A few weekends ago, Lee and I ran with a team from our church in the St. Peter’s Kilometers 10K race on Skidaway Island. I hadn’t run 6 miles very often since my half-marathon in January, and boy could I tell. The morning was clear but quite warm, and my energy really waned in the last couple of miles. I found this frustrating, knowing I’d tackled more than twice the distance only a few months prior.

The next weekend I went out for a late-morning four-mile run on a day that was even hotter, and the results were even worse. When I reached the halfway point at Forsyth Park, it was a good thing the only way to get back home and rest was my two feet – if I’d had the option to quit the run right there I might have done that.

So Lee and I have begun setting our alarm clocks early, getting in our runs before the day begins to warm. And just one week after that miserable 4-miler, I was reminded not to let a couple of tough runs get me down. I set out at dawn for a 6-mile run, determined to regain my conditioning at that distance.

Every step was pleasant. Car traffic was light. Pedestrians were friendly. The city looked crisp and inviting that morning. As I approached Bay Street, my turnaround point, the sun was rising beautifully over the Savannah River and I decided to extend my run. I walked down the cobblestone path to Riverstreet and ran there, adding another mile to my trip and happy to do so.

I didn’t set any speed records for myself, but it was nice to feel good out there again. I was reminded that each run, while building on the run before it, is its own run. A few discouraging runs don’t signal a trend, because there’s always the next run, and it might just be a great one.