One does not simply do a victory lap when running a marathon.

Loving a runner means that there is no need to explain certain things. Like sweat being a prerequisite for a shower or why I want to go to bed at a decent hour on Friday night. Or why at certain times during the year I. Can't. Stop. Eating. Or why I keep a towel in my car at all times. Or why a vacation is even better when it involves a half marathon. Or why I care so much about running with my kids, or my dog. Or why the Turkey Trot is the only way to start Thanksgiving. Or why a sweaty, tangled ponytail is a sign of happiness, not bad hygiene. Or why I'm so close with my girlfriends. Or why I sometimes walk like a limping zombie and go downstairs sideways. Or why donning a Santa Hat and running the Jingle Bell run with the kids and me is the best time ever. Or why mud spattered calves are an aphrodisiac. Or why a black toenail is a sign of passion. Or why a road trip mandates a pair of running shoes at the ready, in case a trail appears out of nowhere and beckons my name. Or why I save paper bibs with numbers. Or why, when I'm mad, sometimes all I need to do is move. Or how you can resolve anything over enough miles together, even if you simply resolve to get a burger and a beer and call a truce.

Just like the only way to really know a place is to run through it, maybe the only way to really know someone is to run beside them...long enough to sweat off the pretense, long enough to get past small talk, long enough to get comfortable with silence, long enough to stink, long enough to know that the person running beside you is the someone you cannot run without.

One does not simply wear a kilt to run without first checking the wind conditions.

Run as if you are racing you ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend.