Not to rip off my friend Anna’s marathon training journal, but I had the sweetest run today. The air had the brittle snap of an October in New England. The late afternoon sun backlit the trees. Drivers slowed their cars so they could admire the milky glare of my legs pumping up and down, keeping time to the beat of the world. (They did too. No, you shut up.) And what got me through the last mile? Not my normal gasoline of pain, frustration, and determination. It was wings of glory, my friends. Wings of glory.