One in a Million (or at least 40,000)

Five years ago, the idea of jumping in to a race with thousands of other people would have scared the nylon running shorts off of me. I think it was a result of the same gene that had me show up to sophomore speech class time-and-time again with cotton mouth, and the one that prevented me from being an altar boy for Fr. Fitzgerald because I knew I would humiliate myself, and the same one that had me convinced that the Higley family athletic gene pool was extinguished on my four older brothers.

But, fortunately, there’s at least one perk in climbing the cancer mountain and being given the chance to see the world on the other side. It also helps to simply recognize that the odometer of life isn’t going backwards, and that the rest of the world really isn’t sitting around waiting to weigh in on how well you do – or don’t do – on something.

I’ve learned just to try things. Like running. It’s not only helped me from turning into a 300-pound version of myself – it’s helped me learn a little bit more about the person that is me. It’s my reminder that if you never try, you never taste.

If I instill one lasting memory for my three kids – it’s a sense of adventure and a insatiable desire to experience all that awaits them in their day. Someone told me a long time ago that our job as parents is to simply make memories for our kids.

When you think of it that way, it’s a pretty neat assignment.

Oh, and by the way, don’t ask me about my time in last week’s Shamrock Shuffle. I don’t care. And you shouldn’t either.

But I’d love to tell you about the journey.