Ever wonder if you could hit reset?

Not on your phone or your car. On you.
Your thoughts.
Your reactions.
Your patterns.
Like, wipe the slate and meet yourself for the first time — without the baggage. Without the bullshit. Just the raw version of who you were meant to be.

Lately, I’ve been toying with the idea that maybe it’s possible.

Not in some self-help-book, smoothie-cleansing kind of way. I mean something deeper. Like unlocking parts of your brain that have been locked up since childhood. Somewhere in my rabbit-hole of research, I landed on magic mushrooms — not for the party, but for the process. Turns out they’re being studied for helping people break cycles — PTSD, anxiety, depression — and not by numbing it, but by walking straight through it.

I’m not diving into all that just yet. But let’s just say: I’ve started scratching the surface. Slowly. Cautiously. Maybe intentionally. Maybe impulsively. I don’t know yet.

What I do know is tonight was hot as hell, so outdoor running was a no-go. I ended up on the treadmill at the gym — what I like to call the “line.” You know, that lineup of treadmills where everyone pretends not to be watching each other, but we all are. A bunch of strangers silently trying to outrun their demons in a straight line.

I wasn’t planning to do much. Just shake off the day. Clear the head.

But then I got caught up in people-watching.

The gym is full of little dramas if you look closely — the guy who flexes in the mirror after every set, the girl lifting more than half the dudes, the couple pretending they aren’t fighting mid-leg-day. Every treadmill is its own movie. You don’t even need sound. Just body language and glances.

I got so caught up I forgot I was running.

Like, full-on zone-out.
Looked down and I’d already hit 9.35 km.
Pace? 6:22/km.
Time? One hour almost on the nose.

And that’s when it hit me: I was seven minutes short of the holy grail of casual runners — the 10k in under an hour. That’s a mental milestone. A little pat-on-the-back stat.

And I missed it.
Could’ve pushed harder after the 5k mark. Could’ve picked it up.
But I didn’t.

Because I wasn’t chasing anything. I was just… going.

And sometimes, that’s the best kind of run.

My new thing? Incline runs.
Because I hate myself, apparently.

Nah — it’s more like I enjoy the challenge. The burn. The unspoken flex of pretending it’s not that bad while your calves scream bloody murder.

That’s also when the secret gym races start.

You know what I mean.
Two treadmills side by side. You and some stranger.
A quick glance at each other's screen.
Speed, distance, time.
And boom — it’s on.

No words.
Just silent competition.

Tonight, I felt the guy beside me start to fall off. Slower pace. Less bounce in the step. He didn’t even know we were racing, but I did. And in that moment, I did what any deranged runner with something to prove does…

I hit the incline.
Cranked the speed.
And went full mountain goat for the last minute.

Victory? Questionable.
Dignity? Gone.
Fun? 100%.

After the run, I limped up the stairs at home like I’d just escaped a war zone. My legs were toast. My shirt could’ve been wrung out. My lungs still whispering, "You okay, bro?"

And I thought — am I one of those guys now?

Like… the sweaty old dude who’s just always there?
Do the younger gym kids point me out?

“There he is. That guy who sweats like a faucet and runs like he’s in a Nike ad for divorced dads trying to find themselves.”

I mean, maybe.

But also… maybe I don’t care.

Because there’s something about the gym — or any place you choose to push yourself — that tunes you in.
To energy.
To emotion.
To people.

You start to feel the tension in their shoulders, the way their eyes dart in the mirror. You feel the sadness, the joy, the frustration — all channeling into movement. It’s raw. It’s real. And for a brief hour, you’re a part of it.

So yeah. Maybe I’m experimenting with mushrooms.
Maybe I’m chasing a mental reset.
But tonight? That treadmill was therapy.

No breakthrough. No big epiphany.
Just sweat, motion, and a couple of unspoken races.

And honestly, that’s enough for now.

Catch you on the next mile.

— T