It could have been a bit more–it also could have been a bit less. (Don’t blame me for not knowing; Google Maps apparently doesn’t put in the exact route I happened to take when I search for directions between Williamsburg and my apartment.)
The point is, whatever the precise distance, this is longer than I’d ever run before. I’d like to tell you it was easy. I’d like to say, “Now that I ran this far, I feel like I can run any amount!” But it was hard, and it felt like my limit–physically. Psychologically, I could have kept running. Psychological fuel was the only thing keeping me upright during the last mile. In fact, my feet were saying, “Please! Stop!” My legs were pleading, “Just walk the rest of the way and we’ll never tell anyone.” My heart was pounding, “Seriously, I’m not going to be able to continue this life-supporting job I’m tasked with unless you cease this torture you’re inflicting upon me. That’s right, I’ll just quit working. I don’t care what Brain is telling me to do. Oh yeah, I’m that powerful.” (My heart gets a little overly dramatic sometimes.)
It was hard, and it pushed my limits, but I did it. And I’m glad I did it. Which only reinforces the idea that just because something is hard, that doesn’t mean it isn’t the right thing for you. Just because something pushes you to your limits, that doesn’t mean the eventual triumph won’t be worth it. Just because you may doubt your ability to make it through and wonder whether you should just take your body’s (or mind’s, depending on the situation) complaints as a sign that you should give up, that doesn’t mean walking away is the best thing for your body (or mind).
It just means you have to try a little harder. Unless your feet really do give out and force you to collapse on the sidewalk 10 feet from the entrance to your building, which did not happen to me but is something I felt was a very real possibility at the end there. Then I’d say you should give up.