01 Zine

02 Essay

running time - a reflection

Designing Time

Before the course Designing Time by Prof. Dr. Helga Schmid, I regarded time as a neutral unit of measurement - hours, minutes, seconds - that structures our lives. Sometimes it passed quickly, sometimes slowly; sometimes I felt I had a lot of time, sometimes too little. I often didn't even consciously think about my own perception of time. Looking back, I can see that I unconsciously divided it into two categories: personal time, which I can decide freely, and working time, which seems unavoidable and neutral.

Through the intensive discussions and readings in the course, however, I realized that time is anything but neutral - especially in the world of work. It is shaped by power structures and hierarchies that determine who has time and who is constrained by it. Capitalist and patriarchal systems enforce rigid time structures that prioritize productivity and efficiency above all else, while devaluing alternative ways of experiencing time. This creates inequalities: Some people have more control over their time, while others are subject to strict constraints.

The course showed me how precious and political time is - and how important it is for me to make conscious decisions about how I use my own time.

One of the most inspiring works for me during the course was This Walk is a Pause by Nienke Scholts. In this poetic audio work, the narrator invites the listener to walk with her through real and imaginary landscapes - from Finnish pine forests to moments of disorientation. Scholts explores walking as a practice of pausing and asks what space opens up when you deviate from predetermined paths for a while.

This audio work inspired me to reflect more consciously on my own perception of time while moving. At the same time, in contrast to the movement, I began to think about my breaks: What does a break mean to me? How often do I consciously take time for it? How do I organize them?

These reflections ultimately led to the idea for my following essay.

Introduction

I am a runner. Long distance.Being in motion for 1 hour, 2 hours,3 hours, 4 hours straight -running and sprinting.

Movement currently plays the biggest role in my life. In mid-March, I will run my first marathon. For the past 16 weeks, this has been my top priority. Everything else takes a backseat because I strictly adhere to my training plan to ultimately reach my target time. In terms of percentage, no other task takes up as much time of my day as running. It dictates my daily life and requires complete dedication.

I don’t drink alcohol. I don‘t smoke but that‘s obvious, I guess. I try to eat healthy. I have to eat enough. I don’t go out partying. I must not get sick. I pay attention to my recovery. I go to bed early, even on weekends. I wake up early. I train even in the rain. I prioritize my runs above everything else. I plan everything around my runs.

I fill my time in a way that allows me to achieve the best training possible. While writing this, I find myself wondering: Do I even still have control over my own time?

In this zine, I want to capture what time means to me as a runner - how I experience it, how it carries me through training, and how running shapes my sense of time in daily life. I'm trying to put into words what is usually just a feeling in the background and to make this experience tangible, perhaps in a slightly poetic way - for myself and for others.

Perception of time during training

In simple terms, my training consists of three different types of workouts.

Base runs are done at a slow pace and typically range from 15 to 30 kilometers. The goal is to run for as long as possible with minimal exertion while keeping the heart rate low. Although these runs aren’t particularly strenuous, they can sometimes feel endless. My focus during these training sessions is not on speed or the distance covered but simply on running for many hours at a stretch.

When the pace is relaxed and steady, time often feels very different than it does in the hectic everyday life. Sometimes, it’s comforting to know that for the next two hours, I have nothing else to do but run. The minutes stretch out and lose their urgency. At first, I’m still aware of the time—maybe I glance at my watch or count the kilometers. But eventually, a certain flow sets in: my steps become rhythmic, my breath steady, and my thoughts drift.

Sometimes time flies by, while at other moments it seems to drag, especially on monotonous stretches. In those moments, time is no longer just measured but truly experienced—as something that merges with the physical sensation, the surroundings, and my own presence.

During interval training, time seems endless during the effort. Seconds stretch into minutes, and I often feel like I can watch the seconds ticking away when I glance at my watch. Time expands into an unknown and ungraspable length. The more intense the effort, the longer this perception lasts.

In contrast, the breaks between intervals feel completely different. They fly by in an instant, and time seems compressed, racing past as if it were moving twice as fast. It’s fascinating to imagine that something which always moves at the same speed can feel so different—like worlds apart—simply because we move differently and because our bodies experience sensations in unique ways. When I need more time, it seems absent, and when I eagerly await the stop signal, it remains elusive.

However, there are also the fast runs which are not interval training, that do not stretch time. In these moments, I can consciously perceive and enjoy the effort. Time plays a significant role in these runs, and yet it feels irrelevant. I feel focused and strong, with my body, mind, and movement completely in sync. I hear my breath and am fully present with each step, without wishing for the end of the workout. In this detachment from time, I exist only in the here and now. I feel time passing, noticing how it flows in constant rhythm alongside my movement—as if it is running beside me, with me.These experiences of time during my runs serve as a perfect example of the relativity of time and that it is by no means neutral or objective.

Finally, my training also includes some recovery runs. These runs are usually no longer than 10 kilometres and are completed at a very slow, relaxed pace. Their sole purpose is to keep the body moving and support regeneration, as the muscles recover better under light strain.

On these runs, time flows evenly, almost unobtrusively - it neither races away like on fast runs, nor does it stretch endlessly like on hard intervals. There is no rush, no hurry, just a calm rhythm that carries me along.

Sometimes it feels as if time is strolling with me, not running. Minutes lose their urgency and my glance at the clock becomes secondary. The movement is there, but without pressure, without a goal other than the moment itself. In these runs, time often blurs with the surroundings - with the steady sound of my footsteps, the fresh air, the gentle flow of breath. It is no longer something that I have to measure or control, but something that simply happens. In addition, my perception of time during recovery runs is strongly influenced by my mood and my attitude before the run. I know in advance that these runs won‘t really challenge my endurance or my muscles. They are easy, relaxed, without much effort. This knowledge alone changes my perception: I go into the run with a calmness that prevents it from feeling endless or difficult.

This has often made me think: do we perhaps choose how we will feel before we start running? Do our expectations determine whether time stretches or passes quickly, whether the run seems easy or exhausting?

Time without movement

What is a break? Is it simply the absence of movement? A space in between, a brief pause before continuing? Or is it more than that - a state of its own, a quality of time that is fundamentally different from running?

Over the last few months, my body has been in almost constant motion. Hour after hour, day after day, kilometre after kilometre. My time has been characterised by rhythm, repetition and constant forward movement, while at the same time I have felt my body craving something else like never before: standstill. For breaks that are not just physical rest, but also a change in my perception of time.

During exercise, time often flows evenly - or it speeds up, slows down, expands, depending on the intensity of the run. But during the break? Here, time suddenly becomes perceptible as a space that wants to be filled or completely empty. Minutes that would otherwise pass unnoticed drag on or disappear completely. Sometimes a break feels like a moment to catch your breath - light, liberating, just right. Sometimes, however, it is sluggish, almost heavy, as if time itself is stagnating.

I have a particularly intense experience of the difference between a voluntary and a forced break. A break that I consciously take feels like a gift - it is a gentle concession to my body, an invitation to rest. I can stretch out in it, surrender to it, savour it. An enforced break, on the other hand, often feels like a loss. Suddenly I am no longer the one in control of my time. I am usually stopped by my own body (for example, if I am ill or my body simply can‘t cope any more), whether I want to or not. In these moments, time can drag on endlessly, as if it is deliberately slowing down.

But perhaps these enforced pauses are also necessary, probably even the most necessary; they bring with them a different kind of temporality, one that I would otherwise ignore. They force me to deal not only with movement, but also with standstill. And perhaps it is precisely this change, this play between pushing forward and pausing, that makes time tangible.

I experience a break as a void - an empty space, an opportunity waiting to be filled. Depending on the situation, I can act on this impulse or simply have to endure the emptiness. Pause time is a space in which time unfolds differently - sometimes stretched, sometimes fleeting, but always perceptible to me.

Reflection - who or what controls my time?

Time often feels like something that belongs to me - and yet I keep realising how much it is influenced by external and internal factors. I plan my day, set priorities, decide what to fill my hours with. But how free are these decisions really?

Is it me who determines my time - or is it running that structures my days, guides my thoughts, sets my priorities? I have made a conscious decision to dedicate my time to running. But how free is this decision really if it now dominates everything? Is time still self-determined if you voluntarily decide to let something determine it?

It starts with the question: When am I going running today? - not whether I run. My everyday life revolves around training plans, recovery and nutrition. I postpone appointments, adjust my sleep pattern, plan weeks in advance. And it feels good. I do it voluntarily. But can you still speak of self-determination when a passion takes up so much space that there is almost no alternative?

At the same time, there are external structures that influence my time: Work, obligations, social expectations. Some hours are non-negotiable - they belong to others. But even the time that I call free follows patterns and rules that I have imposed on myself. I think I actively shape my time, but it is often moulded long before I consciously think about it.

This all sounds more negative than I actually feel. I think people unconsciously assign importance to things in their everyday lives. The more important something is, the more time we give it. The things that have priority take up the most space as long as someone is in the privileged situation of enjoying these freedoms. Personally, I love running and training - and I choose this path anew every day. The time that running ‘steals’ from me in the eyes of others, I invest in myself and my goals. Over the last few weeks, I have learnt an incredible amount about my body and my mind and am now at a point that I never thought I would reach.

I know exactly what I‘m doing this for and it‘s this complete dedication that brings me joy, success and a sense of fulfillment.

Nevertheless, I still have some doubts about the extent to which sport has control over my time.I often hear myself say: I still have to go for a run - and then immediately improve:I still want to go for a run.It‘s a fine line and I don‘t have a definitive answer to my questions.I probably balance somewhere between self-determined dedication and obsession.

Ultimately, I pursue my goal - and with it the joy and success it brings me.In this context, it‘s okay for me to put my time, energy and social life on hold for the moment.

Running gives me a sense of strength, speed and confidence.Even though it takes up a lot of my time, it also allows me to perceive time in a whole new way.It feels right for this phase of my life - but not forever.I know that breaks are needed, moments of consciously pausing to refuel, to make time tangible again and to avoid falling into rigid patterns.The worst thing is when time simply passes without me really experiencing it.

That‘s why it‘s worth questioning again and again: Who or what is currently determining my time? If the answer remains the same for too long, it might be time to change something. Because change is essential in order to consciously perceive time - and life itself.

Closing words

Finally, there’s one more thing I’d like to share. I know that sports—especially running - aren’t for everyone. But I still want to encourage you to give movement a chance, in whatever form feels right for you. Because once you truly arrive in movement, when body and mind align and you fully immerse yourself, time can be experienced in an entirely new way.

Before this seminar, I wasn’t aware of how much the world and with it time, seems to stand still for me when I run.

But when everything flows, a space opens up for a different kind of time experience - one that isn’t dictated by seconds and minutes, but by the moment itself.