LOLZLetter 328 |Running Isn’t Therapy: It’s a Coping Mechanism

and that’s not always healthy

Jun 08, 2025

Welcome,

We’ve all seen the quote: Running is my therapy. It's slapped on tank tops, used as a caption under post-run selfies, and uttered like a badge of honor at race expos or group runs.

I used to say it too.

But at some point, I had to sit with the uncomfortable reality that, for many of us, running might not actually be therapy. It might just be the thing we use to avoid therapy.

Here’s the thing: running can feel therapeutic.

It clears your head.

It gives you endorphins.

It offers structure, routine, and sometimes a sense of control when everything else feels like a mess. You leave your problems at the door and sweat it out...until your next run, anyway. That’s the trap. It feels like you’re dealing with things, but sometimes you’re just running away from them. Temporarily.

I’m not here to ruin anyone’s runner’s high. I love running. I’ve built a huge part of my life around it. But I also know that there’s a fine line between a healthy outlet and a coping mechanism that quietly becomes a crutch. And the running community isn’t great at talking about that.

What’s the difference between therapy and coping?

Let’s start there. Therapy is an intentional process. You explore the hard stuff, process emotions, and (hopefully) build tools to move forward.

Running, on the other hand, is a coping mechanism. That’s not a bad word. We need coping mechanisms. But some...like exercise, productivity, or constant busyness...are sneaky. They look healthy on the outside. People will even praise you for them.

But they don’t get to the root. They manage the symptoms.

If you’re using running to regulate your emotions, dodge difficult conversations, or avoid uncomfortable truths, it’s not therapy...it’s avoidance.

The culture doesn’t help

Let’s be honest: the running world loves this narrative. The idea that running can heal you, save you, fix you. We’re all for “runner’s therapy” until someone actually breaks down or burns out. Then it’s crickets or confusion.

We celebrate the comeback stories without asking what led to the breakdown in the first place. We praise consistency, grit, and mental toughness, but we rarely question what’s underneath that relentless need to keep going.

Sometimes, it’s trauma.

Sometimes, it’s anxiety.

Sometimes, it’s depression.

And sometimes, we don’t want to look too closely, because the miles feel safer than the mirror.

Signs running might be masking, not healing

I’m not a therapist, but I’ve seen enough (in myself and others) to know when running crosses into unhealthy territory. Some signs to watch out for:

You feel anxious or guilty when you skip a run. This is something I think want to break down in another newsletter because the fear of rest is a big problem.
You’re using running to numb, not process.
You avoid rest days because they leave you too much time to think.
You plan your life around your training in a way that isolates you.
You equate progress in running with progress in healing...but nothing else in your life is improving.

Again, this isn’t about demonizing running. It’s about being honest. You can love the sport and admit it might be helping you avoid things. I have been there in parts of my life especially my years post college.

When running actually helps (and when it doesn’t)

Running is a tool. It can support mental health. Movement is good for our brains. It can regulate our nervous systems, improve sleep, reduce symptoms of depression and anxiety, and offer community and purpose.

But it’s a piece of the puzzle, not the whole picture.

If you’re running to stay above water but never actually swimming toward the shore...that’s not healing. That’s surviving.

And running can’t be the only tool in the box. If you’re struggling with unresolved grief, trauma, or mental health challenges, you might need to do the unglamorous work too: rest, reflection, asking for help, and yes, maybe therapy.

The uncomfortable question: Who are you without running?

This one gets a lot of runners squirmy. We’re so attached to our identities as runners...especially in a culture that rewards performance and consistency...that it’s hard to separate the person from that.

But if your world falls apart when you’re injured or forced to take a break, it might be time to ask: What was running holding together for me?

Answering that isn’t fun. But it’s necessary. Because eventually, running won’t be there in the same way. And the things you’ve been avoiding will still be waiting.

So what now?

This isn’t about giving up running. It’s about running with awareness. Running with honesty. Running because you love it...not because it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

Here are a few ways to reframe the “running is my therapy” mindset:

Try saying: Running helps me clear my head. (But I still need to process my stuff.)
Or: Running supports my mental health. (But I also go to therapy.)
Or even: Running gives me peace. (But I know peace also comes from deeper work.)

It’s okay if running is a lifeline. It has been mine, too. But lifelines don’t replace healing. They keep you afloat until you’re ready to swim.