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It's Still Too Late To Quit Posts

“See that Syl sits on the front row.”

So picture my dear mama (emphasis on the second syllable – as elocuted in Downton Abbey) Sylvia Myers Willoughby, age around 88, sitting comfortably in a corner of this settee, crime novel in hand. It’s cocktail time at the Lake, which invariably involves gin and tonics and a tray of sharp, sweating Vermont cheddar perched atop Triscuits.

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How the Angels Dragged Me to Higher Ground

It was about six years ago. I was riding a bicycle across the multiple train tracks in a small, charming rural town in Cajun Prairie country, in Louisiana. I had my laundry carefully folded and packed into two large plastic bags that were hanging from my handlebars. Apparently, I hadn’t really thought through the mechanics of this transport.

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How to Reach a (nearly) Impossible Goal: 10 Lessons Learned from Running 26.2 Miles

I was 48 when I started running marathons. I did not do it to get into better shape; I did it because I was desperate to go to Hawaii. So what if I was middle-aged and had not run in twenty years?

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