She’s more athletic than I am.
It doesn’t bother me, though. I accept these facts.
(Driving home in the car I learn she was actively recruited for her college women’s rugby team…but turned down multiple invites. “I’m not into that.”)
(Her time was over a minute per mile better than my time. Winner winner, chicken dinner).
Me, race prepping: Geez. I think I need to buy new shoes? And a new bra?
Her: Meh. You can just wear mine.
Every time. She knows I’m helpless in sporting stores.
Her, one week before the race: How far are you thinking about running today?
Me: Um, I don’t know, I was thinking twelve miles.
Her: WHAT? No. You don’t do that a week before a race! How far did you run right now?
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