Out There

Susan Lacke opens up the Out There mailbag.

One year after the champion runner's tragic passing, her pigtails and pink socks still live on.

If you come back to me, I swear, I’ll never take you for granted again.

I felt torn, but the words of my coach echoed in my head: You’re a racer now. Yes, you. A racer.

My name is Susan Lacke, and I have a Girl Scout cookie problem.

If these students are the future of the sport, I couldn’t be more excited.

I stopped worrying about the red face and sweating and realized that crossing a finish line was so much better than any good hair day.

Obviously, my last column on locker-room antics didn’t get through to y’all, so I need to be more clear.

Yes, I understand this is a humor column, but this is actually serious.

The flame is flickering, whether you know it or not.

Finishing is an accomplishment, not an identity.

Let’s be honest: By January 2, there's a reason that most people are eating cupcakes on the couch while declaring they’re not going to do any ing hill repeats.