How the World’s Most Unserious Race Helped Me Start to Heal From a Near-Death Experience

Content warning: This story contains references to gun violence, which may be upsetting or triggering for some readers.

My sense of mortality became traumatically clear after experiencing an active shooter incident at a restaurant with my friends in August 2024. As a result, I had a tough time trusting the world around me. I was hypervigilant and suspicious of strangers, unable to sit out in public unless I was facing the door. After several sessions of EMDR with my therapist, I was able to shake off most of the shame, guilt, and fear. But it was a festival called Runningman that empowered me to really let go once and for all.

If you haven’t heard of it, Runningman is a three-day wellness festival and race in Rome, Georgia. As a fitness journalist and (one-time) marathoner, I received an invitation to attend the second annual event. I signed up to run a half marathon and began my training immediately. Then, the shooting happened.“I spent three days in bed—crying, rolling around, ignoring all responsibilities. I considered backing out of Runningman, but my friends convinced me not to. “You need this,” they said. They were right.

When thinking about something non-stop, we often say it’s “playing on a loop.” That’s what the shooting trauma was like for me. Sports therapist Andrea Estrada, LPC, explains that trauma impacts how we think, feel, and act. Symptoms can manifest physically: shaking, shortness of breath, headaches, and insomnia. They might also be mental struggles, like self-blame and avoiding triggers instead of working through them.

Make no mistake: That’s exactly what was happening to me. I couldn’t sleep. I barely ate. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. My body was tense. I didn’t trust that the world was a good place. So, yeah, my friends were right. I needed Runningman; I needed to be in the middle of nowhere, camping with 1,000 strangers who would prove that I was, indeed, safe and could, in fact, trust humanity.

In addition to a 4,200-square-foot sauna, yoga classes, guided meditations, sound baths, and deep stretches—which all boast health benefits in their own right—Runningman offers mental health workshops. Unequivocally, this points to how intertwined sport and mental health have become. (Special thanks to elite athletes like Serena Williams, Simone Biles, and Naomi Osaka for paving that path.)

I needed to be in the middle of nowhere, camping with 1,000 strangers who would prove that I was, indeed, safe and could, in fact, trust humanity.

I was initially anxious about camping in the middle of nowhere with strangers for three days. But running into someone I knew made me feel more comfortable, as did making friends along the way. Even so, I observed people—at first nervous and then more at ease. Everyone was happy, smiling at each other and striking up conversations about how much we loved running. That sense of community helped me start to chip away at the final remnants of my trauma. Though I had trouble sleeping through the night, that was the first night I didn’t have trouble falling asleep.

The next day, on a mile-long loop, I tackled 13.1 miles of “the world’s most unserious race.” By the third lap, this felt symbolic—like I was destroying the tracks on which my trauma replayed, one lap at a time. After mile seven, I stepped off the course, which the “unserious” race encourages, and sat in on a mental health and running workshop hosted by endurance athlete and mental health advocate Raymond Braun.

“I began my exercise journey within the context of my exposure therapy pyramid for OCD recovery,” Braun says. “My therapy program focused on the joy, strength, and self-confidence that can be built through training, along with the connection between mental and physical health, and all the physiological benefits of mindful movement.”

Inspired by Braun’s trajectory, I reflected on how movement helps people facing their own struggles—particularly my recent near-death experience. His words reassured me that it was okay to feel this way, that there was nothing “wrong” with me or my reaction to the shooting, and that running was my safe space.

After Braun’s workshop, I got back on the course to finish the half marathon. When we exchange emails a few months after the festival, Braun tells me sport has helped him cope not just with OCD, but also with finding out his best friend, Maya, had stage 4 cancer.

“At the end of 2021, when Maya made the excruciatingly painful decision to transition to hospice care, I promised her that I was going to complete a full-distance Ironman triathlon. For both of us,” Braun tells me. “Training for Ironman Arizona, and subsequent endurance challenges, helped me process grief and feel connected to Maya through our shared goal.”

This is a feeling my entire being can relate to. Believe it or not, I had a “come clean” moment during the last two miles of the race—as the humidity in Georgia turned into a straight-up downpour. I felt cleansed on a spiritual level and finally cried out of joy instead of grief. When I share this with Estrada, she says most of us feel “high-energy, pleasant feelings” when we finish an event. These include excitement, achievement, empowerment, trust, or happiness.

I treated the Runningman race the same way I treated my trauma: I went at my own pace and took breaks when I needed, for as long as I needed.

“Those are going to fulfill you and help that ‘poison’ get out of you,” Estrada says. Think of it like this: Where the “bad” energy of a trauma used to exist, the “good” energy of a sport accomplishment would now prevail. As I crossed the finish line, I felt that shift—like the excitement and joie de vivre finally reclaimed their space.

As an athlete, Braun has his own conception of this. He thinks of it more as “burning off” anxiety, dread, fear, and intrusive thoughts. “Ironically, while my heart rate may be up from exercise, I actually feel my body regulating when I’m moving. I’m more present and attuned to my surroundings and breath.”

Albeit unintentionally, I treated the Runningman race the same way I treated my trauma: I went at my own pace and took breaks when I needed, for as long as I needed. The “unseriousness” of this race was crucial—necessary, even—for me to give myself time and grace. After all, even if it took me six hours to run a half marathon, I still ran it. I have the medal to prove it.

And even if it took me weeks to process my trauma from the shooting, I still processed it. I once again feel fully safe and believe in humanity. Though healing is a lifelong journey, Runningman proved that even small strides lead to major shifts.

If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health, call SAMHSA’s National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357) or go to FindTreatment.gov for resources and treatment options. If you’re having thoughts of harming yourself or others, call or text 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.