Few people reading this need reminding what life was life in August of 2020. I was twenty-nine years old, on the verge of turning thirty, and in that arbitrary, existential dread we feel upon entering our fourth decade, I felt I needed to do something to iron out the rougher edges of my own inner monologue.
In addition to turning thirty, my wife and I were approaching the three-year anniversary of our miscarriage, and in our continued failure to conceive, we had to redefine what marriage meant to us.
I had to redefine what being a husband meant to me.
One thing was clear back then: I’m most motivated to write after a run. I had this idea of committing myself to so many words after each run, thinking something would come of it. I hadn’t planned on writing a memoir of sorts—in fact, I was really hoping I’d write another novel, or at the very least, a short story collection.
Instead, I found myself logging the runs, if only because it was the easiest way to put something down on the page. After a while, I realized the project needed an end, and I committed to running five hundred total miles.
Each Wednesday, I’ll share two or three of those logs in a post until I’ve shared them all. Additionally, now that I’m five years removed from that dread, I’ll be sharing reflections on those posts—perhaps on Fridays—and how I’ve changed since.
I hope you’ll subscribe and share with your friends.
Happy reading. Happy running.
Caleb
It's great to hear a man talking about the struggles of fertility. So rare. Keep writing Caleb!