Getting up before dawn is worth it every time.

I have heard one perk of running is that it’s cheap. No gym membership or fancy gear needed, just lace up and go. Sidewalks and roads and trails are free!

That’s totally true except it’s also a lie, because roads are free but good running shoes are not. You know what else isn’t free? Cold-weather running pants (and jacket) (and ear warmers) (and gloves) (and wool socks) (and three layers of shirts) for when you want to run on those free roads when it’s 20 degrees and snowing.

Running in the snow is beautiful and difficult.

My point is that running is not exactly cheap. You actually lose a lot when you take up the sport. In one year alone — my first as a “real runner” — I’ve lost a few hundred dollars to running shoes and gear, an hour of sleep just about every other morning, two toenails, one headband, and a whole lot of self-doubt.

As you might imagine, all those losses are worth it, considering all the things running gave me.

It gave me time to pray, ponder, daydream and cry in solitude. It gave me the desire to be faster, run longer and do better in every way. It gave me the perspective to know that the way my body works is far more important – and far more powerful – than the way my body looks. And then it made my body look better anyway.

If you’re a runner, you need to go to Whoirun4.com and take your workouts to a new level.

Running gave me the means by which to test my limits. It gave me a connection to a tiny angel in Texas named Rylee, whose life fuels and inspires me. It gave some of my friendships a whole new dimension.

It gave me peace when I needed it and hope when I was desperate for it. It got me closer to God, and closer to myself.

The thing about running is it gives you something different every time you run, and that “thing” is different for every runner. Sometimes it’s a shining moment of clarity. Other times it just jostles the contents of your brain until they settle in a different, more manageable order.

Running up the museum steps made famous in “Rocky” with some of my best runner-girlfriends.

Many of my runs give my mind a welcome chance to autopilot. After a tough day yesterday, I headed out for 4 miles of what I assumed would be a critical time to think about the day’s events and organize my emotions. Instead, for roughly 35 minutes my thoughts went something like this:

“Dark … breathe …puddle … dark … slush … jump … light … step … step … step … car … dark … breathe … puddle … ice! … slush … wet … car … hill … hill … hill … hill …”

And somehow that’s exactly what I needed. Running always gives me what I need.

The beauty of the sunrise takes my breath away, but stopping to snap a pic helps me to catch it.

To that end, I think the most important thing running has given me – even more important than inner peace and wicked hamstrings – is a more conscious approach to life.  I see things I never noticed before. I look at my town differently. I see hills, I remember cracks in sidewalks, I know which side streets have more shade or less traffic. I have seen more sunrises in the past year than in the previous 10, and I am still in awe of every one. I am more conscious of what I eat and drink, what the wind speed and Real Feel temperature will be for each of the next 10 days, and how my children look at me when I come back from a run, flush and sweaty and empowered.

I am more conscious inwardly as well. I know what I’m capable of, and what I will be capable of with a little training and dedication. I know what a 4-mile run feels like before it even starts. I know that until about mile 3 I will fight an internal battle with the parts inside me that still don’t like to be tested, taxed or tethered to a goal that’s more uncomfortable than sitting on the couch daydreaming about being fit and fast.

Never, never, never.

And I know that somewhere around that magical third mile those voices will fade to a whisper and I’ll settle into a rhythm of step-step-breathe-step-step-breathe that feels loose and natural – until I hit a hill, or the wind kicks up in my face, or my knee starts to twinge, and then those dark inner voices will rise up and try to choke me once again. Sometimes I’ll walk. Sometimes I’ll turn up my music and push through.

Doesn’t matter how I react, because even if I lose time or lose confidence or momentarily lose my mind – which has happened – I know I have already gained much more from those expensive shoes and free roads.

Truth.