Yesterday was a sad day for the purple tank top. I'd received it when I arrived at the Roseland 5K Race in June of 1995. I'd worn it proudly as often as possible on my training runs thereafter. I'd won the race that day and set the women's course record. Which astonished me. I wasn't all that fast after going through the first mile in 5:07, I knew I'd pay. I had an added pain going into the race. I felt as if someone put crazy glue and duct tape inside my right groin, let it set for an hour and then ripped off the duct tape. It was that raw, scraping feeling. Only to find out later in the one doctor's office I knew was available on an early Saturday afternoon. "Jody, you have shingles. Didn't you see the blisters in your groin?" I replied, "Well I saw 2 small things, but didn't even think of it last night. And this morning I was too mentally busy getting ready for the race. I had no clue." 1995 was already a running disaster. Yet ...
Reflecting back many times over 40 years ago today. Norman, my now deceased husband took me for a hike on a late Friday afternoon to propose. After about 1.5 miles up the mountain, he'd picked a fallen tree and asked me to sit eye to eye with him. We were equals even in the proposal. Then he'd popped the question, "Would you like to be my equal partner in marriage?" He'd asked. I was taken completely off guard. Yet I knew to say, "Yes." I'd paused for a second in disbelief. He went to ask a second time. Our words converged. My "Yes", won out. Soon, we were married. Oddly enough I'd sworn off marriage nearly all my life until Norman. Too, any intimacy with anyone. The thoughts of marriage and love ebbed and flowed tauntingly till that moment. My parents had a horrible marriage. Women were mere possessions in my family. Many an ogre and some rapists ruled them. The rapist had a devout Catholic wife that had gone to the priests to cu...