by Katelyn Palmer
With the one-year anniversary of “cancellations” approaching, I’m increasingly nostalgic for those far-too early in the morning race day wake-up alarms. The giddiness and anticipation that months of training may (or may not) result in personal bests (PB) or stretch goal accomplishments. The near universal experience of pricking a finger while trying to safely pin a bib to our chosen shirts. Those moments on the course when you realize the only barrier between the here and now and crossing that finish line is in fact you. Heck, I even miss complaining about the anatomical advantage of cis-gendered male racers who can avoid the unending queues to the porta potties. So, this is a celebration of our deeply beloved but not forgotten in-person races.
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