The Road to 156

As a dedicated runner for almost four decades, I am always looking for something to motivate me, day to day, month to month, and year to year, to get out and run.  You know, on those days when I am tired, too busy, or not feeling my best, it's helpful to having something in the back of my mind that convinces me to lace up my running shoes, get out the door, and go for a run.

Last December, I decided I would set a goal of 156 three miles runs in 2025.  No runs longer than three miles, which meant no long runs.  That was different for me, to be sure, because I am a faithful member of the Church of the Long Run.  Running consistently requires discipline.  Running only three miles, 156 times, necessarily required a different kind of discipline.  To be fair, it also took some of the pressure off insofar as I did not have to find the time or energy to run long.  It was nice, even reassuring, for me to know that every run in 2025 could be completed in under 30 minutes.  

In the past, my annual goals have been based on total mileage, the number of runs, or both.  I have run 1,000 miles in a year, most recently in 2020 (1,025), the year I outran Covid-19.  I have run 200 times in in year.  As I have gotten older, I have stopped racing as much and it's been years since I have run a half-marathon.  I will be 60 years old (yikes!) in July and I do not see another marathon on my horizon.  Maybe a half-marathon but not a marathon.  

As I guess is probably true with all dedicated runners, I tend to become obsessed with an annual goal.  It's not so much that I think about it all of the time.  Rather, it's always in the back of my mind.  How many runs do I have this month?  How many runs do I have for the year?  Am I ahead or behind?  I think about those type of things every day.  As such, it's party of why an annual goal works so well for me.  It creates an itch, a pleasant one, that I scratch by going for a run.  It's always been that way for me.

While I am proud of what I accomplished as a runner in 2025, I understand it was not an overly ambitious goal.  For me, though, that was the point.  I wanted to have a year where I enjoyed the simple act of running without worrying about annual milage or getting a long run in at some point during the week.  My running in 2025 was about staying healthy, being consistent, avoiding injury, and enjoying being a runner.  

I ran on treadmills at the YMCA (Downtown, Green Hills, and Franklin) more than I had in the past, at least since Go Performance and Fitness in Cummins Station closed during the pandemic.  I ran a multitude of three miles routes in the neighborhood, often ending with coffee at Barista Parlor in the Village (like today), 8th and Roast, Buck Mason, Hearts, Frothy Monkey, or Honest Coffee Roasters and a relaxing walk home.  I ran after work in downtown Franklin, to Harlinsdale Park and back.  I ran a time or two at Shelby Bottoms, a place where I want to get back to running more in 2026.  I ran in Sewanee.  I ran in Santa Rosa Beach, Florida.  I ran with JP, although not as much as I would have liked. 

I listened to podcasts while I ran.  Bill Simmons.  The Press Box.  Plain English.  WTF.  Zach Lowe.  The Daily.  This American Life.  The Ezra Klein Show.  The Rewatchables.  Interesting Times.  Ringer Tailgate.  In terms of music, I listened to John Hiatt several times while I ran.

I ran 156 times, three miles every time. 

Toward the end of the year, before I caught my annual sinus infection, my speed picked up considerably.  I ran three miles, easily, at under 8:10 per mile, something I have not done regularly in a while.  I felt strong and healthy, which was awesome.  

Running is such an important part of my life.  In fact, running is the essence of who I am as a person.  I am so blessed to be healthy enough to run consistently at age 59.  

Every run is a gift.

    

Christmas and a Head Cold

After managing not to get sick for the entire year after I had Covid-19 last January, I caught something earlier this week.  Jude's guess is that the people coughing behind us during Prairie Home Companion at the Ryman on Monday night infected me.  Laughing, I suggested maybe Garrison Keillor gave me something since we were sitting in the third row, dead center, and my mouth was open in sheer joy for most of the show.  I know not but here I am, under the weather.

I began to feel a head cold coming on mid-week and by Friday, I felt terrible.  Still, I gutted out a mediation - the case settled because the attorneys were so good to work with - and I came home and when straight to bed after a large bowl of chicken and rice soup from International Market.  My favorite.  I slept fitfully and I've been tired all day.  I skipped a family outing to see the Predators play the red hot Toronto Maple Leafs tonight because I don't want to make anyone else sick.

Things could be worse, though.  I was able to run three miles this afternoon in the neighborhood, albeit more slowly than normal.  In my relative, high mileage youth, I used to run through head colds and sinus infections all the time, with the idea that I would just sweat the sickness out of me.  I tested negative for Covid-19 tonight, which was a relief.  I wasn't looking forward to becoming a four time loser.  

At present, I'm having a bourbon as I sit in a camping chair on our unfinished but soon to be screened in deck.  It's quite the project, for sure.  It's long overdue, though, and will be awesome when it's completed in a few weeks.  It's a ton of added space.  We're going to put a ping pong table out here, which I know all of us will enjoy.  The plan is to add a flat screen television, too, so we can watch football and baseball games in the fall and spring.  Jude's taken the point on the entire project and I'm grateful for that.  She's wanted a screen in deck for a long time and I'm happy she's going to have one soon.

Christmas is upon us, although the temperature today hit the low '60's.  My Christmas cards have been out for a couple of weeks, believe it or not.  I still have a some Christmas shopping to do, although I think I'm in pretty decent shape there, too.  I spent an hour + tonight in the guest room opening boxes from Amazon and other places, as almost all of my Christmas shopping to date has been done online.  It's convenient, I guess, but it's so much easier to spend money and not realize it.  Point the mouse, click, and soon enough, an Amazon box arrives at our doorstep.

JP and Joe were so relieved to finish exams.  JP, in particular, had his ass kicked, I believe, by a couple of his more difficult classed.  I worry sometimes that he's not enjoying high school as much as I would like for him to because his class load is so heavy.  He's so busy.  I hope he's taking the time to slow down, occasionally, and enjoy himself.  He's been spending time with a young lady that Jude and I are very fond of and that makes us happy.  It's strange to think that JP has three more semesters of high school left, then off he'll go to college.  Very strange, actually.

As I left the Belmont women's basketball game vs. Duke to day - they got smoked by Kara Lawson's Blue Devils - I looked around and, as is so often the case when I'm on campus, I saw ghosts everywhere.  The ghosts of JP and Joe, very young boys a decade or so ago, and a much younger me, too.  We spent so much time on campus when they were little.  

In the atrium outside the Curb Center, where the giant Christmas tree is now, Joe and I used to play (Nerf) football in the mornings before I took him to Children's House.  Today, I could almost see him chasing me after I passed the ball to myself and ran for a touchdown.  "Blue 49, Red 13, Green 24," and off I'd go, with Joe close behind me, both of us laughing.  

JP and I used to hang out in the Student Center upstairs, adjacent to the Curb, and pretend like we were in college.  He has such an active imagination which I, of course, encouraged.  Almost every night after dinner, I would take JP to Belmont while Jude fed Joe, who was still and infant.  Those were good, innocent days and I long for them sometimes.  Many times, actually.   

Before too long, I guess, Christmas will be a time when Jude and I get the boys back a home for a couple of weeks.  Then, inevitably, we'll get them for a few nights, then maybe not at all after they have kids.  Time sure gets by you, doesn't it?

   

Cooper the Elf and the Ghost of Christmas Past

For so many years, one of the highlights of our family's Christmas season was the return of Cooper the Elf, named by Joe long ago after JP's friend, Cooper Allen.  Always, Joe was so excited when Cooper returned on the first or second night of December, perched in our Christmas tree.  Every morning leading up to Christmas, Joe scoured the house to see where Cooper had ended up after a night spent, presumably, wandering through the house and, maybe, other houses, too.  Jude and I reveled in Joe's delight every morning when he found Cooper, tucked away in a clever hiding place.  

In many ways, the arrival of Cooper the Elf signified that Christmas season was upon us.  I love this time of year so much.  As I've written here before, it's always hard to say goodbye to Cooper the Elf, when he leaves our house and flies back to the North Pole, usually with the boys' Christmas lists in hand.  

For the past couple of years, things have been different.  This year, for example, Joe noted Cooper the Elf's return but, really, that was about it.  No more looking for Cooper in the morning before breakfast.  No more laughing about the clever hiding place Cooper had found the night before.  I understand, of course.  Joe has school assignments, study sessions, and 7th grade exams to worry about, which doesn't leave a lot of head space for Cooper the Elf.

Still, I miss those days terribly.  That's the hardest part of being a parent for me, I think.  Constantly saying goodbye to so many things that I love and that have been such an important and joyful part of my life. 

Walks in the neighborhood with one of the boys sleeping in the City Elite stroller before 12South became 12South.  Singing the Uncle Carley song to Carley when she arrived, much to Joe's delight, in the morning to stay with him for the day.  Dropping JP and, later, Joe, off at Children's House.  Watching Sid the Science Kid with JP and Daniel Tiger with Joe.  "Joe time" in the mornings before school at Children's House, which often involved playing football in the atrium at the Curb Center.  Coaching baseball.  Playing Battleship with Joe at Frothy Monkey or Burger Up.  Driving JP to MBA.  Going for a run with JP.  

All of it.  I loved every single minute of in, including and especially Cooper the Elf's arrival every Christmas season and his presence as the boys counted down the days to Christmas.  

I find myself, this morning, thinking of the lyrics from "Puff the Magic Dragon," by Peter, Paul & Mary.  My sister, Tracy, used to cry when my mom played the song (probably on 8 track if not vinyl).  

A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys

Painted wings and giant's rings make way for other toys

One gray night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more 

And Puff, that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar

His head bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain

Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane

Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave

So Puff, the mighty dragon, sadly slipped into his cave

For this Christmas season, at least, I'll enjoy seeing where Cooper the Elf ends up each morning.  More importantly, I'll also enjoy having both of my boys, together, with Jude and me, in the house as JP's high school career winds down and he prepares to leave for college in 18 months.  

Welcome home, Cooper.  

The Night That Wasn't

I had a long day, yesterday, defending a deposition at a law firm downtown.  Nashville, that is, not Franklin.  It's interesting because I don't go downtown often anymore unless it's to Court at the Metro Nashville Courthouse.  On those occasions, I park in the garage, walk into the Courthouse, and leave immediately after I'm finished.  It's rare that I walk around downtown and that's what I did yesterday, at lunch and in the evening after my deposition was over.

When we broke for lunch, I wanted a good cup of coffee.  I also wanted to get out of the Pinnacle Building and take a walk, so that's what I did.  I couldn't find coffee nearby so I ended up walking several blocks over to Fourth Avenue, past the high rise building in which I worked at Manier, Herod in the very beginning of my legal career a lifetime ago, and up to Drug Store Coffee Shop in the Noelle Hotel.  

When I was working at Manier, Herod in the mid-1990's, downtown Nashville was quite a bit different than it is now, even at lunchtime.  In fact, the Noelle Hotel was an office building that if memory serves, housed my friend Carl P. Spining's law firm, Ortale, Kelley.  Now and for the past several years, it's been a hipster tourist hotel, redneck chic and likely very expensive.  It wasn't always that way.

It actually felt like winter as I walked back to the Pinnacle Building, cold and windy.  Still, it was nice to get outside and take a walk.  Nicer still to walk back with a hot cup of coffee.  

I had hoped the deposition would end in time for me to attend Joe's first basketball game at MBA but that was not to be.  I already knew I would have to miss his band concert late in the evening because I had tickets to see Garrison Keillor and Prairie Home Companion at the Ryman Auditorium at 7:30 p.m.  I had bought the tickets several months ago as an early Christmas present from me to Jude to me and I didn't want to miss the show.  At 83, I'm not sure how many more opportunities I will have to see Garrison Keillor live.  Joe understood and was cool with it, although I did hate to miss his saxophone solo.

Since the deposition ran late and I already had validated parking in the Pinnacle Garage - a rare commodity indeed - I decided to stay downtown, eat dinner, and walk over to the show.  I put on my overcoat and walked a block or two over to The Southern, a newer restaurant where I had eaten once or twice in the past.

Perhaps because I was the only man wearing a coat and tie and I looked semi-important, I was able to talk my way into sitting at a 4-top table, as opposed to the bar, which was my preference if I was going to have a nice meal.  I told my server, Finn, my goal was to be his best table of the night.  Furthermore, if he took care of me, I would take care of him.  He did and I did.  

As I sat at my table, sipping an excellent Cabernet (Duckhorn), I relaxed, took in the scene before me, and enjoyed a bit of solitude.  I have no problem eating out alone or going to a concert or show alone.  In fact, I kind of enjoy it.  It's nice not to have to talk to anyone but, still, to be able to observe the hustle and bustle all around me.  To my delight, my filet was perfect, and the rare second glass of wine was even better.  

As I finished my meal and made sure to take good care of Finn, I bumped into my old friend, contentment, who I seemed to be seeing more of lately.  For a few minutes, anyway, all was right in my world.  I marveled at the changes in downtown Nashville as I walked to the Ryman, on schedule to arrive early for Prairie Home Companion.  It was damn near a perfect night.

Perfect, that is, until the tickets on my cell phone wouldn't scan and I was redirected to the box office.  T'here, after I slid my phone in for him to look at it, the Ryman ticket man looked at me through the plexiglass, smiled widely, and told me Prairie Home Companion was next Monday, not tonight.

What the hell, I said, then burst out laughing.  December 15 was Prairie Home Companion, not December 8.  What a dumbass, I thought.  Walking away, I couldn't stop laughing.  

Life is beautiful.  Life is funny.  Life is, well, life, and I am damn luckily to be living it.  

I walked through downtown Nashville, slowly, taking in the sights and the night life on a cold December Monday night, chuckling to myself.  Happy and content.    

The Fellowship of the Ring

If you know anyone who graduated from Montgomery Bell Academy, chances are they wear the ring.  They wear it with pride on their right hand.  Forever.

The ring is plain and understated.  Nothing ostentatious or showy.  

The ring is not given.  Not by a long stretch.  It is earned.  When you see it, you know.  Those who wear it have worked, studied, survived, and thrived in a cauldron of competitiveness during what are perhaps the most formative years of their young lives.  

A good friend of mine, John Rowland, has a son in JP's class (2027).  A couple of years ago, John said, "MBA is a daily competition.  Academically.  Athletically.  Socially."  He was right.  

MBA is not for every boy.  It's hard.  Intense.  And, yes, competitive in every way.

Still, the boys who go to school at MBA support each other unequivocally.  As much pride is taken in the success of the debate and mock trial teams - and they have had massive success - as in State Championships in lacrosse, soccer, or track and field.  MBA's choir travels all over the country to perform and many of its members excel academically while also playing sports.  Almost all of the boys are involved in a variety of service projects.    

To me, really separates MBA is the Honor Code.  The boys govern themselves by it, which I know firsthand as a result of JP's membership on the Honor Counsel for the past three years.  He takes great pride, I think, in playing a small role in preserving one of the things that sets MBA apart from other, similar independent schools.  

It's hard for me to put into words my admiration and respect for JP and all he has accomplished at MBA.  Not just athletically but academically and through his membership on the Honor Council.  

For the past four and a half years, almost every night, I've watched JP go up to his room and study.  For hours.  I've watched him prepare for quizzed, tests, and presentations.  At times, he's been under great stress and heart has hurt for him.  I've known, though, that learning to persevere under difficult circumstances is preparing him for college and life beyond college.  

I've seen JP get up on a school day in the spring, at 5:30 a.m., to get a training run in before an early breakfast.  Then, he's driven to school early for an Honor Council Meeting.  After a long day of classes, he's played a baseball game.  At home, before and after dinner, he's in his books, upstairs, in his room studying.  

He's grinned, each and every day, but that's why he takes such pride in going to school at MBA.  Few people I know are more humble than JP but as his father, I know he's proud of what he's accomplished at MBA, as he should be.  

Yesterday morning in the Paschall Theater, Jude and I watched our dear friend, Russ Allen (MBA '94) present JP with his ring at the ring ceremony for rising juniors.  Jude and I were moved and, honestly, fought back tears as JP, clad in coat and tie, walked in front of us, shook Russ's hand, accepted his ring.  

It was a moment I will never forget. 

Earned, not given.