Since I started doing triathlons, my everyday life has changed—quietly, but unmistakably.
The biggest change is that feelings of gratitude now come to me naturally.
Every morning at 3 a.m., when my alarm goes off, I quietly rise in a still–dark room.
When I step outside, the world is still asleep, and only the streetlights gently illuminate the road. Stars linger in the sky, the air is crisp, and when I take a deep breath, it feels as though clean air fills my lungs all the way down.
At this hour, I don’t meet anyone.
No cars pass, no sign of people—it’s as if I’m the only person in the world.
But I don’t dislike that solitude.
If anything, it’s a time when I can face myself fully. Listening to the sound of my own footsteps and breathing, there are moments when I feel, “Yes, I’m really alive right now.”
Sometimes I stop during my run and look up at the sky.
The color gradually begins to shift.
The first star fades, and blue and orange slowly blend together. Each time I see that gradient, I naturally straighten my posture and think, “A new day is beginning.”
During bike training, as the sky grows pale, I ride endlessly along mountain roads and riversides.
All I hear is the sound of the wind cutting past me—nothing else.
But that “nothing” is exactly what clears my mind.
When I go to the pool, the surface of the water is perfectly still like a mirror, since no one else is there yet. The splash when I dive in for the first time echoes through the entire space. Somehow, I love that sound—it feels like the signal that morning has truly begun.
Of course, I feel sleepy sometimes, and there are days when my body feels heavy.
But those feelings disappear.
Just having this time, just having a body that moves the way I ask it to—that alone fills me with gratitude. Before I know it, the sleepiness and fatigue are gone, and I’m already moving forward.
So today, too, when I start running through the dark, I quietly say in my heart:
“Thank you.”