I have never liked the taste of alcohol, although when red wine was promoted to improve vascular health, long life, for some years I would mix a sweet red wine with sparkling grape juice for my supper.

In the 1970s, at a local bar, Nite Court, in Ithaca, ny, a handsome young man asked if I would go home with him. “No, I am not that kind of girl”, he replying, “that’s why you’re here.” I counter, “No, I’m here to dance.”

When I gave up my religious addiction, there were a few times I became that ‘kind a girl’; usually I wanted it to become more than just sex – to become a loving relationship. Sometimes it did.

I wanted to set my self-image to a higher bar.

In the 1980s, I set the goal of running a marathon a month for three years…using it as a motivation to stay physically fit and trim. I wore a t-shirt saying, “RUNNING FOR THE AVERAGE RUNNER.” No elite runner for me, running no more than 40 miles per week.

At mile 20, marathon runners often talk about hitting “the wall.” It is when your body says it is time to stop, to listen to your body. But no, you bear the pain, exhaustion, usually walking some of the last 6 miles. (of 26.2)

I’d ask myself, Dianea, why are you doing this? It’s crazy! My inner voice replies, ‘you love the recognition,’ the cheers and applause at the finish line.

The ‘gold’ medals I’d carry home with pride.

Gaining the woman’s national record for number of consecutive marathons – 36 in a row – eventually.

It wasn’t until the 1990s, when I became aware of my deeper need to be ‘seen’ and ‘understood’, ultimately loved.

I had set the bar way too high, physically.

Now, I share with long distance runners: marathons are abusive to your body, your joints, especially.

I’ve grieved the religious indoctrination, that I was born in original sin and have recognized the wrongness of the message of a piano song I memorized; I AM NOT WORTHY.