Run-Shine on the Bountiful Path Episode 5

Radio Maine Solo Episode 4: Run-shine

Hello, I'm Dr. Lisa Belisle. You are listening to—or watching—Radio Maine, where each week we explore and celebrate creativity and the human spirit. We're sponsored by the Portland Art Gallery in Portland, Maine.

Over the past decade, I've had the privilege of speaking with hundreds of artists, creatives, and thoughtful individuals—many with ties to the gallery and many whose stories stretch far beyond our state's borders.

This is the fourth in our solo series. Today's story is called Run-shine. And while it begins with a foggy trail run, it's really about how we return to ourselves—one step, one breath at a time.

It started like many of my early runs do—quiet, a little reluctant, and heavy with the kind of fog that feels more emotional than atmospheric.

Except this time, the fog was both.

A thick coastal mist had settled over the trail. I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of me. Everything was quiet, and everything felt gray.

I'd been coming off a few weeks of intense work and emotional transition. Not dramatic—just full. Full of decisions, responsibilities, unanswered questions. You know the kind.

I didn't head out with a training goal. There was no stopwatch or finish line. Just a need to move. A need to return to myself.

The first mile was awkward. My stride was uneven. My thoughts kept looping. Around mile two, I thought about turning back.

And then—somewhere in the third mile—it happened.

The fog started to lift. Not all at once, but in pieces. A shaft of light broke through the trees. It hit the damp leaves, the edges of the pine needles, the granite rocks I know so well.

I stopped running. Just stood there for a moment, breathing. Letting the light warm one side of my face.

And I thought, quietly:

I didn't know how much I needed to move—until I did.

That moment wasn't a breakthrough. It didn't fix anything. But it shifted something. And I've learned to honor those shifts.

I've experienced this again and again—as a runner, as a mother, as a physician.

And I've seen it in my patients.

People who had once been runners, but stopped after an injury or loss. Veterans who were learning to walk again after surgery or amputation. Patients in their eighties who took daily laps with walkers through their living rooms. Young adults recovering from depression, who would open the window just to feel the wind.

Not all movement looks the same. Not all of us have the same capacity. But the principle—that movement invites healing—is remarkably universal.

In lifestyle medicine, there are six pillars that support health: nutrition, sleep, stress management, social connection, substance moderation, and physical activity.

But here's the thing—these aren't prescriptions in the traditional sense. They're reminders of our human design. We are made to move, to breathe deeply, to stretch, to adapt.

Movement helps regulate our nervous systems. It supports mood, focus, digestion, immune function. It reminds us that we are not just thinking machines—we're embodied beings with rhythms and needs that deserve care.

It's not about fixing. It's about honoring.

So if you're listening right now and feeling tired, stuck, uncertain—this is for you.

Maybe you're coming back from illness. Maybe you're grieving a loss. Maybe you've been spending more time on screens than in your own body.

Wherever you are, you are not alone. And you don't need to do anything dramatic to begin again.

You don't need a gym or a goal. You don't need to be able to run a mile—or even stand on two feet. You just need to offer your body a small invitation.

Step outside. Reach toward the sky. Stretch in your chair. Rock in your seat. Tap your foot to music. Let yourself move—not for achievement, but for reconnection.

You might not get sunlight right away. But something inside will start to shift. A breath, a pulse, a quiet yes.

So here's what I invite you to try this week:

Set aside five minutes just for you. Move in a way that feels good—whatever that means for your body right now. Don't judge it. Don't try to optimize it. Just see what happens when you say yes to motion.

And if this kind of story speaks to you, I hope you'll visit me on The Bountiful Path, my newsletter on Substack.

It's where I share reflections on seasonal rhythms, small rituals, and the practical beauty of a life rooted in presence. It's where we walk together—sometimes literally, often metaphorically—through transitions, grief, joy, and growth.

Thank you for being here with me on Radio Maine.

I'm Dr. Lisa Belisle.

Whether you're training for a marathon or simply shifting your weight in a chair—your movement matters. Your story matters.

May you find a little run-shine of your own this week.

Be well. Be kind. And I'll see you next time.