To commemorate my 38th consecutive Indianapolis 500, I went for an early run.
I went to my local track, and ran 10 laps.
I started slow... it was early, and like a 6 year old on Christmas eve, I hardly slept last night.
Not unlike what the drivers will do for the first part of their race this morning, I took inventory of what I had to work with and how I felt.
Couple laps in, I'd found a groove, moving at a good clip, but one I could maintain. I settled in for the middle part, the part that makes the end mean something. And I thought about going to the race with my Dad, and my Mom, and my step-dad. The thrills, the rain, the best times of my life.
With 3 laps to go, I got ready. Ready for the final push, where you let it all out, don't leave anything behind, including doubts about whether you'd given it all you had today.
On the last lap, the last 10% of the run, it was time to go. Time to empty the tank and leave caution to the early morning wind.
When I finished, there were no cheers, no trophy, no milk, I wasn't immortal.
What there was, though, was a panting dog ready for a long nap. There were 3 awesome kids anxious to continue their own streak of races. And there was the promise of one more trip to 16th and Georgetown, one more opportunity for one of the moments that we'll talk about for years, starting with "Remember when..." and finishing with "... that was awesome!"
This morning, before the run, the first words out of my youngest's mouth, with fists in the air, were "It's Race Day, Dad!"
That's right, bud. It's Race Day.
Numbers: 3.7 miles, mostly on track.