I've been trying to run more lately, for reasons I can't entirely explain. It feels invigorating, when it isn't exhausting. I'm fairly certain it's good for me; regular heart rate and (less regular) blood pressure readings seem to agree. My sleep might even be better when I run.
Plus, doing difficult things is sometimes its own reward.
Keeping up a regular running regiment can be a challenge, especially when it's hot outside. To motivate myself, I try to set goals for distance or speed. Usually I hit a ceiling at some point. I get the physical sensation that my body has hit its limit, and my mind believes it. So I stop.
It's usually a lie.
The other day, I went an extra mile-and-a-quarter. I'd set out to "run as far as I can," mentally guessing I would make it about 3 miles (a 5k, give or take). But it was sunny and eighty-five, so even that goal was in doubt. I resigned myself to a meager pace to make sure I'd go the distance.
A couple miles in, my breath was betraying me and I was dripping sweat. My body wanted to stop. I nearly gave up. Instead, I focused on slowing down and breathing. You're not done yet, I thought. Stop fooling yourself. You have the time, and you're doing fine.
I continued, as I knew I could, despite my body's rebellion. Instead of telling myself how far I could go, I was telling myself how I could go farther. I adjusted my stride, my pace, my breathing. It didn't matter how far I'd gone; the goal was to keep going. All told it got me four and a half miles, and I probably could have gone farther.
This strategy, I suspect, is how I managed to go seven miles once. But that was also on a perfect 70-degree day, on sidewalk, in shady residential areas. Conditions matter.
Setting a concrete goal can be useful. But sometimes you don't get to define the endpoint. That's where you need the flexibility to navigate the current situation and find ways to continue. Determination. Perseverance. Grit. It's a skill I lose when I've had it too easy for too long.