There is something magical about driving in from Penrith, encountering the lake's foot at Pooley Bridge, then within a few miles finding yourself in fabulous mountain scenery all laid out below what I reckon is the finest mountain in England: Helvellyn.
If you're not going to reach elite status with an airline, it doesn't make sense to rely on a single domestic carrier to house all your miles, leaving yourself vulnerable to devaluations.
Join the tide and take a Blue & Gold Fleet ferry from San Francisco, or rent a kayak from Sea Trek in Sausalito and paddle the three-mile journey yourself.
A lot of times you'll be feeling super unmotivated and it can be hard to simple get out of bed, but going that extra mile for yourself can help you from falling into a huge pit of despair.
For a teenage student, the prospect of providing for yourself, miles away from home, can be daunting.
Or you start measuring your own progress against your former partner's and find yourself miles behind, on the side of the road with an old beater car.
Hey, when you've won 18 Grand Slam singles titles, you don't have to run 26.2 miles to prove yourself.
You find a spot somewhere along the 26.2 miles and scream yourself hoarse for an hour or more, cheering not so much for the superhuman frontrunners as for the stark-raving amateurs, for everybody's mother or cousin or buddy who by sheer force of will endure the impossible.
Or you can find yourself miles from land, a distance not safe to swim or advisable to do so.
But there's a difference between pushing yourself to finish that set or mile and forcing yourself to finish when your body is unable to handle it.
