I was told I was too slow. I was told I had too many foot and hip issues. I was told that I’d quit, because I was a girl. I was told I’d grow out of it by end of high school, because I’d be a woman then. And all I would want was babies, and being a wife and a mother.
I was told my knees would get destroyed by age thirty. And I’d be an old lady by age forty, and I’d be all crippled. All this was from the experts, doctors, people who called themselves sports-medicine specialists, relatives, and a variety of other adults.
My mom asked me one day when I was a fourteen, “So at what age do you think you can run till?”
I responded, “Oh, I don’t know. Sixty-five, maybe.”
She replied, “Yep. I think so.”