I just finished a week where I ran 24 miles, and I’m still in awe.

As I’ve written before, my strong points don’t include discipline (rugged good looks, wicked high intelligence, a flair for cooking, and modesty … but not discipline). Still, over the last few months I’ve surprised myself and hope to keep it up.

The week’s rundown:

• Monday, June 16, 8 miles
• Wednesday, June 18, 5 miles
• Friday, June 20, 4.5 miles
• Saturday, June 21, 6.75 miles

Let me focus on the first one. Eight miles is a new personal best. Eight. Long. Miles. After I finished, I felt like James Caan’s character in “Misery.” “Shh, darling, trust me — it’s for the best,” Kathy Bates’ character said, right before hobbling him with a sledgehammer. It hurts, but it’s for the best. At least that’s what I tell myself as my left knee sings notes I didn’t know it knew.

Running calls for more endurance than anything. I’ve read that a mile, depending on stride length, falls in at about 2,000 steps. That amounts to 16,000 hits to the asphalt in 8 miles. It’s punishing. But, I find that the more I run, the quicker my recovery between runs. I felt Monday’s run but, after a day of rest, I begged for more punishment.

A programming note: I don’t write posts like these to crow, though I do feel like crowing. Making these small successes public, in a way, strengthens my commitment. In writing about them, I make a kind of contract between me and my two readers that I don’t want to default on.

Tags: Running //