I spent the summer after my freshman year in college on the New Jersey shore working in a gourmet cheese shop, living with the owner and her family and a college friend. That summer is a blur of physical activity of bicycling in a fury to be on time for my shifts, splitting massive wheels of Jarlsberg and building arm strength for the first time and cool night walks past the pastel beach houses. The whirlwind of cheese, cash registers, rich New Yorkers, babies, dogs, sand, and old and new friends washes over the few memories I have of running. I know I must have been running, because I was tan and fit enough for my mom to say I looked like a teen model when I got off the plane in August. I do remember reading trashy novels on the beach and getting sand in my Discman, listening to my friend as she wrestled with which school to transfer to and dancing around the living room to The Eagles with the family’s new baby. Sometimes running is the most memorable part of an experience. Sometimes it is the simplest.