As part of my efforts to eventually run a half marathon, I’ve been trying to stretch out my long runs. I did eight miles a couple of times, but I kept hitting a wall when it came to nine. Twice my leg was the culprit. One week I ran eight miles with zero pain, and the next I had to stop at seven because my knee started complaining. I didn’t get it. On Monday I tried again, but this time I was simply out of gas due to a very busy weekend with a total of eight or nine hours of sleep.

Yesterday, I finally did it.

When I start a long run, I never know what to expect. Will my leg hold up? Will my abs cramp? Will I start off too fast and burn out too quickly? Or will I start off too slow and slip into poor running form? What pace should I set given the weather and how I feel? Do I have enough water?

I really think that distance running is one of the best teachers for life. I rarely have perfect circumstances for a run. It might be too hot or too cold or too sunny or too dry or too muddy. Perhaps I’m tired from my wacky work/sleep schedule. Perhaps I can feel a blister forming on my toe toward the end. Maybe some dog took a giant dump on the trail and his owner was too lazy to clean it up. Things happen.

However, if I really care about running, I go out anyway if possible. Once I’m out there, I ignore the inner voice that tells me to quit. Over time, step by step, the miles tick by. That’s life.

I really had to grind it out yesterday, which made reaching the end even more satisfying. My body felt tired after only a mile or two. The beautiful sunshine sapped my strength a bit. Although the temperature was only in the mid-seventies, it was a big change from the fifties that had spoiled me recently. But I pressed on. I took a conservative run-walk approach, jogging about 90 percent of the time at a decent pace and walking a bit after every mile. During each walk, I took a hit from the nice strap-on water bottle that Jenny got me for Valentine’s Day. I wanted to quit but never did.

Finally, after one hour, twenty-three minutes, and twenty-five seconds, I reached mile marker nine. It wasn’t a pretty run. My time was much higher than I’d wanted due to all the walking, which I hate to do. But I finished. And my knee felt fine, giving me hope that I might be able to go even farther someday.

What a difference a year can make. This time last year, I was struggling to finish a mile without major knee pain. I can’t tell you how awesome it feels to be able to run like this.