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Several weeks ago, during an early morning run, I saw a female runner approaching me. Under the streetlights, I could tell that it was someone I’d seen before. We’d always exchanged a short greeting when going past one another. But today was different. I was just a few meters short of my turn around point. It also appeared that I’d tdo so at nearly the exact moment that we would meet on this bicycle path. Not wanting to make her nervous, I ended up stopping for about th

406 days. Approximately 9757 hours. That’s how long it had been since my last race. As those who follow this post know, the time since that race has seen far too much drama. Knee injury. Platelet-Rich Plasma injection. MRI. Meniscus surgery. Blah. Blah. Blah. What mattered most to me was the walk up to that starting line in downtown Ames, Iowa. Me and just over four hundred other participants clustering closer and closer together. What was going through my head? Prett

Give or take a few days, fifty years ago tomorrow, I ran my very first cross-country race. I remember it well. Running in Converse...