Research from the University of California shows that people who regularly engage in this “meditative” exercise are 40% less likely to suffer from anxiety disorders. Their brain learns not to fight thoughts, but to accept them like the weather—they pass without a trace.
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In sports, as in meditation, there is no “right” result. There is only right presence. You don’t have to run faster. You just have to run. Not to win. Not for likes. For yourself.
When you lift the weights and feel your back muscles tense, your hand tremble, you’re not training strength. You’re training your connection with yourself. You’re learning to hear your limits without fearing them. You’re learning to stop—not because you’re weak, but because you’re wise.
In tennis, when the ball is hurtling toward you at 180 km/h, you don’t think. You react. Your body knows what to do. This is the state of “flow,” described by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. It occurs when challenge and skill are in balance. You’re not afraid. You’re not hoping. You are.
This isn’t sport as a competition. This is sport as a path to inner freedom. It doesn’t require gold medals. It demands only one thing: not to run away from yourself.
When you go out to train, you’re not looking for improvement. You’re looking for a return. To your body. To your breathing. To your silence.
And it is here, in this silence, that true strength is born—not physical, but spiritual.
