I love my hairdresser. I trust her with my personal style. I share close physical space with her for the better part of three hours every 7 to 10 weeks as she covers up my ever expanding collection of gray hairs. We talk about our husbands and businesses. She listens to me, really listens to me
We sat around my in-laws’ dinner table, sipping coffee and sampling my latest baking experiment. The discussion meandered around to the topic of marathoning. My father-in-law, a talented poet, dug out some limericks, penned after several notable races, including his first half-marathon. He comedically recounted the experiences that anyone who has run races knows. Feeling
