Running Toward the Skyline

What my morning run teaches me before the world wakes up

Most mornings, I leave the house well before 7. Still half-asleep. Still heavy. I start my run near All Saints DLR — the streets are quiet, and there’s a kind of stillness in the air that feels both comforting and disconnected.

But then, something shifts.

As I turn onto the long stretch toward the city, I begin to see the skyline emerge. First the tips of towers. Then shapes I recognise. Then the full face of the City rising into view.

And in that moment, my energy changes.

It's subtle but powerful — like my body realises where I’m going, and my mind catches up. My breath deepens. The rhythm of my steps evens out. It’s no longer just a run — it’s a transition.

From East London quiet to City ambition. From tired to awake. From private to public.

It’s not just about movement. It’s about shifting state — mentally, emotionally, even spiritually. I begin the run as one version of myself — heavy, reflective, maybe unsure. But by the time the skyline greets me, I feel different. Brighter. Sharper. Clearer.

I’ve come to realise that my run is the ritual that makes me ready. It’s where I check in with myself — before the calls, the emails, the decisions. Before the day claims me.

Some days it’s hard. Some days I don’t want to go. But nearly always, when I run — I arrive.
Not just at work. But in myself.