This morning I ran just over 4 kilometres.
This is an entirely unremarkable distance, if not for the fact that it means my total runs since the beginning of 2016 crossed the 300km mark, or 50% of the 600km goal I had set for myself this year.
Now, obviously, it's the end of November already. In other words, I ain't hitting 600.
And in some ways that's pretty disappointing. When I set that goal, 600 wasn't even supposed to be ambitious. I mean, in 2015, I ran more than twice that: 1,252km. I'd only set such a low goal because I knew I wanted to focus my physical exploits this year more on yoga and other "softer" pursuits that wouldn't be as hard on my joints and would challenge me in a different way.
And then, in January, I got injured, and had to take a break from running, as reflected by the long flat bit in the chart above. Then I started again in February, getting fairly aggressive a little too quickly (cue the incline on said chart), re-aggravated the injury with tendonitis, took another break, started again, and have been inching my way towards that seemingly-pitiful 50% ever since.
I am no longer "a runner." I don't have the muscles anymore, nor the breath control, nor the speed, nor the numbers to show for it. Sometimes that makes me really sad.
But I do have some things to show for it, don't I? I mean, I did (more or less) recover from my injury, didn't I? And I did prioritize yoga this year, which was my original goal all along! And like it or not, I did still run every step of those 300km, which is more than I ran in any year of my life before 2013 combined.
I'm sad I won't accomplish that goal I set for myself this time around. But I'm proud I kept going. Maybe some days that's all we can do: hold our heads high, put one foot in front of the other, and keep going.