What it started, however, was years of me running to please someone else. My dad desperately wanted me to run track. I ran track. Once or twice, I ran a 5K with him to make him happy. A couple of years after college, my sister invited me to run a half-marathon on Kiawah Island in South Carolina with her and her husband. Because I thought it would make me disciplined, and because I relished any chance to hang out with my older sister’s friends, I said yes. I ran it twice, maybe even three times. I don’t remember exactly, due to situational amnesia brought on by the fact that I hated every mile
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