Today, after almost a year of running, I finally clocked a 10:15 mile.
My goal is to run a nine-minute mile.
When I began, it took me almost 15 minutes to run one mile.
In July I ran my first 5K obstacle race and jumped over fire.
I trained for this by running at noon on 90-degree days and logging endless hours on the treadmill.
I rode my bike for many miles under the hot sun, through raging thunderstorms, at night, drunk (once; not so proud of that) and with group of spandex-clad, clip-shoed folks, who when you know them ahead of time are nice but sometimes are a bit snooty with those of us wearing cotton and lace-ups.
My husband says, based on the number of pictures I take of it, I should just admit I’m in love with my bike.
One thing I learned this summer is that the moment you let go of something it works out just fine either way.
Another thing I learned is letting go is not easy.
I edited a 75,000-word manuscript in June and July, which killed my interest in working on the memoir this year.
Doing the right thing rarely feels good, such as when I cancelled my trip to Colorado this summer.
I’ve decided the best way to write for future use is to document every joyful, painful, frustrating, interesting thing happening now.
The plot and hook will come later, right?
I am blessed with a great community of friends and supporters.
After three-year hiatus, we finally had a serious primitive camping weekend.
I met a very big owl deep in the woods as I was gathering firewood. We had a stare down, which still gives me chills when I think about it.
I had another standoff with a porcupine, which was nowhere near as spiritual.
I did not cry at my oldest daughter’s high school commencement ceremony in June.
In August, I found my first legitimate full-length, corkscrew-crazy, gray hair poking out of my head.
Then, I cried.