At 17, I started running. I ran to stay in shape after lacrosse season ended. I quickly realized that this was going to be my new sport.
At 19, I ran to be a part of a team. I ran cross country at Albion College, a small liberal arts school in Michigan. I wasn't the best runner but worked very hard and learned the sport.
At 24, I ran to deal with the death of my mother. I would replay conversations in my head in hopes that I could hold onto the memory of her voice.
At 25, I had foot surgery and couldn't run. I wouldn't run again for seven years.
At 32, I ran to lose the baby weight. I decided to not listen to the orthopedic surgeon and give it a try. I am glad I made that decision.
At 36, I ran because it was a pregnancy craving. Two miles each day of the week. I ran until I was so large I couldn't run. I was 7.5 months pregnant when I had to slow down to a walk. .
At 38, I ran because my neighbor moved away. We were such great friends that as she drove out of sight, I found myself devastated. I laced up my shoes and ran the pain and hurt feelings out of my body.
At 40, I ran for time. I was so determined to hit a sub two hour half-marathon that I threw my back out trying.
At 41, I ran because I could. My perspective had changed, and I was just thankful that I could run.
Today, at 43, I ran for therapy. I ran to clear my mind and put things into perspective. I ran to listen and offer advice. I ran, because at that moment, it was the only thing that made sense to me.