She ran this weekend. But it was different. It was the first time since those awful days of spring that she hadn’t wanted to quit midway through a race. The first time she hadn’t given up and walked. The first time she’d said to herself, “I feel good.” She wondered if it was the double meat on her Subway sandwich the night before. Or it had to be that little boy’s sign that she tapped at mile 4: Touch here for power.
Just maybe, though, it was something within her instead.