I knew right then that if I didn’t make a stand and start walking the path of most resistance, I would end up in this mental hell forever. I didn’t go back inside that restaurant. I didn’t collect my gear. I started my truck, stopped for a chocolate shake—my comfort tea at that time—and drove home. It was still dark when I pulled up. I didn’t care. I stripped off my work clothes, put on some sweats and laced up my running shoes. I hadn’t run in over a year, but I hit the streets ready to go four miles. I lasted 400 yards. My heart raced. I was so dizzy I had to sit down on the edge of the golf
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