Lisa Marie White

It's a common dynamic: Casual conversation among women often defaults into shared commiseration and subtle self-deprecation. "How are you?" is abbreviated into "What's hard/wrong," and sharing strength and joy is subconsciously reigned in to avoid ruffled feathers and social ostracization.

The key to moving on came years later, having been within my reach the entire time: simply acknowledging that I am a sexual being.

I discovered the mouthpieces of my water bottles were filled with mold, the race organizers were assholes, and I was tired and needed to pee.

I always expected my intro to grey hair would be filled with a kind of resigned sadness, if not despair. Spoiler alert: It wasn't.