Many moons ago, when I was still a young little girl with a head full of hopes and dreams, conversations with the mirror used to be a daily ritual.

Seated before my dressing table, words would flow effortlessly as though I’m engaging in a serious debate with someone unseen; often a family member or a friend conjured by the mind.

Strangely enough, these exchanges always escalated into impassioned disputes, leaving an odd sense of confidence in their wake. Expressions would be studied with the precision of an actress rehearsing for her unseen audience while every word was met with a carefully measured response. An internal script playing out flawlessly before its turn to be spoken aloud.

The dialogue would exist in two realms. One within my mind and the other beyond the lips, each reinforcing the other in perfect synchronicity.

It was one of my favourite things to do. Just me, unfiltered, and expressing myself in my own unique way and without the noise of the external world.

I have vivid memories of my childhood.

When I reflect on or share some of them with friends and family, one thing that always comes up is my eagerness to try new things.

Though I’m sure we’ve all tried several things until we finally find something we’re genuinely passionate about, I’d like to believe that my experience is different simply because I’m incredibly impulsive.

That was just a little introduction line, but to cut to the chase — I’ve dabbled in many passions — from being an aspiring dancer to playing chess and hockey, taking pottery classes, studying law, quitting studying law in favor of culinary, to blogging and writing this post on Medium.

My last long run for peak running season was scheduled for this past weekend before my third attempt at the full marathon, and it is supposed to feel like a victory lap.

Instead, there’s this heavy, nagging feeling — the feeling that I’m slowly pulling away from my goals like some unseen force in my brain is gearing up to derail me. A feeling that I’m all too familiar with.

Just three more taper weeks of training before the big day, and my brain’s already playing games with me, whispering all the little ways I might not be good enough.

“If you’re not careful with your thoughts,” I think to myself, “you’ll DNF again, Nadia.”

Most people quit running before they even began to reap any real benefits from it.

And I get it; running sometimes feel like an endless chore of step after monotonous step. But, if you’re truly looking to elevate not just your run but your overall outlook on life, there’s one thing I’ve found that is making a profound difference; — track training.

It’s most certainly not something you’ll see everyone doing. Most people see it as “extra,” as if pounding down the path or hitting a 10k on the treadmill isn’t enough.

I’ve always leaned towards introversion.

As we speak, I’m reading Susan Cain’s book, “Quiet” for the second time, just so it can confirm my self-fulfilling prophecies.

My husband hates it when I tell myself this with such conviction. But it’s true – I’m a born introvert.

And over the last three years of running regularly, the solitude that comes with it more often than not, exacerbates this fact.

While I’ve been trying to run away (pun intended) from my introverted personality most of my life, the more I run, the more my personality seems to find me, sit with me, and tell me “It’s okay to be different.”

For the better part of three years, one of my mains goals was to go booze-less for one month. Just one.

But somehow, I fell into a trap believing that giving up alcohol for any specific amount of days, would be the most difficult challenge I could ever commit myself to. If you had to ask my husband how many countless discussions we’ve had about it — he’d laugh.

Like many of us, alcohol has had a sneaky way of creeping into my life, making me dependent on my ‘wine-upper’ whenever life throws me down. It wasn’t until the Sober Curious Movement, popularised by British author Ruby Warrington, that I began to question and reconsider my relationship with alcohol.

Between 1976 and 1977, my dad was deployed with the South African Army as a frontline soldier when he took part in the Border War — also known as the Namibian War of Independence, which lasted from 1966 to 1989.

This conflict was more than just a regional skirmish. It was a stage for larger ideological battles tied to the Cold War, with South Africa’s apartheid regime clinging to control over Namibia under the guise of combating communism.

The war left behind a fractured legacy; untold suffering, ideological scars, and, for those who served, a silence that often spoke louder than words.

Grade 4, 1998. Mid-term exam results just came out, and I’m ecstatic to share my 98 percentile mark with anyone who cared – achieving the highest scored in my grade and placing me at the top of my class for one of my favourite subjects.

Throughout primary school, my dad used to pick me up from after-school daycare. We had an estranged relationship, but I wanted to share the excitement I so deeply carried that day and express how unbelievably proud I was of this achievement.