1:03:22

That’s how long I ran tonight. One hour, three minutes, and 22 seconds. Non-stop.

It’s the first time I’ve eclipsed the 60-minute mark, which has loosely been my goal since I first ran 30 minutes straight in January. I say loosely because I never made a conscious effort to reach it. Sure, I would have never doubled my time if I hadn’t attempted to run farther, longer, but running for an hour was always a far off ambition, one I kept in the back of my head and didn’t take seriously. I just ran and didn’t worry about goals or personal bests.

Since July I’ve been running a little over 5.5 miles every other day. Normally it takes me about 54 minutes. I knew if I wanted I could easily tack on another six to make an even hour, but I didn’t push the agenda. Three weeks ago was when I first thought about making an attempt, to keep running after reaching my stopping point — the end of a levee boarding the Bosla Chica Wetlands. I thought if I ran halfway down the earthen embankment I could do it and resolved to the next time. However, I pinched my sciatic nerve the next day while playing basketball. I misdiagnosed it as a hamstring strain — a common mistake because the initial symptoms are similar — and stopped running. I was afraid I had thrown away my chance at breaking the hour mark, at least for a month until my hamstring had completely healed. But after a week I had my doubts about the strain and made a test run to identify the mysterious aching I felt in the back of my right leg. If it had been a hamstring I would have shredded that puppy, but it ended up being a dislodged disc irritating my sciatic. A dose of running was the perfect prescription for realignment.

I needed a few runs to get back to my normal distance and time, but I still didn’t push myself until Monday. Nearing the levee from Talbert Avenue I made the decision to keep going, to run for an hour. I ran halfway to the far side of a gravel driveway leading to a set of oil company trailers (yes, the preserved wetlands has a few oil pump jacks; a little ironic, isn’t it?) and stopped. My watch read 58:32.

Shit! I thought. Eighty-eight more seconds and I would have had it!

I thought about running for just a little longer, but I had already stopped and couldn’t count it as a real hour. It wouldn’t have been non-stop. So I decided to do it Wednesday — today.

Normally I don’t think about running on the days I do it. I know I have to run, but I don’t meditate on the challenge before me. It’s not a challenge anymore, really. I like running; it’s an enjoyable, uplifting, and relaxing experience. But today I thought about it. I thought about it during work, on the bus ride home, and on my drive to the housing tract where my route is. I thought about it while I was running, which I don’t think is beneficial at all. Thinking about how long I was going to run, all the sustained movement and effort I was to make, and all the energy I would expend made the task seem daunting and impossible. It made me eager, too. I couldn’t wait until I reached the end. I felt like I did as a kind when I went to bed on Christmas Eve and had to wait till morning to open my presents. Ugh! But I blocked it out and thought about other things…until the end, at least.

I reached the levee and kept running, as I had on Monday. This time I wasn’t only going to run past the gravel driveway, I was going to run to the opposite end of the levee. It would for sure get me to the hour mark and past it. But I never considered how long the levee is and the time it would take to run its entire length. I’ve run it many times before but forgot how the little gate at the end, leading to a taller levee trail alongside a rainwater canal, mocked me the entire way. It never got any closer! When I finally neared it I wondered if I had gone overboard, if running the entire length was overkill.

I reached the gate, ran up the incline to the higher levee, and stopped my legs and watch. 1:03:22.

Shit. I ran for more than an hour. For some it may be nothing, but for me it’s a momentous milestone. I started running seriously three years ago this November. I was a broke Super Senior at Iowa, living at my parent’s house to save money, and ran the short little streets around their house in the cold mornings before walking to campus. All I could do after years of inactivity was eight minutes, and I sprained my Achilles after two weeks. Man, was I stupid. During the summer I ran four or five laps at the Bates Field track, and sometimes tricked myself into a sixth and seventh. After moving to California I ran a mile along a windy mountain road lined with redwoods and evergreens between Santa Cruz and San Jose — mostly downhill, of course. Unemployed and without money for food, running took a back seat until I moved to Huntington Beach and found a job. That’s when I set goals and gradually built endurance. It took me 10 months to run 30 minutes without stopping and until today to run for a whole hour. It’s been a long, hard struggle, but I’ve persevered and remained focused. The question now is what should I do next? What’s my next goal?

To celebrate, I think I’ll drink a little beer this weekend.