Running Through My Childhood
Maybe it has to do with waking up in my childhood bedroom; it’s the same, but different. Gone are the 1970’s flower power wallpaper and my bright yellow canopy bed. Added is my husband, who’s had the pillow next to mine for much of my adult life. I’ve returned home different, but the same. I had some time on my hands and new running shoes on my feet. That combination only means one thing, and I was going to make the most of it. The first thing I see when I leave my mom’s place is the “big hill”. I remember being about ten years old, my Dorothy Hamill haircut was blowing in the breeze as I cruised down this monster on my purple banana-seat bike. I vividly remember thinking, ‘I never want to leave here’. I ran up and down that hill, and after all these years and all these races, I can attest, it is still big. I leave the old neighborhood via the “big block”, though it is hardly a block at all. I smile at the mailboxes that have names I remember—I once knew