Sandwich Heritage Day Book Signing

            Happy Birthday Sandwich. 375? You don’t look a day over 370.  I had the chance to be a part of Sandwich Heritage Day this past Saturday, June 14^th.  It was a lot of fun.  Held at Sandwich High School there was a lot to see and do if you attended.

            I was privileged to be stationed at the author table put up by Vicki Titcomb and Titcomb’s Books.  I came in as part of the second wave of authors at 2:30.  Ironically the author’s seat I took over when I arrived was that of Jim Coogan, my high school history teacher and author himself.  He helped build my love of history back then and I was finally able to tell him so.  One of the other authors I signed with, Shirley Pieters Vogel, author of Faith, Favorites, Fun, and Fotos of Cape Cod, was extremely nice and I really enjoyed speaking with her.

            I am still learning how to schmooze and speak to total strangers but with each signing I get better.  I try not to pressure people into buying, figuring if they thumb through my book the photos and words will sell it for me.  The highlights of my signing time were first off signing for a military family who had recently moved to the area after being in Germany for a few years.  The second highlight was my sister Ashley surprising me with her copy of my book.  She makes it a point to try to come to as many of my events as possible so that I can sign the book in a different spot.  She stayed for the rest of the event to give me some family support which is always good.

            In addition to having a chance to sign books for the people who gave my work a chance there were several other events going on that afternoon.  There was a Cape Cod Baseball League game getting ready to start at 4 between the Falmouth Commodores and Bourne Braves.  There was also face painting, Wally the Green Monster, and games emceed by Dan & Stephanie from WCOD. However, the cupcake contest was what nearly everyone was waiting for.  There was a table underneath one of the two tents lined with different cupcakes made by amateurs and professionals alike. They all were unique and looked delicious but there were only a chosen few who could be the ‘judge’ of which was best.

My sister Ashley and I

            The celebrity guest judges for the cupcake contest included Maury Povich and Connie Chung among others.  They arrived in an old green school bus and immediately began meeting and greeting.  I am not going to lie I held a copy of my book In My Footsteps: A Cape Cod Travel Guide in my right hand and waited for the celebrity couple to head for the tents.  I shook their hands and mentioned that I was going to be   Connie was interested in the book although Maury claimed he ‘forgot his wallet at home.’  She said they’d check me out after the cupcake contest was over.

signing my book over underneath the second tent.

            Not wanting to risk it I signed my book for them figuring I’d give it to them if they didn’t want to pay.  After the contest I made my way over with the book and overheard Connie tell Maury that she needed to come and ‘get the book.’  I ran back and they bought my book and I was able to get a photo with them and the book.  It was a great moment.

            After that the attention shifted away from the tents   This ended our time at Sandwich Heritage Day.  My sister and I helped Vicki load her car back up before watching a few minutes of the baseball game.  Each and every event I am a part of is special; it is not everyone who gets to do something they love.  I truly enjoyed Sandwich Heritage Day, working with Titcomb’s, and meeting Maury Povich and Connie Chung.  I will not soon forget it.

Standing with Maury Povich, Connie Chung, and my book.

and toward Fenton Field where the Cape League game was beginning.

Links, Links, and more Links

In My Footsteps: A Cape Cod Travel Guide - Amazon.com

In My Footsteps: Cape Cod - Boston Globe Review

History: In My Footsteps - Cape Cod.com

Titcombs Bookshop.com

Christopher Setterlund.com

Kurt Cobain & Nirvana 20 Years Later

           20 years is a long time by any stretch of the imagination. I am finding it difficult to fathom that it has been 20 years since Kurt Cobain died.  He was the man, well, part of the band Nirvana, which influenced the direction of my life more than anyone.  I am a writer today because of him.  It’s been 20 years, I still remember like it was yesterday.  Forgive me if this all comes out in a rambling haphazard way, I do not like to write blogs like this in a structured way.  I like it to be free flowing from my mind to the screen with little if any editing.

            Before I can remember the end I choose to remember the beginning.  I’ll never forget that night in August 1991.  I was 13; heading into 8^th Grade, summer was coming to a close.  I had been hanging out with my friend Matt and we were in his bedroom when he happened to turn on the radio.  Coming from the tiny speakers was this sound that was unlike anything I had heard before. 

            I only caught the final minute and a half of ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit,’ but that was all I needed.  I had to find out who made that sound.  It was as if that song in 90 seconds had tossed a brick through the window of my life revealing something amazing on the other side.  I carefully stepped through and never looked back.  Within a few weeks Nirvana’s Nevermind was released and I bought it.  This was one of the very first compact discs I had ever purchased.  I still have it; the thing was played so much that it is coated with scratches and ‘cd rot.’ It is pretty useless now, but the memories remain.

            Kurt Coabin’s angst in his lyrics spoke to me as to what was going on in my own life.  I was part of a divorced family setting with a stepfather who was not kind to me as I entered my teenage years.  I was not happy with who I was or where I was and thought nobody would understand.  Kurt was 10 years older so he was like a big brother sharing what he was dealt with.  I kept thinking if I followed his path I’d end up like him.  I wanted to be a singer/songwriter so I could find a way to express my own inner pain in a way that was creative and inspiring.  I hoped that maybe I could do for others what he did for me.  He made me make sense.

            I would eventually find out I was pretty much tone deaf and couldn’t play guitar worth a lick, but the writing part of the equation was actually quite good.  I would write song lyrics and poetry that were littered with real life raw emotion, things I didn’t like to share.  The poetry later became short stories and novels before evolving into the travel writing which landed me my first book deal.  It is easy to trace the steps back to that night in Matt’s bedroom where I heard that lovely ear-splitting music that changed my life.

            I remember in 1992 or 1993 trying to explain to my Dad that Kurt Cobain was my generation’s John Lennon.  Being a child of the 1960’s and a giant Beatles fan my Dad of course could not see how the scrawny, screeching, feedback blasting kid was anything like the man who sang ‘Imagine,’ ‘Give Peace A Chance,’ and ‘Instant Karma.’  I could not convince him back then maybe because it was still happening, Generation-X was current, not in the past.  These days it surprises me that my Dad can finally see what I was trying to say. 

            Nirvana was to me what The Beatles were to him. 

            Then in a flash it all ended.  The Grunge movement that killed hair metal, that knocked Michael Jackson off the top of the Billboard charts.  The Grunge movement that was so anti-mainstream that the mainstream had to go and find it.  It was over April 8, 1994.

            I remember coming home from school, Sophomore year.  I put on MTV, back when they were actually a music network.  There was the story: A body had been found in the room above Kurt Cobain’s garage.  Selfishly I hoped it was someone else, but deep down I knew better.  In short order it was confirmed who it was.  What made it worse was that he had ended his own life.  As the days and weeks and years passed I would learn so much more about what made Kurt Cobain tick, his stomach problems which led to drug addiction.  It made his suicide a little easier to swallow, maybe that’s just me making excuses for him. 

            In a snap his music and message were a part of history.  Now he is seen as a legend, a mythical figure, in the likes of Jim Morrison or Jimi Hendrix.  I actually get it now too since I was a part of the whole Grunge movement, but it is still a little weird to hear Kurt Cobain spoken of in that same way.  I remember needing to hear more of Kurt’s words so badly that I ended up purchasing every bootleg and B-Side filled disc, this was long before the With the Lights Out boxed set came out to make all of those songs easy to find.

            It’s funny now looking back at the videos and interviews and thinking that Kurt Cobain and Nirvana were larger than life figures but I am now actually older than he was when he died.  It’s weird that Dave Grohl’s band Foo Fighters have actually been together longer than Nirvana now.  I remember that my friend Rob and I had plans to go and see Nirvana as our very first concert during the summer of 1994.  They were supposed to headline Lollapalooza, but of course that never happened.

            I remember I tried to measure the impact Kurt Cobain had on music in general in the years after his death.  I made a chart for college that showed a list of the album sales of other grunge/alternative bands in the 5 years after Nirvana was finished.  It was as if Nirvana left such a hole in people’s musical lives that they scrambled to find the ‘next’ band like them.  There were some very deserving, awesomely talented bands like Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, and Alice In Chains who got the recognition they should have.  Pearl Jam is a stretch since they are usually seen as The Rolling Stones to Nirvana’s Beatles; they were/are every bit as good as Nirvana.

            On the other side though there were some weaker ‘alternative’ bands that saw huge record sales in the same 5-year period, bands like Bush, Live, Collective Soul, and countless others.  Don’t get me wrong, those bands are good, but they only got as big as they did because of the gaping hole Nirvana left.

            I’m not going to turn this into complaining about music after Nirvana though.  I am just amazed that it’s been 20 years now.  April 5 is the actual date as Kurt’s body wasn’t found for 3 days.  So I choose to celebrate his life and music for those three days.  I might never have an album, or play guitar, but I am a writer now and it all goes back to that night I first heard ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ on a little alarm clock radio.   

            I have celebrated his life and message basically since the moment I found out he died.  I think now a lot more people will figure out the impact of Nirvana thanks to it being a round number like 20 Years.  It also helps that there is a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction coming up, plus numerous magazine covers out right now.  I am not saying that everyone has to recognize Kurt Cobain as my generation’s John Lennon, but maybe if you think of who had that kind of impact on your life maybe you would understand what I am saying.  That’s how it will make sense to you. 20 years is such a long time especially when it still seems like yesterday.

Must-Listen: Smells Like Teen Spirit

                    Lounge Act

                    About A Girl

                    All Apologies

                    Aneurysm 

               

Treadmill As A Metaphor Pt. 1: Who I Was

Treadmill As A Metaphor: Who I Was 

A treadmill normally refers to a machine that runners, such as myself, use to stay active when it is either too cold or the weather is too severe to run outside. However it can also be a metaphor that writers such as myself use to describe the feeling of being stuck in place and not getting anywhere. The latter is how I am using 'treadmill' for this post.
I received a book deal during the summer of 2011. It was an amazing and exciting culmination of over 6 years of nearly nonstop work. I had basically forgone having a social life for so long, replacing that with the process of brainstorming, plotting, writing, editing, and self publishing ebooks of all shapes and sizes. I shared my work through Amazon's Kindle store but also ended up getting linked to companies like Barnes & Noble, Sony, Apple, and the defunct Borders. Sure it was difficult, sometimes thankless, sometimes tedious, and at some points it felt as though I was simply throwing darts at a board in the dark. I never knew if anyone was even seeing what I had done.
Thomas Edison had a famous quote that I used to keep me going. He said, 'Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.' I kept telling myself that all I needed was for the right set of eyes to fall upon one piece of my work just one time and that would be all I needed to make it all worthwhile. So I kept on going, writing children's books, suspenseful short stories, collecting old poetry into anthologies. I was trying to create a sort of buffet of work so that I'd have something for all types of readers.
The idea of travel writing, which would incorporate my love of writing along with photography and travel did not come organically. It came as a sort of defense mechanism. When my Nana died just after Christmas in 2009 I did not want to deal with the grief and did not want to feel that pain. I would routinely get into my car and drive off, going to places that did not remind me of her. While there I would shoot some photos and generally feel better about things. I began to seek out specific places in towns nearby to write about and combine them all into articles I posted on Blogspot entitled 'In My Footsteps.'
My goal was to give the reader a complete picture of what I saw, where I was, and what I felt. These articles became a passion/obsession. Each one was time spent away from grieving for my Nana and ended up being a new creative spark that excited me. 
During the first few months of 2010 I was on the road a ton since I had the entirety of New England to visit, shoot, and write about. I must have posted thirty articles during the spring. I was doing it more for me and my own sanity but I also thought that if others enjoyed what I was sharing that was a plus.
The places I traveled to eventually got further away and I was able to spend some amazing days and nights in spots I will never forget. Driving into the White Mountains in New Hampshire at sunset was almost surreal while the moment I stepped foot into Gloucester, Massachusetts cemented it as my favorite town in New England.  However, the 24-Hour period in which I watched the sunset from the summit of Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park in Maine and then drove out to West Quoddy Head Lighthouse in Lubec, Maine might rank as the best 24 hours of my life. It was after that trip that I decided that travel writing was what I wanted to do and was meant to do. All I needed was a break.
I got that break through a Facebook friend whose book I spotted on the shelves at a Barnes & Noble in the Cape Cod Mall.  I asked her how she got it published and she put me in touch with her publisher.  After detailing my plans for a Cape Cod travel guide in an email I crossed my fingers and hoped the publisher would like what I was selling.
I remember sitting at West Dennis Beach on a warm July evening having just finished eating in my car. It was just an average summer night until my phone rang with an unfamiliar number.  On the other end was the publishing company and what they said changed my life forever. They loved the idea of my Cape Cod travel guide and wanted to publish it! All I could do was thank them and try my best to contain the squeals of joy I wanted to let out.  Once we set up another time to discuss more details I hung up and ran up onto the sand dunes and simply said 'Yes!' I held my arms outstretched and smiled as wide as I could. After so many years of working nonstop toward a dream that at times felt like it might never happen I had finally received the break I had so desperately wished for. No matter where I went from that moment I would always be a published author.

-Part 2 Still to come...

The True Meaning of Motivation and Inspiration

The Harwich Half Marathon this past October became my third ‘defining’ moment of my running life.  The first was my first real mile in March 2011, the second was my first actual race, the CapeAbilities 5K in May 2011.  The half marathon was the natural next step for me.  I had strictly followed a ‘beginner’ training plan from CoolRunning.com.  This made it a pretty simple process, all I had to do was run the proper distances on the proper days and I’d be prepared for success.

Now in life there are always sidetracks.  Mine was the local running club which both my Uncle Steve and best friend Emily belonged to.  They had been imploring me to give it a try for a while and I finally relented a few weeks prior to the half marathon.  Before attempting the running club, which consisted of a lot of speed work on a high school track, I needed a new pair of shoes.

Rather than sticking with the Brooks Adrenaline that I was accustomed to I decided to switch it up to Mizuno’s Wave Rider.  Those of you who have read my other postings know how my change in shoes went.  For those who have not the gist of the story is that I switched to Mizuno’s for 6 months and endured 6 months of running in pain.  The pain began that night at the running club.

I admit I was jazzed to try something new and I think that my excitement cost me that night.  We did sets of Yasso 800 sprints.  I had never heard of them before but it was twice around the track which was easy enough for me.  Despite trying the distance running sprinting is what is in my blood as my grandfather was a World Class sprinter but WWII kept him from the Olympics.

I ran the Yasso’s as hard as I could, trying to push myself at something new.  I didn’t notice the aches in my right hip until the next day when it was obvious I overdid it.  With the race so close I dialed back my running to save my hip from further injury.  Even if I had been hurt I was still going to run the race as I had more motivation than just it being my first half.

The Harwich Half fell in the first week of October, Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  I had decided I would wear the pink ribbon on my black shirt and run the race in honor of my Aunt Christine who had passed away from breast cancer in 2004.  It was that higher purpose that kept my mind focused on the race.

Race day was a warm autumn day, I got a great parking spot directly across the street from Harwich High School where the race began and ended.  I was able to begin my stretching there as my hip was still tight but I was undeterred.  I pinned the pink Breast Cancer Awareness ribbon to my shirt and walked slowly and deliberately across a field into the school to get my bib number and pack of goodies.

As you runners know at the starting line they have minute markers posted so that you can run with the group according to your speed.  With my hip hurting I was going to jump back to the 9 min. crowd, but I spotted my Uncle Steve and he was at the 8’s.  I wanted to at least experience some of my first Half with him so I stepped in and said I’d try to keep up as long as I could.

The gun sounded and we were off.  Things began alright, I was side by side with my uncle, of course I believe he was holding back.  About 2 miles in I felt it, a sharp pain and burn in my right groin.  I knew from the burning that it was either a tear or a severe sprain.  Early in the race still I was not trying to diagnose myself, I was just trying to keep going.

Not long after I told my uncle of my pain and said there was no way I could keep up his pace.  I told him that I would not quit though.  I patted my pink ribbon to remind myself why I was not going to quit.  He told me to shout down the pain and tell it that it was not in control.  I said I would try and he slowly pulled away and out of sight.  I was left with nearly 11 miles left to run and a hip/groin that was badly injured.

As the miles dragged on I began to find ways to use ‘mind over matter’ to manage my pain.  It started with my breathing, concentrating on it, as a sort of meditation while my feet kept moving.  My steps were very deliberate as I noticed that if my legs moved perfectly straight ahead the pain was less than if my right leg shifted a little to the left.  Does that make sense? 

Each mile marker became a beacon of hope.  Once I passed 10 I knew there was no way I could stop.  Every step hurt but that little pink ribbon was like an angel on my shoulder.  I had not told anyone but my mother that I was planning on running for Auntie Chris.  I did not want it to be a ‘look at me’ type of thing.  I still don't want it to be like that, but it would be so much more disrespectful to leave this important fact out of my story.  

That ribbon was like a pacifier during those last few miles.  I had placed it over my heart and routinely patted it when the pain in my hip and groin became unbearable.  Sure, many people would have simply stopped, walked back or quit all together, and live to run another day.  That is not me.  If I had quit the race I would have felt like I was quitting on Auntie Chris.  She fought so hard for so long against her cancer that this was my way of honoring her memory, the fact that I was doing it with injuries seemed sort of appropriate. 

12 miles in I stopped and walked while trying to somehow massage the pain away for one more mile.  Several other runners shouted encouragement as they passed.  The remainder of the race was a slow, hobbling trot, but I kept going.  I got close to the finish line and Emily was there, having finished well before me, as did my Uncle Steve.  She pointed to her hip to ask how I was feeling.  I just shook my head no and kept going. 

I crossed the finish line at 1:55, I did not get much further before I found a spot along a fence and collapsed in pain.  For a few minutes I sat perfectly still afraid to move afraid to feel the pain.  It was a while before I was able to stand, I found my uncle and he congratulated me on my finish.  Everyone who ran got a medal, so I had a memento to look at and remember. 

The pain in my hip and groin was a bigger problem.  I had to stop running for weeks to try to let it heal.  As I said before, true relief only began to come when I switched shoes back to Brooks.  As I look back now though I would not change a thing.  I ran my first Half Marathon, dedicated it to a loved one, and conquered some adversity as well.  It may not have been a perfect story book ending, being injured and hobbling to the finish line, but for me it was pretty close.

The Origin of The Beast

             All characters have an origin story.  I am a character I suppose but not any sort of hero let’s get that clear to start.  However, once I began my new running life I felt like a new person so it was like having a split personality at times.  Within a few weeks of running on a consistent basis I was feeling more confident in myself as the shackles of my own self-doubt began to slide off of me.  This was a feeling that was foreign to me.  I was used to being very self-conscious.  I was used to not having much to say when it came to myself because there was never anything to talk about.

            Within a few weeks of running though I began to see and feel a difference and wanted to share this with people.  I had already begun to let people know that if I could start a running program than anyone could.  It’s amazing how when you try and succeed at something you had felt was impossible nothing seems to be off limits.  I had worked out consistently for almost 15 years and looked relatively similar to how I did at the beginning.  I had been essentially the same exact person inside for that long as well.  The only thing I hadn’t tried was running.  It made me wish I had done it sooner but I believe I wasn’t ready for that change of lifestyle.

            So here I was only a few weeks into running and loving it.  It was warm enough that I could venture outside and run in the spring sun.  I would run from my gym down to the beaches and feel the stereotypical ‘runners high’ that was indescribable.  I finally went to Hanlon’s Shoes in Hyannis and got fitted for proper running shoes, which made a world of difference.  I went with Brooks Adrenaline for beginning runners, I didn’t need anything specific yet.  

            Running made me feel like a totally new person, made me feel powerful, accomplished.  It was never my intention to come up with a running nickname or alter ego.  Up until that day I was just a guy that had discovered running and was enjoying the experience more each day.  You never know when that moment is going to happen though and it did on what seemed to be another average run on a sunny spring afternoon.

            After my Nana had died at the end of 2009 her house where she had lived for more than forty years had to be sold.  I had spent countless thousands of hours and days growing up in that house.  It was a sad night when the family gathered there for one last hurrah before it was to become someone else’s property.  Once it was a done deal I rarely if ever went through the old Boxberry Lane neighborhood.  It was too painful to see that house knowing that I could not go inside.

            On this day I decided to run from the gym down Nana’s old neighborhood, only a four-mile total run but hey I was still only a month into running period so distance was not a goal.  I made the approach down Boxberry Lane thinking it would be neat to run by Nana’s old house.  What I saw however changed that.  There was Nana’s house but it was different, changed.  Gone was her huge rosebush next to the dirt driveway which had bloomed beautifully every year and housed countless numbers of birds as they hid from various prowling cats.  Gone was the living room window which faced the road next to where my Nana would sit in her chair and watch TV.  In its place was a huge bay window that looked like some sort of plastic surgery gone wrong. 

It felt like someone had gone in and surgical changed part of me and my childhood.  I felt anger at what I could not stop and could not change.  I stood before the ‘new and improved’ house and gritted my teeth and shook my head.  I did not want to look upon that monstrosity anymore.  I let the anger boil over.  Finally I let out a growl and took off like a shot away from the spot that had brought me so much happiness as a child.  I ran so fast out of there, ran like a beast to escape what I had seen. 

It wasn’t until days later, after I had run possibly the fastest couple of miles back to the gym, and after I had taken time to think about how that run by my Nana’s old house had made me feel that I knew that I had stumbled upon a nickname.  The Beast summed up the person that running had made me.  I felt powerful, in command of myself, better than I had ever felt in my life.  It was my alter-ego.  From that day forward I looked forward to my runs as a way to step into Beast Mode and feel that energy, that power.  I sound like I am writing a comic book, but a good origin story never hurts.  It beats saying I picked a name at random out of a hat or something like that.  I ran like a beast, felt powerful like a beast, and got angry like a beast when I saw what had happened to my Nana’s house.  It all made sense.

The Beast became a bigger part of who I was as time passed.  The self-confidence I got from running began spilling over into other parts of my life.  What was once an alter-ego eventually became a whole new way of life, living with confidence was a change that I was embracing fully. 

In the end my Beast nickname, alter-ego, and lifestyle came from sadness and anger.  I missed my Nana and hated seeing that part of my childhood and my life was forever changed.  The Beast was my way of dealing with it.  So I have her to thank for a lot of the good that has come from my running.  To this day before every race I run and say a prayer to my Nana, she is still as big a part of my life now as she ever was.
Do any of you have running 'alter-egos' or is this purely something I have?

Beast Mode

The First Real Mile

            I believe that anyone can learn just about anything.  The real key is the willingness to open yourself up and listen.  That takes a good teacher.  A good teacher will make learning seem fun and less like work.  A good teacher does not just tell you how to do something, they show you, they lead by example.

            What does all this mean?  I had been told of the virtues of running and the good it could do for me physically and mentally for a few years but it never made it palatable to me.  My own stubbornness and fear of possible injury outweighed any of the purported benefits.  A few people tried but I did not listen.  I am not saying that these people were not good teachers, maybe my mind was not ready to be opened.  What I am saying is that it took a new voice to tie it all together, not surprisingly that voice came from a teacher.  A real teacher, not a metaphorical one.

            Some people are born runners, most are not.  Most people are simple average folks looking to get in shape, or get in better shape.  Emily was not born a runner, she made herself into one.  She chose to change her own lifestyle and became the best possible version of herself.  I had known her only in passing at the gym for a few years, despite the fact that we had grown up in the same neighborhood.  Until I actually talked to her I had always assumed that she was one of the lucky ones who had been born a runner.  This was not the case.  When I found out about all of the hard work she had been putting in for years to get where she was it made me rethink my own limitations.

            When you see living proof of what running can do, or any change of lifestyle, in front of your eyes it suddenly seems less daunting.  Nearly a year ago she and I began to talk, really talk, and I felt something.  I felt my mind opening, I felt a willingness to at the very least give the running life another try.

            Of course I was naturally wary of all of the previous problems I had running, pulled and sore muscles and such.  That experience was like a chain holding me back.  I still did not fully believe in myself.  Emily said that all I could do was try, I would never know unless I tried.  I decided on a compromise.  I told her I would run one mile on a treadmill at a slow pace.  If I survived it with no problems I would go from there.

            I faced my fears and doubts and set the pace at a robust 10:00 per mile and set out on a slow jog that ended up becoming the most important run I have ever or will ever make.  This was the first real mile, the mile that made me see that if done properly I could run just like any other runner.  Of course in time and with hard work and repetition my times and distances would get better but none of that mattered on that day.

            I had definitely broken a sweat even after one slow mile.  Still, I was running in over-sized old sneakers, over-sized clothes, and was not looking professional in my form or stride.  I believe Emily said I was too stiff looking, I guess like a zombie running.  I had yet to learn about leaning slightly forward as you run, I had yet to learn about getting fitted for sneakers, but none of that mattered on that day.

            I’m sure that to the other runners on the treadmills surrounding me I looked like I was giving up early.  All I could do when I ended my run was turn back to where Emily was running and smile and nod.  I had run my first real mile, and I knew there would be more.  I was very happy and could not wait to go a little further the next time.

This time I would be smart and wade slowly out rather than dive blindly into the deep end.  The joy and benefits of running would start to come to me more in the coming weeks.  A lot of people had told me of these things but I needed a different voice for them to make sense.  I needed a good teacher to believe in me and push me through that first mile.