Tomorrow marks more than one anniversary for me. Both are special...Here is one of them... So tomorrow marks the completion of forty-six years of running. I started at age 13, July 1st 1976. 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. I was told my knees would get destroyed and I’d be an old lady by age forty and all crippled. My mom asked me one day when I was a teenager, “So at what age do you think you can run till?” I responded, “Oh, I don’t know 65, maybe.” She replied, “Yep. I think so.” It was implied I’d lose the will to run let alone race when I became a mother. I was told, it couldn’t be done. A record couldn’t be set by someone with no talent, rearing children and working full time. I was told I’d be tired and get distracted and end up like everyone else in one of the tribes I have been associated with. So I ran anyway... I’d sit in...
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