When Jesse and I reached the front porch, I felt like my insides were going to fall out.

I sucked in a deep breath and then blew it out slowly, trying to regulate my runaway respiration.

He put a hand on my back and laughed. We’d raced each other the last few blocks. Training for a 5K together had started as fun, then got monotonous, then we started to bitch at each other, and finally we’d decided to spice it up. We mixed up our routes, yelled words of encouragement, cracked jokes, promised each other sexual favors, and then there was our favorite bit: racing each other to the finish line, a.k.a. home.

“How you holding up, love?”

“I think I might puke,” I gasped.

He looked at his fitness tracker, and I looked at mine.

“Best mile time:... Read More