2001: The Twin Towers are still standing. I’m still jet-setting around the country. Masks are for Halloween. I hadn’t yet married the man who trained me for the Boston Marathon.
Boston boy, this running coach; sub-3-hour marathoner. He gave me training schedules scribbled on notepads, stopwatch clicking as I ran 400s. I gave him my all. We gave ourselves, for better or worse.
Marathon Monday, the morning as tart as the first bite of a green apple. A jellybean hangover. In my glove, a note: the race does not always go to the swiftest, but to those who shall endure.
I love how you can share feelings with so few words.
Wow, well done and well written. Thanks for sharing with us, Amie.