I miss running in the dark.

One of the best things about being home is getting back into my running routine.  A short run and a long run on the weekends, the just long enough 4.5-mile dark of the morning once or twice during the week. I started running when I was twelve or thirteen, plodding along next to my marathoner dad on the view-laden roads of the neighborhoods up around … Continue reading I miss running in the dark.

When I was twenty years old.

When I was twenty years old, I sort of lost my mind for a while.  I was in Madrid, a couple of months into a year long study abroad trip, living with two absent roommates in an apartment building from the eighteenth century right on the edge of the Plaza Mayor.  I had a musty basement bedroom full of as many memories from home that … Continue reading When I was twenty years old.