Earlier this month, I drove with my brother, Chris, my sister, Gina, and her husband, Jonathan, to Lincoln, Nebraska, where we all grew up. We went with the middle-aged dream of running the Lincoln Half Marathon to somehow prove to ourselves that we are in the best shape of our lives, literally outrunning age. Well, I’m sure subconsciously that’s what we thought. In reality, we were painfully reminded of our age or, as my sister Gina stated when she stumbled across the finish line at Husker stadium drenched in sweat, “I didn’t respect the miles.” (Also, we forgot about the humidity. Thanks for the reminder, Nebraska.) Middle-aged delusions aside, we just wanted an excuse to “go home.”
