NYC. Work in tech. Write, cook for fun.
The last time I walked home in the rain, I was thirteen years old. Fresh from a tour of my new middle school, I wore a red Abercrombie and Fitch shirt, modeling myself after the straight-haired goddesses of my last school.
If you were to meet eleven-year-old me, and tell her that she’d be running a marathon, eleven-year-old me might actually tell you to fuck off.
I knew this would be one of the hardest things I’d ever done, but I definitely didn’t know why.
I thought it would be the miles, giving up nights out, and keeping myself injury free.