You know what’s wild? The human animal is literally built to run for hours. That was our evolutionary advantage. We weren’t the fastest, or the strongest — but we could just keep going. Imagine an antelope sprinting off at 40 miles an hour, and some caveman just jogging behind it, mile after mile, like, “Don’t worry, I’ll get you by sundown.” And it worked! That’s persistence hunting — run until dinner gives up.

We’re basically the marathoners of the animal kingdom. Cheetahs? They sprint, then collapse like someone yanked their power cord. Humans? We just sweat. That’s our superpower. Other animals pant — we leak from every pore. We’re sprinkler systems with sneakers. Hydrated, determined, and slightly damp.

My first pedicure at age 65! I figured it was time. After decades of pounding pavement ,my feet had basically become concrete blocks with toenails attached. If feet could file for workers comp, mine would’ve retired in the ‘90s..

I walk in, and the pedicurist takes one look at me… then at my feet… then back at me. It was the same look a mechanic gives when you bring in a car making “that noise” since the Clinton administration. She didn’t even flinch — just wheeled over a cart of tools that looked like they belonged in aisle 12 at Home Depot.

People hear I’m in my sixties and still running, and they say things like, “Oh, good for you, but you don’t have to push it anymore.” Excuse me? Getting older is NOT permission to be a slacker!

Yeah, I’m slower, sure. But slower doesn’t mean stop. Slower just means I get more value for my entry fee—I’m out on the course longer than you! Who’s laughing now? You finish in two hours and go home to mow the lawn. I finish in three and a half and get a police escort because they’re trying to reopen the road. That’s VIP treatment!

Now, that sounds terrifying. But honestly—it wasn’t traumatic. It was enlightening. And way better than my day job.

I was diagnosed with a cerebral aneurysm behind my right eye before it had a chance to bleed. That surgery literally saved my life. And here’s how they fixed it: they ran a camera up through my leg… all the way behind my eye.

And I’ll be honest with you—I love it. When I was younger, I treated running like a war. Stopwatch ticking, GPS screaming, “You’re off pace! Pick it up!” I used to finish a race looking like I’d just escaped a hostage situation.

Now? I’m older, slower, happier. I’ll stop mid-run to smell a flower. Pet a dog. Wave at a baby. If there’s a lemonade stand, I’ll buy two. Why not? Nobody’s keeping score!