“Where’s my medal?” I exclaimed as I walked in the door. No response. “Where’s my dang medal?” I repeated, giggling. John was sitting in the office, barely paying attention to my antics. He looked up after I came huffing through the doorway, a huge smile on my face, a rush of endorphins in my blood stream. “How did it go?” He asked. “It” was a race simulation that my coach Vince had cooked up for me. “Aaawe-soome!” I sang in reply. Finally, I had gotten to “race.” Thanks to a commitment to recovering my leg from the chronic ITBS that …