Every year since 2023, Women's Run PH organizes races that break barriers, challenge stereotypes, and encourage women to push beyond their limits. Nicole Dominique Wuthrich-de la Cruz, founder of Women's Run PH, started it because she recognized the need for more spaces for women to get into the sport.
For this year's Women's Run in celebration of Women's Month, I found myself at the starting line once again, reflecting on how far I've come since my first race and how much I've learned about myself through running.
I first got into running in October 2023. Back then, it was less about fitness and more for friendship. My girlfriends and I decided to join a 5k race on campus. I had never considered running before; my feeble attempts at jogging only reinforced the idea that it wasn't for me. I preferred long, leisurely walks and low-impact workouts like spinning and Pilates.
So when we did a practice run around campus a few weeks before the 5k race, I was surprised to find myself running a full lap around the oval without stopping. In hindsight, 2.2 km wasn't much—not even the minimum distance of a race. But in that moment, my mind buzzed with excitement and possibilities. Out loud, I kept saying: "Hala, kaya ko pala."
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As a woman, I was raised to be "weak"—or at least, what they thought was weak. Sports weren't encouraged, and I was treated as dainty and fragile. The only sport I had growing up was chess, and I always found an excuse to skip intense P.E. activities. Fitness was never a part of my life, and I had internalized the belief that my body wasn't built for endurance or strength.
But running changed that. Every step felt like an unlearning. "Kaya ko 'to," I would tell myself as I set a new goal. "Kaya ko 'to," as I decided to push another kilometer. Running wasn't just about fitness—it was about reclaiming my body and redefining what I was capable of.
By March 2024, I had progressed to running 10k at that year's Women's Run. It was my longest race yet—something I never thought my body could do. When I crossed the finish line, I felt invincible. I allowed myself to celebrate my body and dream of running a half marathon. Runner's high is real, after all, and I rode that high for as long as I could.
Which was, it turns out, not too long. Life, as it often does, had other plans.
The high faded as the stresses of daily life took over. Between my job, law school, and the demands of living alone with two cats, running became a luxury I could no longer afford. My once-consistent routine fell by the wayside, and every attempt to get back into running felt like a struggle. My body felt weaker, my confidence waned, and by the end of 2024, I had barely run. The few times I did, I was only disappointed with my performance. I stopped altogether.
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Next thing you know, it was March 9, 2025. I was asked to cover Women's Run and found myself standing at the starting line of a 5k race, wondering: kaya ko pa ba?
I watched the clock tick. The crowd of women around me mirrored last year's race. But unlike my excitement the year before, I found my confidence waning. Would I embarrass myself with a slow time? Would my body hold up? What if I had to quit?
Then, the gunshot echoed, and we were off.
The first few meters were a test of self-regulation. Women zoomed past me, but I reminded myself to take my time. There was no need to be pressured; I was only competing with myself. I knew I had to keep my heart rate low, or else I would risk tiring my body early on.
"How long do you think it will take you?" my friend had asked that morning. "I'm slow," I responded. "Maybe 40 minutes at best, but I wouldn't be surprised if it takes 45."
I glanced at my watch during the race and I was shocked to see my first kilometer clock in at under eight minutes. My legs felt lighter than they had in months, and for a moment, I let myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, kaya ko pa.
My record shows that I completed the 5k in around 41 minutes. It wasn't my fastest time in the short history of my running journey, but I know it was the best my body could do in that moment.
And this is why I run, and why I'm committed to getting back into it: running teaches me not just physical strength, but mental and emotional endurance. I could have easily quit midway; I could have walked the last kilometer. No one would have stopped me. But instead, I found myself sprinting toward the finish line, clocking my fastest split of the race.
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As a woman, I was raised to be "weak." No one expected me to do "strong" things. But, as Women's Run helped me realize, strength is not just physical; it's mental, emotional, and deeply personal. And if that's the measure, then I know with certainty: I am strong.
Women's Run PH is more than just a race. It's a celebration of what women can achieve when we support each other and believe in ourselves. It's a space to show up for ourselves, to unlearn self-limiting beliefs, and to create new, empowering narratives.
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I'm planning to sign up to run at the next Women's Run in October 2025. I want to do 10k again. My life is not very different from last year—I'm still a working law student, I still live alone, and I still take care of my two cats. Yet, I know, that whatever life throws my way: Kaya ko 'yan.
2025-03-20T04:02:45Z