Sometimes I think I just can't do this anymore. I can't run one more mile, take one more step. I feel like my legs are made of stone and my feet hurt so much they might explode out of my running shoes.

This normally happens towards the end of a run, when I know I have more miles to go and am no longer comfortable running. I've never been a competitive runner, so for me, to feel comfortable when I run is key.

But not always. Sometimes I hide in my comfort and forget to challenge myself. I enjoy a challenge almost as much as I enjoy comfort. Yet there are times when the challenge seems overwhelming. I can't make it up the hill, or around the park one last lap.

Then I start to think about all the other people in the park. Some of them are going through the same thing--struggling just to make it a few more yards. I start to think about the people who can't even make it to the park, those who can't run or literally can't take another step.

I think about an inspiring picture I took from last year's NYC marathon of a man hauling it down 4th Avenue in Brooklyn who had no limbs. He was kicking butt and having the time of his life. And he was working very, very hard. He'd worked so hard just to get to the marathon--I can't even imagine what it must have been like the first time he got on one of those machines and got going just using his arms.

Thinking of others who don't have it as easy as I do yet give it their all and succeed is sometimes all the inspiration I need to get up that hill or around the park one more time.

I'm lucky to have the time and the patience and the wherewithal to run. I'm fortunate enough to have a family who is understanding and supportive of me. I couldn't do it without them.

I think of all these other people--total strangers, my family, all of them--when I'm on my runs. Trust me, when you're logging in thirteen miles a pop you have time to do a LOT of thinking. And when things get tough, I remember those who have it harder than me or who have made sacrifices so I can do this running thing, and I dedicate portions of my run to them.

If I'm going around the park three times, I'll dedicate each lap to a different person. If I'm struggling to make it up that giant hill, I dedicate my effort and work--and success when I get to the top--to someone. It makes getting over that hump so much better, and easier. It makes my success something I can share.

Sure, none of these people know I'm running for them, sweating for them, but I truly believe in karma--the good kind, anyway. I believe that by turning my struggles into something positive I'm sending out good energy into the world.

Who knows if there is a higher being out there listening to my silent dedications or not, but if so, I hope that being is spreading that good energy around a little more.

Sometimes the pain of those who aren't as fortunate as me gets to me on these runs. I've spent a lot of time actually crying as I go up that hill. Really, if you're in Prospect Park and you see a gal weeping as she plows around the turns it's probably me.

I cry because a lot of the time I feel like it's not fair that I should be so fortunate and others should suffer so much for no other reason than because they are vulnerable. I've struggled with a lot of issues as I've run those miles. Thinking about children who've suffered and died from child abuse is a big one.

In some strange way, I hope that my tears and my physical pain can in some way cancel out their pain. Again, that's karma.

When a dear friend of mine became inexplicably ill, and was in a great deal of pain, I dedicated a lap to her. She'll never know that but it makes all the difference in the world to me. And it helped make my run that day more meaningful.

This is not to say that I can save the world through running, or that my runs weren't meaningful in the first place. But thinking on these things, these people, makes my runs more special. It gets me to go longer and farther than I ever thought I could.

And that's really saying something. That's really feeling something. When I ran thirteen miles for the first time since I had my baby--and ran all of it by myself, which I'd never done--I cried the whole walk back home. The tears were tears of joy, this time, but they were also for those who helped me in my journey.