26 Years with Type 1.
Last night at the gym, I ran as hard as I could, and as fast as I could. Not the hardest and the fastest of anyone in there, but it was the best I could do. My legs moved, my arms moved, my ponytail flashed behind me and I felt alive, alive, alive with this strange understanding that "forever" felt tangible and raw.
And with every step, the same sentence ran through my head. "You can't catch me. You can't catch me."
I've had type 1 diabetes for twenty-six years today. Last week, I felt like it might have been a few steps ahead of me. Yesterday, it was nipping at my heels. But today, it's so far behind me that even when it hollers, I can't hear it. Not over the sound of my daughter's laughter or the feeling of my family's love.
Not today, diabetes.