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Running the Race
When I entered my forties, I determined to give myself a challenge to celebrate the beginning of “the second half of my life,” so I signed up to run a half-marathon. I had no idea how to achieve it, so I researched about it, which introduced me to terms that were like a foreign language: speed work, tempo, and long runs. The local paper advertised a group run every Saturday morning, and I decided to join it. I awakened extra early for the first run and dressed comfortably in my daughter’s PE shorts and t-shirt. I grabbed an old, chunky iPod abandoned in a kitchen drawer along with my son’s…