Crisis. Anyone who runs long and far knows this word. Sometimes it comes after a few kilometers, sometimes after many hours. Sometimes it announces itself with a subtle resistance in the body, sometimes it hits out of nowhere – like a wall you crash into at full speed. But from my experience, there’s not just one kind of crisis. There are at least three layers. Three levels that overlap – the body, the emotions, and the sense of meaning.
- The Physical Crisis – “The body doesn’t want to”
This is the most “legible” kind. Muscle pain, cramps, fatigue, glycogen depletion, dehydration. Suddenly every step feels heavy. A knee protests. Breathing speeds up. Heart rate goes haywire. And then comes the thought: “I can’t go on.”
But most often, that isn’t true. This isn’t the end. It’s just a biological reaction. Eat something. Stop for a moment. Regulate your breathing. The body is sending a signal – asking for care, not surrender. I’ve survived dozens of these moments. Sometimes ten minutes of walking and a sip of water was enough. It’s not the finish line; it’s just a message from deep inside: “Take care of me.”
The body can do more than you can imagine, but sometimes it reacts like a child – with sudden fear, almost panic. You have to calm it, let it cry it out – and wait. Time is the best medicine. That violent refusal may be just a passing impulse. It’s worth giving yourself the certainty that “no” really means no.
- The Emotional Crisis – “I can’t do this”
Here it’s no longer about muscles or heart rate. This is where the inner battle begins. The mind starts spinning stories: “You’re not strong enough.” “You miscalculated again.” “Everyone else would manage, only you can’t.” Suddenly physical fatigue turns into a sense of defeat. Not because the body rebelled, but because the narrative crushed you.
This crisis requires a different response. An energy bar won’t help. What you need here is mindfulness – distance from your own thoughts. Because these aren’t facts. They’re not reality. They’re an emotional storm that will pass. You don’t need to fight it. You just need to notice it. Recognize it. Walk through it like fog. The chemistry of your mind usually doesn’t last long. Just like with the physical crisis, the key is to weather the first storm. Most often, it doesn’t have a sequel.
- The Existential Crisis – “What’s the point of all this?”
This is the moment no one teaches us how to handle. The moment when you’re running, your body hurts, your mind is fighting itself – and suddenly the question appears: “Why?” Why am I even doing this? What does it give me? Isn’t this absurd? Wouldn’t it be better to be at home right now, with a warm cup of tea?
This is the hardest crisis. But also the most valuable. Because it’s no longer just a bodily reaction, no longer just an emotional storyline – it’s touching something deeper. And here, if you don’t back away, if instead of rejecting the question you stay with it for a while… something real may appear.
Maybe this very moment, when you fall apart, is the closest you come to who you really are? Maybe you’re not most yourself when everything flows smoothly, but precisely when you’re at the edge. When you don’t know if you can go on. When you don’t know why. And yet you take a step. One more, and another.
From surviving this crisis, you’ll take away the most. Because it tells you something truly important. If you endure, you’ll find you’ve made a few steps further in a direction you never thought you could go. Suddenly, your old “I can’t go any further” will vanish like a mirage. And the most important part: your mental boundary will be permanently shifted. Your horizon will change. You’ll remember that you did it, and your “I can’t” will never again return in that same place.
