Prince Malcolm Jones the First

The man. The myth. The legend.

From our very first jog around the block to the long training miles that felt impossible, Malcolm has been there. He’s grown up at my side, and in a lot of ways, I’ve grown up with him.

He’s been with me through moves, career changes, heartbreaks, and milestones. He’s trained with me for every marathon. He’s curled up beside me in motels after long drives, pawed at my legs when I needed a break, and laid his head in my lap when I didn’t have the strength to stand up.

He came to me from Scenic View Farm in Iowa at the end of June 2020, the peak of the pandemic.  He hated the cement.  Hated leashes.  He was a monster child and for at least a year I was sleepless and exhausted, unsure of what I'd gotten myself into. 

But Mal is a cuddler, and we suffered through those sleepless nights together.  Slowly we found our footing, and we've been jogging along ever since.

He’s the one who jumps out of bed the second the alarm goes off, the one who never questions the miles, and the one who never lets me run them alone.

He’s more than a dog. He’s my training partner, my co-pilot, my compass, and my comfort. He is the softest part of this journey, the heart at my heel.

If you ever see a shaved head and a lean red dog out on the road, that’s us. That’s the team.