After a few weeks of final projects and exams, followed by another where I allowed myself time to unwind, a familiar feeling of guilt crept in—it had been too long since I’d been for a run.

In the 70-degree weather, two miles into a run on the bike path near my house, I was doing everything I could to keep myself going. Stopping to walk was not even an option that crossed my mind, even though I was exhausted and in no way concerned with losing weight or training for a race. Why then, I suddenly asked myself, was I willingly going through such misery? It was definitely a fair question. There are so many more comfortable means of exercise, like biking, yoga, or walks in the neighborhood, but years of high school running and a proven genetic talent for distance running in my family, were factors that made running my most second nature and fulfilling sport.

For those 40 minutes, I am alone with my music, footsteps, and breath. The only battle I have to fight is a physical one against my mind’s tendency to temp my body to stop what it’s doing—to quit. It’s not always a fight easily won, but it's one that’s in my control. For that portion of the day, other stresses can’t touch me, and even the pain that I feel is physical—capable of being pushed past, put out of my mind, or even embraced.

My racing career may have ended with my last track season, but I imagine that I will be a runner for the rest of my life. For that, I have my old cross-country coach to thank, who could challenge and relax me all at once. He was the embodiment of what it is to run—the challenge of moving through pain, the soothing therapy of heartbeat, breathing, and sneakers pounding dirt. How could anyone cease to partake in something as dynamic yet as easy as this sport, especially once they’ve been exposed to it?

I just may never run the Boston Marathon or even a half marathon for that matter. I may never again run the six-minute mile that I could in high school. I may never be a part of a running group or team the way I was for all those miserable, wonderful practices. Though, as long as there are trails, tracks, and roads, I will keep wearing the soles of my sneakers thin and feeling that sweet satisfaction of finding the end of my run back within my sight.