I just ran my longest run yet on this relaunch of my fitness life.

10 miles.

Slow as heck, but 10 miles nonetheless.

Twice I was slightly hampered by my Morton’s neuroma in my right foot. Twice I pulled off my shoe, pulled back my sock, and massaged the area with my hand in the unfamiliar area of the city. Soon I was back on my feet, running, at least running as fast as a penguin runner can run. Soon the familiar returned. With that came a decision. Go right or go home. I had decided that I wanted to try and make 10 miles this day. Going left would surely give me that opportunity. But the neuroma’s reminder caused me to hesitate. To go left would take me further from home in case I was forced to limp back.

I decided to go right.

To my surprise, I was able to get the 10 miles I wanted, even though I had to run around the neighborhood to get the remaining distance. The problem was that the final two and a half miles were all uphill.

But I made it, passing the 10-mile point on my Garmin before the toll of my accomplishment finally settled on me.

Getting home, I stumbled inside, my calves speaking up loudly at that point. I waved at my wife, telling her that I hit the 10 miles point before hobbling off to my office and my welcoming chair. There I sat, massaging one calve before the next while my right foot shoved around my foot roller, working away the tenderness.

And as I leaned back and connected my Garmin to my computer to pull the data, I smiled.