I absolutely can not believe that in the very near future I will be engulfed in all that is Hood to Coast! It seems like only yesterday I was notified that my application earned me a coveted spot on this amazing team. I can’t thank Nuun enough for this once in a lifetime opportunity.

My bags are packed.

5 days worth of clothing & gear

All my crap somehow fit into a backpack and purse.

I am well hydrated as I spent the entire summer thus far hydrating my face off with the fizzy goodness of Nuun (and counteracting my latte habit).

Double-fisting! #Nuun #Sbux #CantonMarathon

My kinda double-fisting.

I have my airline ticket in hand.

Early check-in is what’s up!

At an ungodly hour tomorrow morning I will jet-set to Seattle by way of Cleveland (Thanks Columbus for zero direct flights to the PNW), for what is sure to be the most amazing running trip ever.

If you would like to follow the shenanigans that will surely ensue, and you are down with the twittersphere, then lock into the hashtag: #NuunHTC

Be sure to check back early next week for some recaps of the trip! In the mean time, if you would like to read some solid material, check out the blogs of all of my teammates! Each and every one of them are uniquely amazing. We are all a part of Team AfterNuun Delight, but have been divided into three segments: Morning, Noon and Night. Enjoy!

Team Morning: AfterNuun Delight

Van 1

Tricia – Tricia Minnick: Legs 1, 13, 25

Corey – Schnoodles of Fun: Legs 2, 14, 26

Stephanie – Epicurious Runner: Legs 3, 15, 27

Jess – Blonde Ponytail: Legs 4, 16, 28

Caitlin – Nuun Employee: Legs 5, 17, 29

Ricole Runs – Ricole Runs: Legs 6, 18, 30

Van 2

Erin – Nuun Employee: Legs 7, 19, 31

Elizabeth – Running For Bling: Legs 8, 20, 32

Dorothy – Mile Posts: Legs 9, 21, 33

Amanda  – Runninghood: Legs 10, 22, 34

Jennifer – The Fit Fork: Legs 11, 23, 35

XLMIC – Taking It On: Legs 12, 24, 36

Team Noon: AfterNuun Delight

Van 1

Kelly – According to Kelly: Legs 1, 13, 25

Laura – Nuun Employee: Legs 2, 14, 26

Laura– Camping Out In America: Legs 3, 15, 27

Jocelyn – Enthusiastic Runner: Legs 4, 16, 28

Sarah – Once Upon a (L)ime: Legs 5, 17, 29

Molly –  (that’s me!) Legs 6, 18, 30

Van 2

Tonia – Racing With Babes: Legs 7, 19, 31

Kim – Nuun Employee: Legs 8, 20, 32

Tiffany – Heavy Medal: Legs 9, 21, 33

Zoe – Nuun Employee: Legs 10, 22, 34

Jessica – Pace of Me: Legs 11, 23, 35

Lindsay – Lindsay On The Go: Legs 12, 24, 36

Team Night: AfterNuun Delight

Van 1

Caroline – Canadian Runner in Exile: Legs 1, 13, 25

Lauren – Health on the Run: Legs 2, 14, 26

Vanessa – Gourmet Runner: Legs 3, 15, 27

Shanna – Smack! Media, Nuun Partner: Legs 4, 16, 28

Susan – Nurse on the Run: Legs 5, 17, 29

Robyn  – run pretty run fast: Legs 6, 18, 30

Van 2

Emily – Sweat Once a Day: Legs 7, 19, 31

Katie – Katie RUNS This: Legs 8, 20, 32

Sarah – Running Starfish: Legs 9, 21, 33

Harmony – Keep on Keeping On: Legs 10, 22, 34

Megan – Nuun Employee: Legs 11, 23, 35

Kelsey – The Go Girl Blog: Legs 12, 24, 36


Andrea Ste Marie – The MF Dre

Jess McMullin – Run with Jess

Katie McFarland – mom’s little running buddy

Kayte McNulty – Long Legs on the Loose

Krissy Murphy – Shiawase Life

Meggie Smith – The Thinks I Can Think


Life has been beyond crazy as of late. So many things to do, so little time. I feel like Jessie Spano most days except I’m not popping caffeine pills so I can be accepted into Stanford.

I am a loyal Sunday long run girl, but some weekends I have to get creative with my training. I was going out-of-town without the option of running long on Sunday morning so I originally planned to get a 20 miler in on Friday. I woke up Friday feeling awful. Every muscle and bone in my body ached. All I wanted to do was sleep. So I decided to move my long run to Saturday, and go to yoga on Friday instead and take a day off of running. Then half-way through the day on Friday it dawned on me that I had signed up to run in a 5K fundraiser for my church. It started at 8:30am Saturday morning. So, I decided to run 17 miles as a warm-up and then tack on the 5K at the end. Easy peasy.

I got up ungodly early on Saturday, ran my 17 miles at 8:26 pace – would have liked it to be a tad swifter, but I was still feeling a bit creaky that morning. Also, running in the dark is not my strong point, and those first few miles were a bit slower as I was still trying to wake up and also I treaded lightly along the trail as I can’t see that well in the dark, even with flashlight in tow. But I managed to finish my 17 miler just in time to head over to the race course and toe the line after a quick wardrobe change and re-application of some Body Glide.

I had zero expectations going into this 5K, I just wanted to put in a solid effort. I like ending my runs with my last mile being one of my fastest, so that was my focus, finishing up the day strong. Somehow, unbeknownst to me I pulled out a 21:04. I have no explanation. My legs felt like toast.




Finish time: 21:04


I tacked one more mile onto my day after I crossed the finish line, I ran back out on the course to find Mommaberries and walk her in for her final mile of the 5K.

How cute is she? Rolling through in under 52:00!


I may consider doing this again sometime in the future, it was a great way to kick-off my Saturday for sure!

On August 12th I signed up for a half marathon, to use as a marathon goal pace (MGP) workout. I waited until the day of the race to register. I rolled out of bed when it was still pitch black out and almost went back to bed and hid under the covers. I had to give myself a huge pep talk to just get my butt up and out the door. I had a total of twenty miles to run that morning, and I always look forward to these runs, they are my favorite runs of the marathon training cycle. However, I am terrified of speed work, especially MGP workouts. I reluctantly got up, slammed a banana and peanut butter, washed it down with Nuun and changed into my running gear and drove the 6 miles to the race course.

The entire short drive I was filled with self-doubt. I was even temped to turn around and go back home a few times. I pulled into the parking lot, turned off my car and took a deep breath. Grabbed my money and headed to the registration tables.

I got into a line ten people deep of race day registrants. As the line began to dwindle, my anxiety built and I started to syke myself out. I actually got out of line when there was only one registrant remaining between me and the registration table. I really did NOT want to race this morning and I did NOT want to do a MGP workout, I wanted to run a comfortable 20 miler on my familiar route. I gave myself a pep talk and forced myself back in line, handed my cash over to the race volunteer and received my bib number. No turning back, or I might as well have lit that $50 on fire.

I pinned on my bib and did a 3 mile warm-up and just like that anxiousness of what lay ahead disappeared within minutes. I told myself it didn’t matter, I wasn’t trying to qualify for anything, this was going to be a good, fun workout, and who cares what my time was in the end? I wanted to run comfortably at a pace I felt I could maintain for an entire 26.2. I wanted to go 1:39:58 or better. That’s it, no PR, no sub 1:30, I wanted to run comfortably hard. What was I afraid of? I could do this.

Before I knew it the time had come to toe the start line. I ran into a few friendly faces and chatted about the Olympics, Mo’s amazing 5K, Morgan’s tragic fall, the strangely chilly temperature, yet high humidity we were standing in. All things that took my mind off of my impending workout.

The gun went off, and I may have went out a tad bit ambitiously, but I quickly found my comfortable stride. I wore my regular old running watch (I hate wearing a Garmin during a race), and clocked my splits at each mile marker.


Mile 1: 6:41

Mile 2: 7:20

Mile 3: 7:33

Mile 4: 7:42

Mile 5: 7:36

Mile 6: 7:25

Mile 7: 7:36

Mile 8: 7:31

Mile 9: 7:34

Mile 10: 7:26

Mile 11: 7:22

Mile 12: 7:58 (hellllllo monster of a hill)

Mile 13: 6:39

Final: 1:37:08

The final mile I decided to give it a little more and pick up the pace, and it ended up being my fastest mile of the day. I LOVE ending stronger than I started. The entire race I seriously felt like I was out for a comfortable long run. I didn’t feel like I was running too fast, or huffing and puffing. I shouted words of encouragement to those who passed me, and those that I passed as well. I thanked the volunteers and police officers directing traffic. It was a beautiful morning for a run, and I am so grateful that I overcame my silly fear of MGP. This race left me feeling empowered and excited to see what I can pull out on race day come October 21st. And maybe, just maybe, left me with the notion that I should turn up my training runs just a notch.

This past year has been a trying one professionally and personally. I have been required to complete mandatory overtime each week since January. My typical work schedule is four ten-hour shifts, but that has increased to three twelve-hour shifts in addition to one ten-hour shift each week. There have even been a few thirteen and fourteen hour shifts that have snuck in there occasionally. These long work days have created quite the conundrum in terms of finding that elusive work-life balance. Monday through Thursday I workout, work, eat, eat one meal with my husband and go to bed. By the time Thursday evening rolls around my husband affectionately calls me as a ‘Walker’ – if you are familiar with the show The Walking Dead you will know what I am referring. Those who are not familiar – basically I have the look and the attitude of a zombie. Some days I’m surprised I haven’t drooled on myself and others I swear I can feel my brain melting and oozing out of my ear.

One thing about me, is that when I am a member of a team, I strive to be the best teammate, to a fault. I will dig deeper and sacrifice myself if it means that it is for the good of the team. But where has this way of life gotten me? Well lately, it’s been a one-way ticket to burnout. I had a breaking point last week, which I partly attribute to PMS, but I had a complete and utter melt-down on the phone with my mom. I am tired, I am tired of working so hard and for so many hours. I want my life back. I want some freedom. I expressed all of this to my wonderful mother and she encouraged me to share these concerns with my boss.

Just so happens that later that day I had my monthly scheduled meeting with my boss to review my progress and talk about anything and everything work-related and if I so choose, things in my personal life. Funny how things work out. I was so nervous going into that meeting, sweating bullets as I found the courage and the proper words to explain to my boss that I have been experiencing symptoms of burn-out for weeks and weeks, and they have finally taken their toll, resulting in me standing in a puddle of my own tears earlier that very day. I swallowed the lump in my throat and I expressed my feelings and concerns about the level of workload and the lack of life I felt I was experiencing.

My boss was beyond understanding and gave me a choice to stop working overtime hours. She told me I could think about it for a few days but as my Supervisor she strongly suggested that I take her up on this offer. I mulled over my options, and it really was a tough decision for me, even as I felt I had hit rock bottom earlier that day, I couldn’t just immediately jump at this opportunity. What about my team? What about the clients I serve daily? They needed me, right?

I shared the scenario with my husband and he firmly stated that I needed to stop working overtime. My initial reaction was that I saw red and became very defensive, NO man was going to tell ME what to do! Not even my own husband!

Yahtzee! That was the ringer, the absolutely straw that broke my back…here my husband, who has seen the toll my work schedule has taken on me, was only trying to help and I completely overreacted. It was time, time to focus on me, and do what was best for me. Because truly, how can I be not only the best teammate , but wife, daughter, sister and friend if I am not even close to being the best version of myself?

The very next day I rolled out of bed before the sun had a chance to peek out over the horizon and went for a nice, long, soul-quenching run, and immediately followed it up with an outdoor yoga class. During a particular challenging pose, the instructor challenged us to hold it just five more breathes, just dig a bit deeper, as this pain would pass very soon. At the end of the pose she told us all to drop to our knees and encouraged us to rest in Child’s pose. While resting and reflecting on my mat, the instructor spoke in her soothing voice and she said something that I absolutely needed to hear that day ‘Sometimes, we have to be brought to our knees’…

That morning’s run and yoga practice were the catalyst I needed to ignite that moment of clarity in order to come full-circle. I definitely had been brought to my knees that week and that’s okay, as I believe there is a lesson in every life circumstance if we allow ourselves to step back and see the big picture. I needed to push myself to the brink of burnout so that I could be reminded of what is really important in life, and figure out the kind of life I hope to lead in the future.

As I am knocking on the door of my 30th Birthday, I have come to realize what matters to me is my health, quality time with my family, and a career that fulfills me but doesn’t own me. I want a career that affords me the ability to make a difference in another’s life, touch another person’s soul, but not at the expense of my own well-being. I don’t want to sacrifice time with loved ones or myself, so that I can be the most dedicated member of my work team. Life is too short for that.

All it took was being pushed to my limits for me to find a voice and verbalize what was best for me. I am truly blessed to do the job that I do and to have a boss who is understanding. The supportive family members that I have are second to none and are willing to speak up and stand up for my best interests when I’m too distracted to rally for them myself.

In the last week a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders, and though I still have some weeks of overtime in my near future, the task doesn’t seem quite as daunting, as the light at the end of this particular tunnel has grown larger and brighter as the hours tick by. I am looking forward to the climb it will take to get back to my good, old self, but I have a feeling all it will take is a few extra hours of pounding the pavement all by my lonesome, followed by some quality time spent with my favorite people to get myself back into equilibrium.

Race morning started with a 3:00am wake-up call. I emerged from my fluffy hotel bed feeling well-rested and alive. I smiled, feeling blessed to be given another day to celebrate life the best way I know how, on my own two feet.

I conducted my regular pre-race ritual and then piled into the CR-V with Mommaberries. There were only shitty songs on the radio that did nothing to pump me up. I smiled because I didn’t care, I was with my favorite person in the world about to be dropped off at a marathon starting line, what else did I need in life?

There were only 40 porta johns at the start of the race. I shrugged my shoulders and got in a long line that allowed me to get to the start time right as the National Anthem began to play. I didn’t stress out. I smiled because I was about to run my 11th marathon.

The race started 16 minutes late. I just chuckled and thought that if the lack of porta johns and a late start were the worst of what I had to face today, it was going to be a fantastic day. I smiled because this was out of my control and the sun was rising and shedding light on another day of this beautiful life.

I had to stop twice for restroom breaks during the race that took at least a minute each to conduct. It didn’t phase me, I did my business and got right back into my stride after I exited the restrooms. When nature calls, you answer. I smiled because adding two minutes to my finish time is a helluva lot better than dropping a deuce in my shorts.

I ate orange slices and candy handed out by amazing spectators. Let kids with supersoakers spray me down. Ran through people’s sprinklers and garden hoses. High-fived all those offering. Fist-pumped and waved to those who cheered for me by name. Shouted out sentiments of gratitude to everyone who offered me words of encouragement. Thanked each of the police officers directing traffic. I shared my appreciation for a ton of the awesome volunteers spending their Sunday ensuring we runners had a safe course to traverse. I acknowledged every person who offered me cups of water and Gatorade.  I smiled each and EVERY mile. I ran this race with my heart and it filled my soul with grace, hope and love. I love to run. There are no words to describe how. much. I LOVE to run.

I did something I had never done before in a race of any distance…I didn’t wear a watch. I didn’t care what my finish time was. This race was all about the experience and what the time on the race clock read had zero bearing on my attitude that day.

I have never raced well in the heat. My definition of race day heat? Anything above 50 degrees. There are some people who say we had perfect weather – well if my morning was spent sippin’ a latte and reading a book outdoors, yeah, it would have been perfect weather. But I am a heavy sweater, an extremely salty sweater. My entire back was drenched in sweat by mile 1. So no, it was not perfect weather for me. I am beyond grateful that the sun hid behind the clouds, though I would have much rather preferred race conditions in the 40 degree range, and maybe with a side order of snow flurries. Yes, I’m serious. Despite the less than ideal temperature, I smiled because I am a much stronger runner than each and every version of my previous marathoner self.

I ran with people for a few miles. Chatted to some. Silently plodded along matching strides with others. I thought about what a beautiful gift it is to be out on the open roads sharing this day, this race with so many like-minded individuals, pushing ourselves and tackling what I truly believe is the toughest, hilliest course I’ve ever faced.

There were miles where I entered a meditative state. It was if I was floating on a cloud. I was lost in thought. Some thoughts I remember vividly, others not so much. My dad was there in many of my memories, what I think were childhood memories. But to be honest, I’m not completely sure if they are indeed actual memories, or just stories that I have heard over and over again, and I can’t decipher if I was truly there or not.

During the miles of solitude I thought about why I run marathons. I signed up for my first marathon while in college. I quit my cross country team that year because I didn’t feel like I could be dedicated to my team when my father was fighting the battle of his life in another state, 4+ hours away. I couldn’t commit to weekly races when I may have to head home at the drop of a dime to help out my mom during one of my dad’s rounds of chemotherapy and radiation. I decided to challenge myself that year in a way I never had before. I trained for and ran my first marathon to help me deal with the emotions involved in watching my father slowly lose his battle with one of the most horrific diseases to ever exist. Running that year became so much more than PR’s and team championships. It evolved into my coping mechanism, my therapy. That year I realized I wasn’t in it for the hardware, I was and always will be a soul runner. I run because it is the best way I know how to celebrate life, to show gratitude for all the positives in my life, and the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other has helped me grieve and find strength and value in hardships I have faced these past twenty-nine years.

With about 1.5 miles left in the race, something extraordinary happened. I felt a tightening in my chest, a lump form in my throat, heat around my eyes and ultimately tears rolling down my salt encrusted cheeks. For a short moment I cried to myself. Not because I was in pain, or that I wanted the race to be over or even out of sadness. This moment was the climax of my race. I had a fantastic day spent running while clinging to my father’s memory. I shed tears as I was overcome with emotion from all that ran through my mind in those few hours out pounding the pavement. I cried while running this race on Father’s Day, one day before what would have been my own father’s 65th birthday as a celebration, a testament to he who taught me so much during our short time on this earth together. I cried because I just missed him so much. It has been well over seven years since we had a face-to-face conversation with one another, I remember that last conversation like it happened only yesterday. I cried because I knew he was with me, as he is every day, on every single one of my runs.

The tears subsided as quickly as they appeared and before I knew it I was well into my final mile of the race. When I was notified that there was about a half mile left in the race, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and I looked up to the sky and smiled, and as that smile spread across my face, I began to feel raindrops shower upon me. It felt as if my dad was sending me some of his very own tears from heaven. I gave one final push, savoring every drop of rain, every foot fall and eventually crossed that finish line. I immediately found my mom, gave her a high-five and then a hug and felt more at peace than I have in a very long time. Afterall, I had my two greatest fans with me in that stadium, my mom hugging me back, and my dad in my heart.

#11, I will never forget you.

In a mere 6 days I will be toeing the line of another marathon. When I’ve announced that I’ve registered for yet another marathon, only five weeks after my last I’ve received a myriad of responses. I’ve gotten quite a few sideways glances, perhaps even a few furrowed brows, and some blank stares. To be expected from those who don’t really know me. But I have to give these individuals the benefit of the doubt, because I don’t exactly wear my heart on my sleeve. But at the same time, no one has really asked me why I want to take on another marathon journey, what is the significance? What are my intentions exactly for this 26.2 pursuit? Well as always, I want to push myself outside of my comfort zone. I want to run an inaugural marathon. I want to smile. To breathe in life. To have fun.  But above all, I want to celebrate Father’s Day by dedicating my miles to my father and all of those who are currently fighting, or who have lost their battles with cancer, just like I did when I took on Boston.

It is no secret that I miss my dad. I feel closest to him when I run. It’s when my best memories with him come back to me, playing like a movie reel inside my brain. I have to admit, sometimes a few days go by and I don’t think about him at all. Sometimes I fear I will forget him entirely one day. But as soon as my feet start pounding the pavement, all of my memories, even the sound of his voice, come rushing back into my mind. I don’t fully understand it, my explanation doesn’t quite do it justice. I just know that it’s real.

My dad was one of my biggest fans, rivaled only by my mom. She is going to be there in Canton, ringing her cowbell and cheering her face off, most likely making friends along the course like the perfect #1 fan that she is. I’m going to run this race for her too. She doesn’t have a Father’s Day cookout or party to attend either, as her father passed away a few years ago. What an interesting situation to share with a parent, both fatherless here on earth. She loves the thrill of marathon morning more than most, and if I can give her a few hours of fun and excitement to take her mind off of what could be a sad, downer of a day, I will.

In addition to Father’s Day, Monday marks what would have been my dad’s 65th Birthday. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate either occasion than participating in sport. My dad was a huge sportsman, and he fully understood the potential benefit that athletics could have on one’s life. Basketball was his game of choice that he played during his formative years. But he was a fantastic spectator of basically any form of athleticism during his entire life ranging from the swinging of his Terrible Towel for the Pittsburgh Steelers to choosing a horse to win the Triple Crown and everything in between. His love for all tests of the human body and spirit trickled down to the sheer enjoyment he experienced by watching all of my athletic endeavors.

So that is why I am lacing up my Nikes for a 26.2 mile tour of Canton. Not to score a BQ, or a shiny new PR. Of course those situations would be sweet, but honestly, it goes much deeper than that. I may break my own record or I may have the slowest marathon of my life. But I’m not going to allow myself to get sucked into allowing the time on the finish line clock to dictate whether I had a good day. No, not this time.

This marathon is all about life, the circle of life, revisiting memories and not shedding tears of sadness and mourning, but smiling because I was so blessed to have been raised by quite the dynamic duo. Half of that team may have left this world too soon, but what he left behind I am still discovering; through stories, sifting through memories, and uncovering aspects of my personality that I clearly inherited from him. The majority of these treasures have been uncovered while putting one foot in front of the other on the open road, and I can’t wait to explore my findings this Sunday in my favorite style of footrace.

So I had mentioned earlier that it was only fair that if I got to run a marathon while on vacation, my other half would get to play a round of golf. We originally were going to plan a trek to Scotland so that he could play St. Andrews, but unless he had a threesome or a foursome of golfers, there was no guarantee that he would get to tee off. So he decided on the next best thing, playing Royal St. Georges. This particular course has hosted what some consider to be the most popular professional golf tournament, The Open Championships (AKA The British Open).

We took a two-hour train ride from London to the medieval coastal town of Sandwich, Kent. We stayed at the quaint Bell Hotel (totally recommend!). Upon arrival around 10:00am we checked our bags and called for a taxi. The mister wasn’t scheduled to tee off until 1:00pm but he was so giddy with excitement we headed to the course a bit early. He hit a bucket of balls at the driving range,

practiced his short game on the putting green, and then accompanied me to the snack bar after I repeatedly begged for some food, being in my post-marathon ravenous state. All he ordered was a diet Coke – I recon he was full of a bit of nervous energy as this is a guy who never turns down any sort of caloric intake!

Prior to entering the snack bar, I expected it to be items you would find in a US clubhouse: hot dogs, potato chips, basically things I had no interest in eating. But oh no, this snack bar was a full restaurant, white tablecloths and all! I ordered a roasted vegetable soup, which I’m certain the ingredients were grown on the neighboring farms surrounding the course. Talk about high-class! And may have also had 3 rolls from the bread basket.

I loved everything about the clubhouse – well the parts I saw. There are some strict regulations and only club members are permitted to roam specific areas of the clubhouse, but everything that I saw had an old world feel to it, lots of vintage photos, paintings and antique golf clubs decorated the place. I felt like a weirdo so I didn’t take any pictures inside.

After getting some lunch, it was time to tee off. We were instructed to head out to hole 10 and it was quite the walk. I seriously felt like I was back out on the marathon course with all the hills and valleys on the course. There were no trees and tons of bunkers, Matt kept saying how this course was nothing like he had ever seen before. The soil was quite sandy, so the greens weren’t manicured in the style that we are accustomed to in the states.

It seemed like there was at least one bunker on every hole, and some of these suckers were at least 10 feet deep! The day was overcast, windy and chilly from the start. Eventually by the time he rounded the 18th hole, the clouds started to open up and rain a little bit.

At this point the mister still had to play the first 9 holes and I was frozen and my legs only kept getting more sore with every step I took, so he gave me the blessing to head back to the hotel. I honestly think that while he enjoyed my company on back nine of the course, he wanted to spend some time alone playing the front nine. So I hailed a taxi to our home away from home and spent the remainder of the afternoon warming up with some coffee and kicking my legs up anxiously awaiting my other half’s return from the links.

A few hours passed and he came back full of great stories detailing how he did on each hole. He felt pretty great as he shot a 75 on this par 70 course – and he played from the championship tees!!!! I was so happy that he was able to have such a positive experience on a historic course that I agreed to celebrate by watching him eat fish and chips while he simultaneously threw back some pints of local suds at a nearby pub. We spent the night relaxing and dining while he gave me the play-by-play on each hole – using golf slang that I’m completely oblivious to, but I just smiled and nodded and let him have his day in the sun.

I have said it many a times, I’m so happy that I married a guy who is passionate about his sport, a sport other than running. And if I had to pinpoint an experience from our trip abroad that was my absolute favorite, it would have to be our trek to Sandwich, and getting to witness the sheer joy that this quest brought to my husband. Now that’s love.