I did a thing this weekend.

I ran 5.2 miles every four hours for 24 hours, partnered up with my longtime running friend. We stitched together two races, the virtual “Stabby-Cat” (yes, that’s the real name, and yes, we loved it) and the local Hamster Endurance Run. The Hamster is one of those “run yourself loopy around a lake until you drop” kinds of races. Some people show up to run 100 miles or more. We showed up with a very specific mission: twelve loops around the lake, spaced out as two every four hours over 24 hours.

Why? Because we’re just that kind of weird.

Combining races meant we had the support of our local running community and the race organizers, plus, we didn’t have to run through a dark forest in the middle of the night alone. Which is good, because let’s be honest: I’m the slower one. If any night creatures were lurking, they’d definitely have gotten me first.

The beginning was almost comically fun. We ran our first leg, grabbed some waffle fries, lounged in the sun, and even hit up Starbucks between loops. It felt like a quirky day out with a little cardio sprinkled in.

Then the sun dipped behind the trees.

As darkness settled over the lake, the race shifted from playful to primal. My body was tired, my brain fogged by sleep deprivation. Chafing. Sweating. Tromping around the same loop at midnight wondering what life choices brought me here. The 4 a.m. loop was sheer survival. I ran on fumes, legs like lead, head in the clouds.

And yet, I finished.

This morning, I woke up less sore than expected. Sleepy, sure. But something else settled in with the coffee and the quiet: a deep, quiet pride. I did something hard. Again.

And of course, because I’m me, the next question immediately whispered in my ear:

Could I go farther?

Last year I ran 50 miles. This year I did this ridiculous Stabby-Hamster mash-up. Could I do 100? Maybe. With enough training, probably.

But maybe that’s not the real question.

Maybe the real question is: What am I chasing?

What’s behind this constant urge to prove myself to myself?

I’m learning that the next challenge isn’t just a bigger number or a harder course. It’s letting myself be still. Sitting with the effort I’ve already given. Feeling the tenacity, it took to finish something like this.

This push-pull between striving and settling, drive and stillness, isn’t just part of my fitness life. It’s shaping my whole self.

And I think that’s the real endurance work.