The city belongs to everyone. Even when you run.

Running in Mexico City is an act of love and, sometimes, an exercise in patience.
From the moment I leave home, I know I'm going to have to share the road. With everything and everyone.

There's the cyclist running late for work.
The microbus that doesn't respect the lane.
The woman pushing a tricycle full of tamales since six in the morning.
The delivery driver on a motorbike who darts without looking.
The guy on a scooter who seems to float through traffic.
And yes, there are also cars, pedestrians, taxi drivers, people walking their dogs, people sweeping the sidewalk.

And us, the runners.
With our latest generation sneakers, our motivational playlists, our routes meticulously traced on Strava.
Sometimes in a hurry. Sometimes with a "get out of my way, I'm training" look.
And I get it. I've felt that intensity too.
That feeling that the world is in my way.

But no. It's not about that.
The streets are not mine.
Nor yours.
Nor the driver's, nor the cyclist's, nor the person selling coffee from a cart on Reforma.

The city belongs to everyone.

And when you run, you run in the midst of a complex choreography, where we all move at different rhythms but share the same stage.
Running shouldn't be a battle against others. It should be a way to connect with them.

Because yes, it's frustrating when someone cuts you off. When a car invades the sidewalk. When someone crosses without looking.
But how many times have you done the same?
How many times have you felt that your training is more important than everything else happening on the street?

Running is also learning to brake.
To yield the right of way.
To slow down so as not to scare someone.
To smile even if you're struggling through kilometer eight.
To raise your hand in thanks.
Not to yell at someone who's just doing their thing.

The city is chaotic, yes.
But it's also beautiful.
Full of life, sounds, people who wake up early, who struggle, who create, who resist.
And when you run with your eyes wide open, with an open heart, everything transforms.
Noise becomes rhythm.
Traffic becomes obstacles that train your patience.
People become company.
The road becomes community.

I don't want to run with anger.
I don't want to fight with every car or every corner.
I want to run with empathy. With tolerance.
With the certainty that we all deserve to be here.
Because there's room for everyone. And because if we learn to share, we also learn to enjoy.

Running can be many things: effort, freedom, meditation.
But it can also be an act of coexistence.
A way to say to this city: "Thank you. Today I saw you with different eyes."

See you on the streets.
With respect.
With rhythm.
And with the desire to be part of something bigger than our times or our personal bests.
The city belongs to everyone. Even when you run.