That I can do. So far, anyway.

I’ve never heard of Mt. Pisgah State Park, nor, Troy, PA.

But it’s the end of March and I’ve logged about 127 miles on my virtual run to Canada. I’m nearly to the border between New York and Pennsylvania, to the east of something called Mt. Pisgah State Park. And since I have no intention of doing all the research that will turn this journey into a travelogue, that’s about all I’m going to say about my current location. (I never promised enlightenment, here. Just a month-by-month account of my year-long attempt at running 450 miles.)

And speaking of 450 miles, turns out Toronto is slightly closer to me than I thought. I had to tack on another 30 miles or so to hit my number so now I’ll end up in “You Never Heard of It,” Canada. It’s just north of “Nothing Listed on the Map,” Canada. That’s awesome.

And how am I feeling? Well, I haven’t yet leaped onto the treadmill in delight and squealed with happiness as I pounded the miles out. I can’t believe that will ever happen, as a matter of fact. The only thing that delights me in a weird way is that I haven’t given up – yet. I’ve done my first three months and it’s been almost a year since I started using our treadmill a few times a week.

And if we get to a more micro level about this, I’ve very rarely ever given up on running a 5k, either. My rationale: If I’ve done a mile, I can do two. If I’ve done two, I can do three, for God’s sake. And if I do three, I can certainly remain upright for another tenth of a mile, yes? That’s what I tell myself anyway.

Here’s how my mind works – and what I discussed with my husband and a younger co-worker the other day. I relate almost anything uncomfortable, challenging, or exhausting to having a baby. It’s kind of cliché but hear me out, please.

My friend Molly shared this bit of wisdom with me when we were both pregnant twenty-one years ago: every labor pain you have is one less you have to have before the baby arrives. It’s come and gone and you never have to have that particular one again: it’s on the record and you’re onto the next. And one of them will ultimately be the very last one you have before you’re holding your baby.

So somewhere out there in the universe, even when labor ends in a Cesarean delivery, there is an unknown, finite number of contractions and pushes you have to do, and then you get your baby. And the better news is that you have to do only one at a time. As someone said in Chorus Line, “That I can do!”

I feel like that while I’m running. Run another quarter mile, another half mile and you never have to run that one again. It’s on the record. It’s not entirely comfortable all of the time and more than anything, you just want to get to the end but you can do anything for a little while, right? And you’re that much closer to your 450.

So – after the month of March, I am that much closer. I have 127 miles on the record; another 323 to go. Which is about 35.88 miles a month for the rest of the year. Which is about 8.97 miles a week. Which is about 2.24 miles four times a week.

That I can do.

Greetings from beautiful Clarks Summit, PA

And the annual virtual run to Toronto continues....For anyone keeping track, at the end of two months, I’ve run just over 80 miles.

That puts me in lovely Clarks Summit, Pa, which I have actually visited in my lifetime. That trip is a little vague now – an increasing circumstance as I grow up – but more than 20 twenty years ago, I think I had a client there and went on a business call to visit them. I don’t remember what their business was (it had something to do with woodworking) or who was more stunned; me – that I had driven to such a teeny little town to see them; or them – that I had driven to such a teeny little town to see them.

My regular disclaimer about the running and my goal this year applies: to anyone who does a quick and easy 20 miles or more a week, this total represents little more than baby steps. I acknowledge that and salute your fitness and commitment. But this past month was a bit more challenging than I imagined: It was about 17 degrees outside and our treadmill at home was out of commission for pretty much the entire month. The guy from Sears came to assess the damage one Saturday and spent 30 minutes confirming what we knew when we called: it was broken. It took another week for parts and another two weeks before he was back to fix it.

I was not long deterred. I have the very good fortune to work at a company with a fully appointed fitness center available to employees and that fact was never more welcome than this past month. Despite many (many) years of absence, I was welcomed back like the prodigal daughter. (One of the T-shirts I wore one evening brought back memories for the fitness center director. We determined it was vintage 1997 or ‘98.) Bottom line: I hopped on a treadmill after work a few nights a week and on Saturday mornings to keep my commitment to the Toronto run throughout the month.

I’ve learned the following: very, very rarely do I feel entirely fabulous throughout the entire run. There is inevitably a moment – or several – where I say: Stop. Just stop. That’s it.

Or this: Really? All that effort and it’s only been 9 minutes! Twenty-one more to go? I’m doomed.

Or this: You really don’t have another 1.7 miles in you today. You really don’t. It’s been a rough day. Quit now and call it a run.

I also learned this: when you run on a treadmill with a past winner of the Boston marathon running on the one beside you, you feel like you’re running underwater and he has wings on his heels. (He’s a delightful person – this was all my perception, I assure you.)

Thing is: I didn’t ever quit a run. I suspect the next lesson had something to do with it.

I learned this: TV is good but music is better. I am perfectly content to wander into our basement a few times a week and settle in for a 5K with Jack and Abby and Adam as my witnesses. And tell myself things like this: during the commercial, you’ll sprint and then back off again during the show. Or during the summation to the jury you can run another ½ mile an hour faster.

Basement bonus: at the end of every run, I throw darts. Only one round, one after the other, without a ton of technique. Correction: with no technique at all. I’ve hit the bulls-eye once, although not dead center. But I’m getting better.

When I ran to music over the past month, I found the song-size components that made up the distance the perfect way to mix up the pace. And even at the end of the run – even when I was well past 3 miles (I know. Unbelieveable, right?) – a really energetic song would create a burst of energy.

Music bonus: I listened to my boys sing. How does it get better than that? Encouraging words from my sons while I ran awkwardly and with little grace a few nights a week. Throw in a little Treme soundtrack, a little Godspell, some U2, Bruce, Stones and La Boheme. And there it is: another day, another 5K done on the record.

Onto March.

The little runner who could. Or couldn't. We'll find out soon enough.

Okay. That’s 37.1 down; 413.9 to go.

Almost inexplicably, I’ve become a runner. Let me rephrase that: I'm not a “real” runner because I log nearly all my miles on a treadmill, and I’ve never run a road race, and I’ve never considered myself even remotely athletic. Ask anyone who knows me: I’m not. Not by the longest shot.

But last year, I started worrying about my health. I weighed more than I ever had without being pregnant – maybe even without being pregnant. (I never put on more than twenty pounds or so with my pregnancies, even when I was carrying twins.) I worried about my sugar and my blood pressure. This was no good and just because I was getting older, I didn’t have to get fatter, did I? If I kept going at this rate, I’d be ten pounds heavier every ten years. No thanks.

So last spring, I started a diet. I’ve been on it ever since and have lost about thirty pounds. (I can't believe I had to lose thirty pounds but I did. That's what happens when you tell yourself things like, "I just need to lose maybe 10 or 12 pounds." Except you really need to lose much, much more.) Not to say I don’t indulge once in a while in truly decadent food but much more often, I consider and am aware of what I eat.

Last spring, I also started walking on our treadmill, and then walking and running a tiny bit, and then running slowly for a little tiny bit of time and then running faster and longer. And now I’m running a 5k a few times a week in under thirty minutes.

That’s not amazing or anything – I get that - but for someone like me, it’s very nearly miraculous. Who knew? If you’re someone who has been running for twenty years, you’re thinking a combination of “this is barely worth noting,” and “what took you so long?”

You're right but even with my very delayed start, I like the energy it seems to give me. I even like challenge it still presents every single time I get started. I like that I’ve been able to pull some of my favorite clothing out of my closet, clothing that I tell myself I've been “resting” for a couple of years.

It’s never easy but it is satisfying on some level. I sometimes have a few days go by and worry that this is the beginning of the end and I won’t run another step for months. That hasn’t happened in the past eight months but still, it could. It might. It really might.

But I have few illusions about this. I don’t ever expect to run a race of any kind because that’s not what running is about for me. It’s about blood pressure and cholesterol and being grateful for the healthy body I’ve been given.

Here’s how I’ve been able to keep going. Even when I really want to quit, I break my time down into tiny bits and convince myself to stick with it. “My God, you can do anything for another two minutes, can’t you?” “Okay, another 8/10th’s of a mile. You can do 8/10th’s of a mile, right?” “You’ve run for 26 minutes. Four more? Four more? I think so….” And it seems to keep me going.

But even that gets tedious. So when the new year started, I thought about what could possibly keep me going all year. What could I track in a bigger way to keep me slogging through, week after week?

I decided to run to Toronto, on paper anyway. That means over the course of the year, I’ll need to run 450 miles. Or, since I’m nothing if not anal about numbers, that means I need to cover 37.5 miles a month. And as you could see at the start of this post, I’m not too far off my mark.

The bad news is we’ve done something that has to be almost unprecedented in our home. We’ve owned two treadmills in the past twenty-five years or so and after years of on and off use, we wore out the first one. Over the weekend, we wore out the second. It's under warranty and we're getting it fixed but who could imagine that? How often does Sears get a call to fix a treadmill, much less two calls from the same household?

So I need to get my miles in elsewhere. Not impossible but not nearly as easy as wandering into my basement a couple of nights a week. Especially when it’s a pretty miserable winter. When it’s not snowing or sleeting outside, it’s seven degrees. That’s super.

Maybe this little note to myself – and you - will help keep me on track. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll get as far as the greater Scranton area and find myself figuratively hanging around there for months on end as I lounge on the sofa. Or I’ll get in a good hundred miles, take a break, and still have 345 miles to go on November 30. For now, I’m looking at the next month, and another 37.5 miles.

Which is about 9.4 miles a week.

Or about 1.34 miles a day.

Or 2.34 miles, four times a week.

I can do that, right? For another 48 weeks or so?

I guess we’ll find out.