Out of the Cave

“Just make sure you actually sign up,” my friend warned. “I almost missed the registration date and I wouldn’t have even been able to go...

Get on the treadmill. Slam on the big, red, “STOP” button as soon as you’ve run the fastest mile of which you are physically capable. Are...

Impending doom accompanied every birthday of my childhood. A birthday meant an annual checkup; an annual checkup meant a visit to the pediatrician. I never minded shots, I wasn’t disturbed by blood, and the poking and prodding protocols didn’t bother me. But for every year that I can remember, the cold, black scale sent a paralyzing sense of shame through me, upsetting my otherwise undisturbed youthfulness by forcing a harsh confrontation with the reality of my physical self.