One of the goals I set for myself in 2017 is to run 1000 miles, and this past Sunday, I hit the 200-mile mark! Woo!
You still have 800 to go, you know.
Hey. Enough of that, negative brain. I’ve run 200 miles!
HELL YEAH SHE HAS.
Thank you, positive brain.
This is an exciting goal for me. Not only because accomplishing it would be incredible, but because even believing I could try to accomplish it is something I could have never dreamed of a year or two ago.
Over the last few months, I have had a number of different obstacles—i.e. my body trying to convince me it’s falling apart—in regards to this goal, but while they should discourage me, they’ve done exactly the opposite. I feel motivated, I feel inspired, and most of all, I feel able. Even on the days when running sounds hard or tiring, I don’t have that lingering doubt in the back of my mind that I’ve grown so familiar with. I really believe I can do this, and hell, if there’s a better feeling than that, I haven’t found it yet.
But while this goal seems wholly attainable to me, and I know I’ll stop at nothing to achieve it, I respect its grandiose. I know I can’t get over-confident and go all tortoise/hare on the thing, and so I still go into every run with the same amount of respect and dedication.
Among my family members, I’ve started referring to this goal as “winning the Heisman.” Am I a male, college level football star? No. But the way I see it, if a kid tells his parents he wants to win the Heisman, they’ll probably smile and tell him to “go for it”, even though they know he has a loooong way to go, and for me, with running, it’s very similar. I have never been a runner before, ever. And so having a background that was practically dedicated to not running, it seems pretty far-fetched to come out with a goal like, “I want to run 1000 miles in one year.” But the truth of the matter is, every year one kid does win that Heisman trophy, and so I figure, why can this be the year I win mine?