I Run These Towns

Those who know me know what I expect in the cities I love. I want a place that feels authentic. I want a place that has just the right amount of grit. What is that amount? I know it when I see it. Last week my husband had a conference in Milwaukee, and I was really excited to go. People seemed surprised by this excitement, but it's a Midwest industrial city on the water that's famous for making beer. What's not  to like? Plus I could walk around with the Laverne & Shirley  theme song in my head for four days. I flew from Lansing with my champion toddler traveler to meet my husband who was already there. We were on our way downtown from the airport when I was already raving about street design because that's what I do. We stayed across the street from the convention center which was surprisingly cute. My experience with convention centers is they often look like a building out of a horrible Soviet Union photograph from 1987. Milwaukee has managed to break the horri

I am a firm believer that all it takes to be a "real" runner is to lace up your shoes and get out there. I wrote a blog about this complicated formula to being a real runner nearly five years ago. Although I'm nowhere close to being a competitive runner, I've spent the last 12 years logging regular miles and changing who I am by becoming a runner. In the last eight months I've begun to question whether I'm still a runner.  After a serious few years of speedy races, 2017 was a disappointment. I ran the Detroit Half Marathon in October of 2016 and ended up in the hospital the next week with a serious abscess. It sidelined my running for months. Finally l ast summer I ended my running drought by running three 5ks in July.  They weren't my fastest or best work, but I was feeling like myself again. After the third 5k in as many weeks I tweaked my knee but thought it was no big deal. In August I found I was unable to run at all. And then after a few months

I've never had a child biologically, so I can't compare my experience to those who have. All I know is our situation: three years of trying to get pregnant, deciding to adopt and waiting three years for the birth of our son with what I call our false start in the middle (a birth mom who changed her mind once the baby was born). It was laborious (no pun intended), emotionally draining, and given the amazing outcome, I wouldn't change a minute of it. At one point all of the starts and stops made me lose hope. I thought it would be easy. I thought we'd get married, I'd get pregnant, and that would be it. I remember shopping with a girlfriend during the throes of Clomid, daily temps and sex on command. I tried on a cute pair of shorts and shirt, and I hesitated. I told her, "What if I buy this and I get pregnant?" Without a beat she answered, "What if you don't?" I remember being so hurt. I remember thinking how dare she? It was definitely going