Help Bonnie raise money

Before a run, the world feels like it’s pressing in on me from every direction. My body goes tight — shoulders up, jaw locked, breath shallow — and I can feel myself sliding into that quiet shutdown where everything gets too loud, too bright, too fast. It’s not dramatic, just a slow narrowing of my capacity until I’m half‑here, half‑gone, bracing against a day that suddenly feels too big. That’s the part of my mental health people don’t always see: how quickly sensory overload becomes emotional overload, and how fast both can pull me under. Intentional movement is one of the few things that interrupts that spiral. When I start running — even stiff, even tense, even reluctant — something shifts. My breath finds a rhythm. My muscles stop bracing and start moving. The world that was pressing in begins to ease back. Step by step, I come back online. For me, running isn’t about pace or performance. It’s about regulation