An ode to my runner widower

Being married to a runner is often thankless. I leave for work at 7:20 a.m. and often don't return home until 8:30 p.m. during peak training weekdays. Dinner is often whatever the quickest thing I can put together - half the time while still wearing my sweaty running clothes. I spend a good chunk of the weekend racking up miles in the woods and then fail miserably at adulting when the nap monster takes over.

I use up all the ice for ice baths and filling my beer Gatorade cooler. My sports bras hang from the laundry rooms for days. I ate both bags of your chips and I'm not even the least bit sorry. I spent approximately $700 on shoes last year. Running shoes. If you know me, you can vouch for the reason why we never take my car anywhere.

75% of our travel expenses over the past 5 years have been to travel to a race. I talk to you about tempos, rabbits, PRs, fartleks, sub-3s, and BQs and you know exactly what I'm saying. I pop blisters on the kitchen floor and haven't had 10 toenails since 2014.

But I'm one of the lucky ones.

You always say you're crazy, I love you, be safe when I'm leaving for the woods at 5:00 a.m.

You brag to your customers about me and always let me know when you helped a runner.

You celebrate when I do well, you know to back off when I've had a tough race or training run.

You have woken up at 3:00 a.m. to see me run for 60 seconds.

You always ask me how far I'm running today and when I get home, you ask me how it went.

You never give me (real) grief about the time and money I spend on running.

You have made friends with my running friends all over the country.

You have volunteered at races and walked 5Ks even though you aren't a runner.

You give me bittersweet inspiration every day to appreciate every moment I get to do what I love.

I don't say it enough - thank you for not only letting me be me, but giving me a reason to be a better version of me.