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I respect fit runners and I respect overweight runners. I respect fast runners and I respect slow runners. I respect people who run 5 miles and I respect people who run 25 miles. I respect people who run in group and I respect solo runners. I respect shirtless runners and I respect fully clothed runners. I respect walkers, joggers, and sprinters. I respect female runners and I respect male runners. I respect young runners and I respect old runners. I respect winter, spring, summer, fall runners. My point is this: the first step out the front door is the hardest, and I respect anyone who takes it.
“One of my teammates told me that the funny thing about our bodies is that we can be out at a party at 2 a.m. when we should be asleep, but mentally, we're having so much fun we keep dancing until 4 a.m. If we can amuse in the pain, enjoy it with a teammate, it's possible to reach another level of sport that some women or elite runners never experience.”—Alexi Pappas
I will run.
With a dodgy ankle from a drunken night in London, I will run.
With a cracked tailbone from childbirth, I will run.
With a snapping hip from carrying toddlers, I will run.
I will run until I no longer have the breath for it, until my knees are busted, until I can run no more, because
I run to feel her wings, spreading wide behind me.
Her hands, lifting me high above the ground.
Her voice whispering softly in my ear.
“Run,” she commands.
And I simply must obey.