I used to be very good at achieving things in the past, but I wasn’t good at celebrating them whenever I accomplished something, because our culture values humility more than pride. So my first reaction was usually: of course, that was what I was supposed to do. Nothing special, nothing worth applauding, just keep on achieving something more.

But from now on, I want to celebrate the small moments in my life too. Even something simple, even something that may seem ordinary to everyone else. If it is something new for me, something that once felt difficult or impossible, then I want to stop for a moment and acknowledge it.

At the age of 37, I started to really open my mind. I want to build a fulfilling life for myself, rather than constantly measuring my life through other people’s expectations.

So today I am going to write down this moment:

I ran 10 kilometers for the first time in my life.

Which for many people may feel something normal or even easy, but for me, I had never run that far before. I had jogged occasionally when I was younger, both in high school and later in life, but usually only 3 to 5 km at most. Running was never something I felt particularly passionate about.

My first real memory of running goes all the way back to high school.

We had an extremely intense schedule at the time. I was also a little overweight and wanted to lose some weight, but more than that, I needed a way to release the pressure I was carrying.

So I started running every evening after the first class of our night study sessions, but only two laps around the school playground, about 800 meters.

I remember feeling that my body became healthier during that period. I rarely got sick, and there was something reassuring about knowing that every evening, no matter how stressful the day had been, I could move my body and breathe.

Then I went to university, and that routine disappeared.

Years passed.

During my 3rd year in Milan, I moved to a new home near a large park, and one summer I started running again. If I am being truthful, the original motivation was still very simple: I wanted to lose some weight. But slowly, running became connected to something else.

I loved that park.

After work, I would go there and run about 3 km. When I finished, I would usually sit on a bench on the western side of the park and watch the sunset. Above that bench was a row of locust trees. Sometimes I would lie down and look up at the leaves gently moving in the wind.

Those were such quiet moments.

My body would be tired, my breathing would slow down, and my thoughts would start wandering. I remember thinking many times:

How wonderful would it be if one day my parents could come here and walk in this park too?

4 years later, that thought came true.

I brought my parents from China to Italy so they could experience a little of the life I had built here. And they loved the park too. My father would wake up in the morning and go there for a peaceful walk. My mother preferred going in the evening.

Sometimes I think about how strange life is: a thought you once had while lying alone on a park bench can quietly become part of your real life years later.

Eventually, I stopped running again. Life became busy, and I discovered that hiking suited me more, Hiking satisfies something in me that running never quite did — my need to explore, to see what is behind the next turn, to climb higher and discover a landscape I have never seen before.

I started hiking more frequently; I also began going to the gym regularly.

Without really noticing it, my physical condition gradually became better than it had been when I was younger. Long hikes, steep elevation gain, strength training — all of these slowly changed my body.

But I never really returned to running.

Until today.

The whole thing actually started quite casually at a friend’s birthday party.

One of my friends mentioned the Deejay Run and said:

Why don’t we do it? It sounded fun. There was no pressure to be fast. Even if we could not run the whole thing, we could simply walk to the finish.

So I thought, why not? Then I registered.

And then, almost immediately, I called two other friends and convinced them to join as well. I did absolutely no specific preparation for the race. Today, when we arrived at San Siro, there were thousands of people everywhere, music, runners, families, groups of friends — the whole place had this light and energetic atmosphere.

I was also strangely excited that I managed to get some discount coupons for ski passes before the race, very on brand for me.

But when the run actually started, I still felt more like a tourist than a runner. I had no idea what I was doing. The only thing I knew was that I should not go too fast. I was also still cautious about my knee after injuring it while skiing in Cervinia this February, so I decided to take everything slowly.

My expectation was simple:

Maybe I could run three kilometers. Then I would probably get tired and start walking. But something unexpected happened: I passed three kilometers, and I still felt fine. Maybe all those years of hiking and gym training had quietly prepared my body more than I realized.

There was music along the route, people cheering, and thousands of runners around me. Instead of feeling tired, I started to feel excited.

So I kept going. I did not try to run fast. I just found a pace that felt comfortable, kept my breathing steady, and continued moving forward.

Along the way, I saw every kind of person.

Older people.

Young people.

Families.

People running with dogs.

People with disabilities.

Some were fast. Some were slow. Some were walking.

But almost everyone seemed happy simply to be there.

And somewhere along the route, I realized: I was enjoying it too.

The first five kilometers went by much more easily than I had expected. After 5 Km, I stopped for some water. The moment I stopped moving, I suddenly noticed how sore my muscles were. Between kilometers five and seven, I slowed down.

Sometimes I walked, but then I kept telling myself:

Keep going, you can do this.

And eventually, I started running again. For the final two kilometers, I kept running all the way to the finish line.

My final time was 1 hour and 10 minutes, much better than I had imagined.

But when I crossed the finish line, the number hardly mattered; what made me happy was not simply that I had completed 10 kilometers. It was the realization that I had just done something I genuinely did not think I could do.

I had never trained specifically for a 10 Km. I had never thought of myself as someone who could run 10 kilometers.

And yet, somewhere in all those years of hiking mountains, lifting weights, walking long distances, and simply continuing to move my body, I had quietly built the strength to do it.

I just did not know it yet.

Maybe that is what I am celebrating today.

Not the distance.

Not the time.

But the discovery.

The discovery that sometimes we become stronger without noticing.

Sometimes our body — and perhaps our life too — has already moved further than the version of ourselves we still carry in our head.

And today, for once, I do not want to say:

“It was nothing.”

Today I want to say: I did this.

And I am proud of myself.