The stairway to my upstairs is where the bedrooms are for my two boys. Along the wall of the stairway, the paint is streaked with fingerprints, colors, and dirt. It's from years of my boys dragging their hands along the wall as they head upstairs. It’s dirty, imperfect, but it's also a living record of moments, memories etched into the everyday.

Running is like that. Over time, it creates its own thread of memories and experiences. Every run, every mile, is etched into our bodies. The aches and pains, the sore muscles, the occasional scars — they aren't just the price we pay for pushing ourselves. They're markers of the places we've been, the things we've done.

Sometimes, those memories surface when we least expect them. Maybe it's the dull throb in a knee that reminds us of the first half-marathon we completed, or the way our lungs burn at the top of a hill that echoes a tough training run from years ago. Our bodies remember even when our minds try to forget.

But here's the thing — these aren't just signs of wear and tear. They're proof that we're alive, that we've chosen to move, to challenge ourselves, to keep going when it would’ve been easier to stop. Just like those fingerprints on my wall, our running journey may be imperfect, messy even, but it's rich with stories. Stories worth keeping. Stories that remind us that every step, every mile, is part of something bigger.