The Truth Behind My Ten-Mile Runs: Why I Finally Stopped Chasing More

In March of 2022, I clocked 70 miles of running most weeks. My average runs were anywhere between eight and twelve miles. I thought I was empowered to run. I thought I was strong, capable, and unstoppable.

In reality, I had created a prison for myself.

If you’re wondering whether I was training for a marathon, the answer is no. It wasn’t until the next year that I tried that (and ultimately burned myself out from running).

I had slowly built up miles to the point where I could run ten miles nearly every day without much effort. When I picked running back up in 2017, I was running one to three miles a day. Modest, doable. Yet as the years progressed, I kept adding more.

You always have to do more, right?

Mentally, I had committed to improving. I placed myself on a trajectory that only had one direction: up. If I ran less, it meant I was backpedaling on all my progress. Three miles turned into four. Four miles turned into five. Five into seven. Eventually, seven turned into ten. Some weekends, I’d run a “casual” sixteen miles before noon.

How Overachievement Quietly Becomes Extremism

I’m not sharing this to gloat. Quite the opposite. In hindsight, those running habits stir shame when I look back. They were another form of extremism, no different from the eating disorders I had in my youth.

For a while, the extreme running felt good. It’s hard not to feel pride after knocking out ten miles before work.

But it didn’t take long before I began to resent the runs. I felt as if, unless I sustained the same level of intensity, I would lose my “runner’s card.” Like the Running Police would show up and say, “Sorry, you haven’t been putting in enough effort. We have to take this back.”

I didn’t know what runner’s burnout was until it was too late. I assumed my body would warn me with injury or illness.

The Early Signs of Runner’s Burnout I Ignored

While I waited for my body to tell me to stop, my mind and heart had already done it. At the time, I was just too blind to see it.

I wasn’t sore, and I didn’t feel physically exhausted. I assumed that burnout would, at minimum, manifest itself in injury.

My burnout crept up quietly, but it was there long before I noticed it. I felt disconnected from my runs. Motivation waning. I dreaded running. I hated the long runs, and I was bored. Worse, my body had adjusted so much that I wasn’t reaping any benefits. I could run seventy miles a week and still maintain an average weight. My mind was convinced I had to keep going.

More miles. Longer runs. Never less. Always more.

It took years to admit it, but I no longer loved running. I watched my friends cross finish lines with joy, and I felt only envy. The love I once had evaporated. I had stripped the joy from it.

I turned a hobby that once gave me endorphins into punishment.

Learning to Listen to Myself Again

In 2025, after nearly five years of running five to ten miles every morning, I decided to pull back. I thought, “What if I don’t have to run a certain number of miles?”

The first day I did this, I felt scared. I was convinced that overnight my body would balloon from being so “sedentary” and I’d immediately gain weight—old eating disorder thoughts resurfacing.

But I did it anyway. I cut back my miles (significantly). I lifted weights instead, and I stopped myself after three miles. Then something wonderful happened.

I felt happier again.

For years, I believed that to be a “real” runner, I had to keep pursuing the same path. That cutting back was failure. I kept forcing myself to reach arbitrary goalposts.

It was as if I was living two separate realities: the drill sergeant, and the captive. My true self was lost in the mix. I stopped asking how I felt, or whether I wanted to run, or how much.

I used to think that running ten miles a day gave me power, that it proved something. That it meant I was capable, enough.

Redefining What Being a “Runner” Means to Me

Sometimes we set arbitrary goalposts for ourselves because they give us purpose. But when that purpose becomes a taskmaster, we have to step back and ask what we’re actually chasing. Is it worthiness? Achievement? Recognition?

Once I understood that I didn’t have to run that much—and that I was still a runner even if I cut back—I was finally able to let go.

Even now, I notice the part of me that looks for the next mountain to climb. The difference is that I’m committed to listening to myself. My true self.

I don’t love running the way I used to, but I no longer dread it. I do it because it’s good for me, and because it’s still my favorite form of cardio. Maybe one day I’ll fall back in love with it. For now, I’m content. Some days I’ll run three miles, some days less, some days more.

What matters is that I’ve taken back my power from the drill sergeant. Even logging fewer miles, I’m still a runner. In some ways, more of a runner than I was 8 months ago.

Sometimes, less really is more.

Frequently Asked Questions

What are the early signs of runner burnout?

Early burnout rarely shows up as injury. For many runners it starts as boredom, dread, loss of joy, or feeling mentally disconnected from the habit. You may notice you’re increasing your miles without knowing why, or feeling guilty on days you run less

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How do I know if I’m running too much

If your mileage feels compulsory instead of purposeful — as if cutting back means failure — you may be overtraining. Running becomes a pressure, not a choice, when your identity is tied to constant progression.

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Is it okay to cut back miles and still call myself a runner?

Yes. Reducing mileage doesn’t change your identity. Many runners rediscover joy, balance, and longevity when they let go of rigid expectations and listen to their bodies again.