river.
I love early morning runs, but running alone in the dark sometimes scares me. There are stretches with little light and fewer people. When it’s just you, your thoughts can wander into worst-case scenarios very quickly.
Running with Jerome felt safe. Sometimes we all need that presence, especially in the dark.
He checked in on me, asking about my heart rate, making sure we stayed in the right zone so we could truly run together. That kind of care is subtle, but it matters. It reminded me of Tri, whom I used to train with for Ironman Da Nang 2025.
Tri was always attentive, gently reminding me to keep my ego in check and to train with intention, not impatience. We spent countless mornings cycling through Can Gio, long quiet roads by the sea, followed by unhurried brunches that felt just as nourishing as the training itself.
Our first triathlon race trip in Bau Trang together still stays with me. We drove from Ho Chi Minh City to Bau Trang in Binh Thuan, a 233-kilometre journey that took nearly four hours. Somewhere between the road, the conversations, and the shared excitement, I learned how powerful it is to train alongside someone who truly looks out for you.
Keeping the Ego in Check
One of the most important lessons endurance training has taught me is this.
Ego is sneaky.
It shows up when you feel good and want to go faster than planned. It whispers that you should prove something, even when no one is watching.
But real progress comes from restraint.
Jerome reminded me, without saying much, that staying in the safe zone is not weakness. It’s intelligence. It’s respect for your body and for the long game.
This applies far beyond running.
In work. In relationships. In life.
How often do we push just to show we can, even when it costs us later?
Learning when not to push is a skill. One I’m still practising.
The Last Kilometers That Changed the Run
Near the end of the run, Jerome suggested we pick up the pace for the last kilometer.
Normally, on easy runs, I never do this. Easy means easy. I keep it controlled, predictable.
But he believed I could do it.
And somehow, I believed it too.
The last two kilometres were faster, but not reckless. Challenging, but safe. I felt strong, capable, present.
Sometimes it takes someone else believing in you before you allow yourself to try.
Right there, in motion, I decided something quietly.
From now on, for long runs, I want to run with him.
Not because I can’t do it alone, but because having someone who pushes you at the right moments is a gift.
The kind of push that feels kind, not demanding.
Strength Training and Quiet Gratitude
After a nap and some work, I went to the gym for about an hour and a half.
For the past five weeks, I’ve been consistently doing strength training. And I can feel the difference. In running. In cycling. In swimming.
My body feels more stable. More capable. Less fragile.
Jerome was actually the one who encouraged me to take strength training seriously, to support the other sports I love so much. Another reason I’m grateful for his presence in my life.
Strength training has become something I genuinely enjoy. It grounds me. It reminds me that resilience is built slowly, one repetition at a time.
There’s something very honest about lifting weights. You can’t fake it. You show up as you are.
Ending With Heat and Stillness
I ended the session with a 30-minute sauna.
This has become one of my favorite rituals.
The heat. The stillness. Sitting there, breathing, letting my body soften after heavy training.
I often do a mini meditation in the sauna. Nothing fancy. Just noticing my breath, my heartbeat, the quiet gratitude for having a body that carries me through all of this.
The physical benefits are real, but the mental calm is what I treasure most.
In those moments, everything feels simpler.
Dinner With Someone Who Inspires Me
That evening, I had dinner with my friend Cat (that’s the nickname).
Cat is someone I admire deeply. She was part of the very first generation of UWC students in Costa Rica. Later, she went to MIT. She was known for her brilliance even back then, and she went on to file patents, work on groundbreaking projects, and build her own startup.
Now, she’s spending a lot of time studying longevity.
She’s also a strong runner.
Our conversations often circle back to running, health, and how to live well for a long time. We also talked about UWC. Cat is currently the chair of the national committee, and I lead the selection. Beyond selection, there are many other responsibilities we discussed, and ways I can support more in the future.
Those conversations matter to me.
They remind me that purpose doesn’t disappear when you get older. It evolves.
Decathlon, Lost Bottles, and Small Joys
After dinner, I stopped by Decathlon.
It’s one of my favorite stores.
I’ve been running a lot in Sala, and over time, I’ve lost a few water bottles. I usually tuck them into a bush while running loops, but the city workers sometimes mistake them for trash. Sala is always so clean, which I appreciate, even if it means sacrificing the occasional bottle.
So I picked up a few things for training.
Simple joys.
Preparing your gear. Laying things out. Feeling ready.
I’m flying home soon, and I can already feel the anticipation. Going home. Taking a proper holiday. Slowing down even more.
What This Saturday Taught Me
This Saturday wasn’t dramatic.
No race. No big announcement. No milestone photo.
And yet, it gave me so much.
It reminded me that progress is often quiet.
That safety and support matter more than speed.
That being pushed gently can be a form of support.
That rest is productive.
That strength builds confidence in ways we don’t always notice.
Most of all, it reminded me how grateful I am for the people around me. The ones who run beside me, lift with me, sit across the table from me, and care about the long arc of life.
If your days feel loud and demanding lately, maybe you don’t need a big change.
Maybe you just need a Saturday like this.
A day that feels like a deep exhale.