Impossible
For Now

Running is how I make sense of my existence.
Every step is an agreement I make with myself. Every breath is a declaration that I am still here.

Some are born walking; I had to build every step through effort.
Standing up was never a reflex for me; it was a victory earned through determination.

My muscles did not set my limits.
What lit the road was mental resistance.
So the thing truly running was the desire inside me.

I sweated because I was inside life.
I fell hard because my road was real.
I stood up again because giving up never entered the plan.

Movement is more than habit or hobby to me.
It is the language in which I defend my existence.
Some speak in words; I spoke through muscle memory.

To run is to keep rhythm with falling and rising,
To compete is to surpass who you were yesterday,
To gain is to know there is still a spark burning inside you.

I did not write this manifesto with muscular strength.
I carved it with the letters of will and the sentences of patience.
Because the road is also a journey of the spirit.

When you run, the clock stops keeping time. With every step a moment expands; with every breath, something becomes infinite.
The straight line of time bends, and rhythm opens another dimension.

Every lap can contain a lifetime, or perhaps shed the residue of one.
Minutes stretch, seconds become dense.
Running is learning to vibrate at the same frequency as time.

When one foot touches the ground, the weight of the past grows lighter.
As the other lifts, anxiety about the future loosens.
In the end only “now” remains.
A pure, clear, untouched moment.

As the mind settles, the tempo becomes clear.
Your heartbeat and the world become one.
In that moment, you are the composer of time.

While you run, the past does not chase you and the future does not wait for you. There is only now.

In Ancient Greece, competition was called “agon”:
The purpose went beyond winning; it was an honourable struggle.
Character was shaped before the podium, and effort was honoured before applause.

In those days, only strong bodies were recognized;
but with time we learned that struggle does not begin only in muscle.
Sometimes an invisible difficulty—
getting out of bed one morning, taking a single step—can be both simple and revolutionary.

For me, the track was an act of rebellion.
A refusal of the expectations imposed by the system,
the courage to draw my own line despite the limits drawn around me.

When I ran, I had neither rival nor audience.
With every step, walls cracked; with every breath, a taboo broke.
Unlike the ancient athletes who wrote history in sweat,
I became the voice of a quiet resistance.

In an age ruled by spectacle, favouritism, and exclusion,
I turned my own body into the ground on which to challenge them.

The truly strong do not need applause.
That strength rises inwardly;
its echo travels beyond time.

Victory does not begin at the finish line; it begins with convincing yourself again each day.

Freedom cannot be reduced to a list of rights promised by a country.
For me, freedom begins when I can choose when to wake, what to eat and do, and what sound my body will move with.
That is precisely why discipline became one of my greatest tools of freedom.

Some people see discipline as a form of restriction.
But when I began waking at a certain hour and starting each day with certain movements, I realized I was actually drawing my own route.
I was building an order that came from within.
That order became a structure that made my own inner strength visible.

That is why my relationship with sport was never an ordinary health routine.
Every plank, every stretch, every attempt to run…
showed me that my body could still learn.
And when those movements became habit, my mind began to feel freer too.

I did not stop at physical practice.
One day I realized that the most effective thing I had done to improve my voice was singing.
Just as running made me forget the limited sides of my body, singing made my difficulty with speech retreat for a moment.
My breath opened; words became freer inside melody.
When reading a sentence plainly was difficult, singing it could break barriers my mind had placed in front of it.

That is where discipline found its real meaning.
Beginning again every day, understanding my body again, hearing my voice again…
These did not make me dependent on someone else. On the contrary, they introduced me to my own inner strength.

Discipline created this transformation in me:
things that once looked impossible slowly moved into the realm of the possible.
As I walked the same road each day, the road began to open itself to me.

If I wanted freedom in a restricted body, I had to place the key to that freedom in discipline’s pocket.

For me, this struggle was far more than a rehabilitation protocol.
It was a metaphysical rebellion disguised as biological revision.
Instead of accepting the limits my body drew for me, I rewrote them with every step.

At five days old, it seemed as if my fate had already been written.
Cerebral palsy…
A label that began with those two words and continued with an endless chain of assumptions.
Cannot speak, cannot walk, cannot read, cannot write, cannot succeed…

But I became the person who crossed those labels out.

For years, training worked more than my muscles; it trained my capacity to transform reality as well.
Because this was more than a sporting discipline; it was a method of existence.
Standing up became more than an action; it became an answer.
An answer:
to the system that confined me, the assumptions that reduced me, the teachings that told me to stay silent…

At five days old, they drew me a life that was supposed to stop. I lifted that map away and began a journey shaped as I ran. With every acceleration, that run became a manifesto: Runifesto.

To run,
is the mind resisting matter.
It is a desire walking over boundaries.
When desire is stubborn enough, physical reality yields to it.

That is why walking was never enough for me.
I ran.
And that run became the metaphor of my whole life.
With every step there was more freedom, more existence, more “me.”

When I set out, I had no list in my hand, only determination.
Running became a way of existing. I lived by its rhythm and fought with its tempo.
My steps were never just numbers.
They were the rhythm I held against my own story.

In time, a Runifesto emerged from this journey.
These are the six principles at its core:

What called me to running was not freedom so much as the courage to look my limits in the eye.
You cannot cross a line you refuse to see.
You cannot fight an obstacle you do not know.
And you cannot transform through a reality you have never faced.

So I never ignored any of my limitations.
But I refused to let them become seals stamped onto my step, my voice, or my identity.

At five days old, limits were written into my body.
My spirit, meanwhile, had already begun learning to look beyond them.
I dreamed surreal dreams, but the soil beneath them always stayed in contact with the ground.
Surrealism fed my spirit; realism built my life.

I never stopped dreaming.
But beneath my dreams, I drew a line of acknowledged reality.
Because the power of a leap comes from the foot that is planted on the ground.

My journey was a search for balance.
On one side, the diagnoses written by doctors;
on the other, new possibilities drawn in my mind…

Every person has limits.
First they must be seen, then understood, then surpassed.
Unlike denial, understanding can set you free.

This journey is a call to that understanding:
to learn to speak with the conflicts inside you without being defeated by them.
To remember that weakness does not have to be denied before it can be transformed into strength.

Real transformation begins with a truth walking in the light of imagination.

And now…
I am speaking to you:
Look at your limits differently.
Approach them with curiosity instead of fear.
Every line may carry a possibility.

If your body imposes something on you, build another universe with your mind.
Do not memorize reality—question it, transform it, and if necessary, rewrite it.

Walk, even if slowly.
Run when you are ready.
In the end, draw your own road with your steps.

Because life is not a script written for you; it is a draft waiting beneath your pen.

What are you waiting for to write your own Runifesto?
Sign your name beneath the boldest sentence of your existence.

Run toward your dreams,
but do not forget the rules of running:
Warm up, focus, accelerate.
Erase the limits.