Photo Essay
One of my most memorable runs was my sophomore year in high school. I ran 10K in under 42 minutes during Ramadan track practice. It was 90 degrees and I nipped at the heels of a future 2:21:01 marathoner. My coach urged me to drink water. I refused.
My running times have slowed down, but my devotion and unabiding love have only increased.
Like hundreds of millions of global Muslims, I fasted and exercised during Ramadan this year. Four-milers at 4am became a staple, bookended by breakfast and prayer. Pre-dawn hill repeats and fajr Sun salutations instilled a level of spiritual discipline I had never experienced.
My target race was a half-marathon in my birthplace of Ottawa, Canada. It felt like a pilgrimage and a freedom journey fraught with all the pains of rebirth.
Much of my run was molasses, a stop-and-go swim through the stuckness of my body. I treaded through the spiritual blockages of my internal channels. I wept tears and danced with strangers in the streets, boosted by sprinklers and high-fives. I was ok with it, too.
I opened vessels for compassion and reminded myself that the "finish line" is just the "start line." That the line isn't really a "line," but an infinite loop that transcends the bounds of time.
In the "race" with myself, I'm still a speck in a cosmic current of movement. And I'm grateful for every step, every breath, for the very Source that moves me everyday.
This Fall, I’m running my first marathon. I want to share my freedom journey through visual storytelling, poetry, and journaling. Inspired by Prefontaine’s prison outreach, my project uplifts incarcerated Muslims. I tell my story – so people returning home can tell their story – and breakout fast in 2023.