I'll never forget October 6, 2012. It began like any normal Saturday morning: I woke up early to get a run in before work. I knew that General Conference would be on, but decided I'd wait until later to listen to all the Saturday talks since I'd be working most of the day anyway. I hit the streets and quickly got lost in the run and the music. About every half mile or so, I popped a couple of Sour Patch Kids in my mouth to keep my blood sugar up--a new system I was just testing. For the first time in a long time, I felt great. SO great. I wanted to keep running for forever. I got down by Wal-Mart and was tempted to loop back to my apartment through Main Street. I knew it would be quite a few miles, but I hadn't felt this great in months, and I just wanted to keep running on forever and ever.
But, something inside of me told me that I needed to turn around. I was confused. I figured that this was the Spirit telling me that I would start to get really dizzy if I did continue running. I arrived at the liquor store exactly three miles from my apartment, then listened to the Spirit and ran back. I made a quick bathroom stop at a gas station on the way back. I remember sitting in there and the only thing on my mind was the way that I was going to post about the morning on my running blog.
When I got back to my apartment, I was exhausted, I had pushed myself a little too hard on the way back. I walked in the door, past the couch where my roommate, Maddie was watching General Conference, and back into the kitchen to get myself some chocolate milk--my recovery drink. I was exhausted and not in the mood to talk, so I left my headphones in and tried to tune everything out. Despite my determination to save the Saturday session for later, something inside of me kept on telling me that I needed to take my headphones out and listen to what the Prophet was saying. Finally, I got so annoyed with the blasting music that I tore them out, looked up from the glass of chocolate milk that I was drinking over the sink, and, still catching my breath, looked up at the T.V. The very second that I did this, Thomas S. Monson, President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, said:
"As we have prayerfully pondered the age at which young men may begin their missionary service, we have also given consideration to the age at which a young woman might serve. Today I am pleased to announce that able, worthy young women who have the desire to serve may be recommended for missionary service beginning at age 19, instead of age 21."
From that moment on, my life would never, ever be the same.
