I suppose it’s inevitable that when you get to the end of a training cycle, project, etc. you stop to reflect on the leg of the journey you’ve just completed, and while I’ve done my fair share of reflecting on the specifics of workouts and paces, mostly I find myself pondering what it means to me to be on this particular journey. I am both a physical and, for lack of a better word, sensitive, person by nature, and I’ve found much credence in the idea that if you want to find your true passion you just need to imagine yourself at 10 years old. Our 10 year old selves had no imposed filter for joy, and for me play was 100% physical. My best friend and I were known to the school nurse as the Blister Sisters because we were always coming to her after intense bouts of monkey ring challenges for bandages. After school I biked, I ran around the woods behind my parents’ house. We stayed outside until our noses (and gloves) were crusted, until it started to get dark and we were forced in for dinner. Summers were swimming, barefoot games in the grass, more swimming. The sensitive kid in me had an intuitive handle on herself, which paid/pays off in being able listen to my mind and body.