Running 100 Miles in 30 Days: Why My New Tradition Is Actually a Year’s End Resolution

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There was a time in my life, about a decade ago, where waking up to run what I obnoxiously called “a quick 10 miles” was no big deal. And it really wasn’t: I’d roll out of bed, lace up my sneakers, and hit the road (or the trails) with the same ease in which I now order a latte.

The routine came naturally—maybe because I started running long (ish) distances when I was 12, and the muscle memory of each stride also applied to my head. I knew how to shut off my brain and let my legs do the work, mile after mile. The result was twofold: I was not only a calmer, happier person with a lot more energy, I was also fitter. Healthier. And yes, a whole lot less stressed — partially because my life was less hectic, but also because I made time for myself (and my body) every day.

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Then life happened, as it has a tendency to do — and in my 30s, amid growing work responsibilities and other adult pile-ons, the miles I’d once relied on to keep me sane were slowly replaced by excuses. I’m too busy. I’m exhausted. I want to wrap myself in a blanket like a burrito and eat … a burrito. I gained a few pounds, but I lost even more miles. And then, a little over a month ago, on a day I was feeling particularly down and overwhelmed, I slumped onto the couch and stared at my running shoes by the door. Maybe it was the fact that I’d (yet again) overbooked myself with work, or was feeling a little depressed about the holidays, but I felt a sudden pang of regret that I’d let a less burdened version of myself — the one with my ponytail swinging back and forth as my sneakers hit the pavement, breathing hard, looking ahead — fall to the wayside. Who is this person, just sitting here? I thought. Sure, I was a bit softer in the middle, and I missed the days when my clothes didn’t feel like I’d left them in the dryer too long. But it wasn’t so much my former body I longed for, as much as the woman who used to inhabit it — a woman constantly in motion.

And so, a little over a month ago, I decided to get that piece of myself back. It was early December, and while I’ve always found New Year’s resolutions to be depressing — so much build-up, so little follow-through — I figured I could handle a year’s end resolution. I set a goal: Run 100 miles in 30 days. It didn’t matter how many times a week I ran, or how fast, as long as I made it to my goal. If all went as planned, I would kick off 2016 having accomplished something I set out to do, rather than pointing to the future and saying, “Yes. That.” If I didn’t make it? Eh, well, it would be a personal bummer, but not a public one. I didn’t tell anyone what I was up to — mostly because I wanted an out, but also because blabbing about your fitness goal at a holiday party will make people slowly back away from you.

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The first week of my self-challenge, I helped get myself motivated in small ways. Instead of keeping my running clothes in my drawer, I set them out on an ottoman in my bedroom, so that they were literally right there. On days I didn’t feel like running, I told myself that I only had to hit the road for a mile — if, after that, I wanted to call it quits for the day, then fine. This mental exit button tricked me into getting outside on days I wanted to do anything more than break a hard sweat (oh hi, Netflix marathon!). But here’s the thing: I never ran just one mile. The hardest part of a run is the first few steps; after that, it’s all rhythm. You’re already moving — now all you have to do is keep going.

I also equipped myself with a few essentials: New running shoes, a water bottle I kept on me at all times to stay hydrated, and a killer playlist. When I couldn’t get psyched about a run, I could at least get into the idea of listening to my favorite new music for 40 glorious minutes. I also bought a tube of arnica gel to help with any soreness, and made a point to stretch — even on the days I wasn’t running — to avoid injury. (Usually while watching TV, but hey, that still counts.)

By the third week, I was in a routine. Some days were easy, and I’d push myself to get in an extra mile or two while I had the energy. Those “reserve” miles came in handy on the tough days when I was rushed for time, or when my hip muscles were tight after 25 minutes and my body seemed to say, “Enough, now.”

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And while there were some noticeable physical changes, the real benefits weren’t the visible ones — I began looking forward to my runs, a small chunk of time blocked off from everything (and everyone) else in my life, reserved totally for me. I can’t believe I was making excuses to skip this, I thought to myself on an unusually warm December day, the endorphins kicking in. I was jogging along a gravel path in New York City’s Central Park, passing by flocks of happy tourists and locals, an ice rink filled with skaters, and horse-drawn carriages. At the end of what I’d planned to be a six-mile run, I found myself making excuses to keep on going. Another five minutes, I said to myself. And after that, an extra 10. I’d hit my stride.

I only had two days left in my 30-day challenge when New Year’s Eve rolled around, and I decided to run — yes, run — my way into the New Year with a four-mile race. Instead of slipping into heels and a cute outfit, I accessorized black running pants and two top layers with a race number. When the gun went off at midnight, I was six miles from my 100-mile goal. Screw New Year’s resolutions — I was ending one year and beginning another with my best foot forward. It felt amazing, way better than the glass of champagne I’d almost certainly otherwise be sipping.

On Jan. 2, the last day of the challenge, I only had two miles left to complete. I called a close friend of mine who I have been running with since we were teenagers, and invited him to join me. When we finished, I asked him to snap a quick photo of me — a strange request for what he thought was just another park workout.

“Did you get it?” I asked, feeling silly for posing. “Yup, take a look,” he said, holding out my phone. I looked down at the screen, and there she was: The happy, fit woman I’d longed to be again.

I’m using that single image as momentum for 2016 — not as a promise of all the things I need to change or baggage I need to lose, but rather, as a reminder that all I have to do is decide what I want, and move toward it. The first step is always the hardest, after all.

Body-Peace Resolution is Yahoo Health’s January initiative to motivate you to pursue wellness goals that are not vanity-driven, but that strive for more meaningful outcomes. We’re talking strength, mental fitness, self-acceptance — true and total body peace. Our big hope: This month of resolutions will inspire a body-peace revolution. Want to join us? Start by sharing your own body-positive moments on social media using the hashtag #bodypeaceresolution

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