Her name was Fifi, and she was a petite Asian woman in her mid twenties. She wouldn't have stood out to most people in a crowd, she wasn't busty, didn...t have fantastic legs. She was really rather plain but she reminded me of a girl named Crystal. I hadn't seen her since I was fifteen but she was the one that stuck with me. We never met face to face, the only thing she knew was that I was coming for her on Valentines Day. That was as much her idea as mine.I admit that I feel a certain amount of. She had always believed in me, no matter what I had in mind to do. She always supported me and encouraged me – and, as always, I was overwhelmed with appreciation for the offer, even as I declined it.Listening to that song before the race serves as a mental prompt to remember her in these moments, to invite her spirit to stand on the sidelines, screaming as loud as she can in her native Brooklyn accent, cheering me on and urging me toward the finish.The third song of the morning was where I. More

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