One is the loneliest number.

I ran one mile last night. One measley mile and I feel so relieved to have even made it that far. As I was approaching one mile, I thought, 'I'll just keep running and do a little more than that.'

No. At one mile, my goose was cooked. I figured I should stop before I hurt myself.

I remember the day that I first ran double digits. A ten-mile run in preparation for my marathon. I was elated and grinned through my chattering teeth -- it was also the first time I'd ever tried an ice bath, which is another experience I will have to blog about later. Yowza.

So now I sit, thinking about one mile, wondering if I'll even try to do more than that tonight or if I should just rest on my laurels for a few days. Either way, I look back on the dozens of miles that got me through two half-marathons, one marathon and a 5K, I can't help but realize:

If you don't use it, you lose it.