I couldn’t believe it. Twelve and a half years as a Nike runner, more than a third of my lifetime, and it was over once and for all. I opened up my closet and pulled out every single piece of clothing with a swoosh on it. Tank tops, leggings, shorts, socks, windbreakers. A giant neon mountain grew on my bed, which Colt gleefully climbed atop. I had the thought of putting the whole pile in the trash, or even having some sort of bonfire in the backyard. But I couldn’t fathom wasting that much apparel. I loaded it all into my car and donated it. Somewhere, I’d like to think that Marie Kondo is
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