My story begins way back in 4th grade. For the first time, our class was required to run a mile for P.E. This was when my parents discovered that I have asthma! I already had glasses and hung out in the library, so this was just the icing on the nerd cake. From then on, I nurtured my hatred for running. I was never athletic, so this test of fitness and endurance was torture. My hometown has about three weeks of good weather per year as a cosmic rule. Generally it's either blazing hot or freezing, so jostling through a field with a hundred other kids was not exactly "fun". Or enjoyable. Or even remotely satisfying in any way.

Fast forward to senior year of high school: I've been accepted to the university of my choice, I've been involved in Leadership for two years, I have my first boyfriend and an amazing summer ahead of me. Come the end of first semester, I fail The Mile. This means I fail P.E. Which means that unless I make up that semester, I can't graduate. You can imagine my bitterness that THE MILE stands between me and my diploma. I had good grades. Extra-curricular activities galore. I just couldn't run a mile in 10 minutes. This was when The Mile and I had the worst relationship yet. Shoes were thrown, tears were shed, names were called. It was a bad time.

Thankfully, I was able to take an additional P.E. class the next semester and I graduated on time. It wouldn't be till two and a half years later that The Mile and I would meet again.