The End of the Line

And just like that, it's over.

Four years of MBA cross county early morning workouts, after school practices, out of town trips, and races.  

As JP lay on the ground, exhausted after a third place finish in the state meet in which he held off two Baylor runners by less than a second, he looked up at me and said, "I can't believe it's over."  

I can't either, I thought to myself.  I can't either.  

"I know I've still got track in the spring," JP continued.  "But that's different.  Nothing is like cross country, where the guys are all together all of the time."  

I couldn't agree more.  I love everything about high school cross country.  The work the athletes put in.  Their dedication to the sport and to each other.  The fact that it truly is a team sport in that the third, fourth, and fifth runners are just as important as the top two runners.  I love watching the boys race on courses in town and out of town, often on golf courses, city parks, and state parks.  

It takes courage to stand at the starting line with six of your teammates, toeing the line as you wait for the start, knowing the pain is coming, followed by exhaustion, then exultation at finishing another race.  

I've been spoiled, I know, especially the last three years.  Every race JP lined up to run, I knew he would finish in the top 5 or 10 and, maybe have a chance to win.  My experience as the parent of a high school cross country runner was different because of JP's talent, desire, competitiveness, and discipline.  He's built different, as they say.  

It's funny,  I normally get nervous - nervous as hell - before all of JP's races.  This year, it's been better.  I'm not sure why but it might be because he had scholarship offers so I knew he would have an opportunity to run in college.  Especially after he announced his decision to run at Davison College, I felt less pressure for him than I had in the past.  

For the state meet, JP got out of school early on Wednesday, around noon, and he and his teammates rode an MBA bus to Memphis.  Wednesday night, like last year, they had dinner at the home of Coach Roderick Russ's brother, who graciously hosted the entire team.  I think they turned in relatively early at the hotel, as the Division II AA race was the first of the day, Thursday, at Shelby Farms Park on the west side of Memphis.

Jude and I stayed in an Airbnb about 15 minutes away from the park.  It wasn't quite as close as where we stayed earlier in the season for the Frank Horton Classic but it was close enough.  We got up early on Thursday morning, grabbed a coffee for me from a nearby coffee shop, and made the short drive to Shelby Farms Park.  Parking was easy, since JP's race was the first of the day.

We walked over to where the schools had set up their tents and found MBA's tent.  Coaches of various teams were milling about, talking with each other, while JP and his teammates relaxed under the tent.  Most of them had AirPods in and were listening to music, I suppose, as they got mentally prepared to race.  We talked to JP briefly and I took a few photos, then we let him get back to it.  

When the boys went for a warmup run, I had a long talk with Gabe, who was injured an unable to run.  I know he was disappointed and I hurt for him to miss the last cross country race of his high school career.  Still, not racing was the right thing for him in the long-term.  He's such a talented runner and has track season, and a college running career, ahead of him.  I didn't want him to hurt himself in this race and be out for longer than planned.

I told Gabe how much I had enjoyed watching he and JP run together the past four years.  They challenged each other, every day.  Both are better runners, I think, for having been teammates and running with and against each other for four years.  Co-captains this year, deservedly so, JP and Gabe are two of the most accomplished runners in MBA history.

When the race began, Drew Beroset quickly took the lead and I could tell he wouldn't relinquish it.  On this day, the battle would be for 2, 3, 4, and 5 and for the team title, not for who would win the race.  True to form, Drew ran away and won with a blistering 14:45:57, a new course record.  

The rest of the top runners stayed together in a pack for the first two miles, until they began to separate a bit on the last mile.  

JP was in that group, running comfortably with Noah Mullenix (Christian Brothers), Cade Duncanson (Knoxville Catholic), and Cash Carlson (Baylor).  Gradually, JP and Noah pulled away from the others and ran together, fighting for second place.  When I saw JP with a half mile or so left, Noah had pulled ahead of JP and was clearly going to finish second.  What I saw, though, was two of Baylor's runner, Cash and Harrison Stroud, closing on JP, who was struggling a bit.

I ran across the filed toward the finish line and set up farther back than I normally do when watching JP finish a race.  I knew JP would be devastated if he let the Baylor boys pass him at the finish line, so I found JP at the last 200 - 300 meter mark, and began yelling.  "Go!  Go!  Go!  They're closing on you!  Go!"  

He glanced over his shoulder, saw Cash and Harrison, and began running harder.  As he neared the finish line, they continued to gain ground on him.  JP glanced over his shoulder a final time, and crossed the line in third place at 15:28:44, less than a second ahead of Cash and Harrison.  Third place in the Division 2 AA for the second year in a row.  

And just like that, it was over.  

The season.  JP's high school cross country career.  My time as the parent of one of the top cross country runners in the state of Tennessee.  

JP finished his career as only the second four time all-state cross country runner in MBA history, which is quite an accomplishment.  2-time co-captain of the cross country team.  When you include the fact that as a freshman, he was on the only team in MBA history to qualify for Nike Cross Country Nationals in Portland, OR, I submit JP is the most decorated cross country runner in MBA history. 

Later in the week, he was named the Most Valuable Runner in the mid-state region and first team all- region, along with Gabe, and Wynn Humphrey.  Three other runners, all seniors, were named second team all-region.  Reid Fletcher, Charlie Griffin, and Justin Guo.  This group of seniors is going to be hard to replace next season, for sure.

What a privilege of a lifetime for an old runner like me to watch my son run for the Big Red the past four years.  I can't wait to see what all of these boys, JP included, do in college and beyond.   

 

The Last Ride

How did it come to this?

Tomorrow, at Shelby Farms Park in Memphis, JP will run his final cross country race for MBA.  

My emotions are mixed, nostalgic and more than a little sad.  So many races in so many places over the last four years.  I've enjoyed watching JP race in state parks and golf courses across the Southeast.  He's grown from a boy into a man during that time, always working hard and competing.  He's been a leader on the team, too, which is reflected by his status as a 2-time team captain.  

Most of all, he's worked hard.  So very hard.  Morning runs before school while he was still playing junior varsity baseball as a freshman and sophomore.  Summer morning runs on his own and with his teammates at Vaughn's Gap.  Weekend runs.  Long runs.  Workouts.  All of it.  He's put in the work and that shows in his performance, race after race.  

As a father and an avid runner, it makes me proud to see JP win races.  More than that, though, he's competed his ass off in every cross country race he's ever run for the Big Red.  That, and his being elected 2-time captain of the team, make me more proud.  

It's not about the running.  It's what you learn from the running.

And I think JP has learned a lot.  About himself.  About others.  About being part of a team.  About being a leader.  About winning and losing.  About handling disappointment and celebrating successes.  He's learned all of the things, and more, that I wanted him to learn from running.  Truth be told, he's still learning them.  

I hope JP runs the race of his life tomorrow morning at Shelby Farms Park.  More than that, though, I hope he savors every last minute of his high school cross country career and remembers all of the miles he's run with all of his teammates over the past four years.  The memories and the friendships.    

As JP and I were driving to church on Sunday, I asked him how he felt about the state meet and his MBA cross country career coming to an end.

Sitting in the driver's seat, JP started to say something, then he paused, lost in thought.

"You know," he said.  "I remember thinking, at the beginning of summer, that I had so much time.  And now I don't.  It's the last week."

"I know," I replied.  "I know.  I feel the same way."

Loss

When my friend, Peter Klett, set Jude and me up for a date three decades ago, I immediately knew she was different.  More intelligent, serious, driven, grounded, and really, deeper than other woman her age that I knew.  An old soul, so to speak.  For me, it wasn't a hard decision to pursue a long-term relationship with Jude, and as part of that process, I was committed to learning what was important to her, getting to know her friends, and weaving myself into the fabric of her life.

What did that look like?  Well, at age 30 or 31, I started playing Ultimate Frisbee.  More importantly, I got to know so many of Jude's friends whom she met through playing Ultimate Frisbee.  I've written about this before, I think, but that motley crew of people became some of my closest friends during my thirties and beyond.  It was such a special time in my life, and in Jude's and my relationship, and I treasure the memories of weekend trips out of town to play in tournaments, Halloween and Christmas parties, summer league, and Sunday afternoon pickup games at Elmington Park.  There was an innocence to it all, for all of us, and I miss that terribly.

Times passed, as it inevitably does, and things changed.  People drifted away, married, divorced, changed jobs, had children.  Jude and I had children.  Our group of players passed the baton to a younger group of players.  As a group, we saw each other less frequently and in other contexts.  Weddings.  Graduation parties.  Celebrations of life (You're never far from my thoughts, Carley).  

When Jude and I began dating, I also got to know Jude's best friend from law school at Vanderbilt, Cyndi Baines, and her husband, Troy.  It's strange to use the phrase, "love at first sight," to describe a relationship with new friends, but that's how I felt about Cyndi and Troy.  They were a matched pair, or so it seemed to me.  Perfect together.  Cyndi's ebullience, humor, and outgoing personality tempered by Troy's easygoing, reserved temperament.  

And, as couples go, they were perfect for Jude and me, too.  Troy and I immediately bonded over college football (Florida State for him and Tennessee for me).  Cyndi and Troy played summer league (Ultimate Frisbee) with us.  The four of us spent a lot of time together, pre-kids, even traveling to Jazz Fest in New Orleans one year.  Troy - one of the most able and agile conversationalists I've ever know - and I had a thousand conversations, and good natured arguments, about politics, people, and college football. 

Strangely, we almost became closer after Cyndi and Troy has Wolf, then Scout, and moved home to Florida.  Jude and I were sad to see them go, but Jude and I traveled to Neptune Beach, FL, to see them (Jude on several occasions).  More importantly, we invented the world famous Leaf Party in late October, which was the highlight of our year in our old house on Elliott Avenue for close to a decade.  

The actual origin story is a blur but the general idea was for our yard man, Duane Pierce, to blow the fallen yellow, orange, and red leaves from my beloved 75 year old maple tree into a pile, so the kids could play in them.  I think, initially, we started the party after JP was born and, soon enough, Troy, Cyndi, and their kids (Wolf, Scout, and later, Finn) were traveling to Nashville to say with us for a long weekend every autumn in late October.  

My gosh, those weekends - the Leaf Party Weekends - were the best times.  The very best times.  

Hurricane Baines, I called them, on the way from Florida to our house, where our growing families shoehorned ourselves in for the weekend.  When I departed for work the morning of their arrival, I left two coolers on our front porch.  One filled with Bud Light for Troy, and one filled with Miller Lite for me.  Our weekends together were filled with family activities and Cyndi catching up with friends and colleagues while all of our kids played together.  

So many traditions arose out of those weekends together.  The Leaf Party, of course.  The "ghost cake" Jude made for the kids.  Troy's Bloody Mary's the morning of the party.  Nobody, and I mean nobody, could make a Bloody Mary like Troy Baines.  Playing in the leaves all Saturday long.  Neighborhood walks with the kids to Bongo Java, where we ate breakfast.  Those were beautiful days.  All of them.

Then, as happens, the kids got older and we moved into our current house a half mile away from Elliott Avenue.  Bigger yard but not maple tree.  In fact - and I've never been able to write about this - the new owner cut my maple tree down three or four years ago.  No more Leaf Parties.  We saw less of Cyndi and Troy, although we often called them when something funny happened to me, or Jude, at work.  Catching up on those calls was always great fun. 

A few months ago, when we called Cyndi to let her know we would be in Jacksonville in late August for JP to run in the Cecil Field Summer Classic, she told us Troy had been diagnosed with a rare sarcoma, was being treated at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, and that things didn't look good for him.  We were devastated.  Not Troy.  Please, not Troy.

We were blessed - so, so blessed - to visit with Cyndi, Troy, and the kids, albeit briefly, when we were in Jacksonville.  Indeed, Troy was very sick, but he was still, well, Troy.  Same intense blue eyes.  Same long and detailed stories that never seemed to have an end.  Same sense of humor.  Same friendly personality.  To me, and it hurts to write this, Troy's essence - his very soul - continued to burn brightly even as his earthly body failed him.  

A few weeks ago, Cyndi, Troy, and the kids traveled to Colorado Springs, CO, to celebrate his brother's 60th birthday.  Shortly after they arrived, Troy took a turn for the worse and was admitted to a hospital there.  Things weren't good, Jude and I learned, and the possibility existed that Troy wouldn't make it back home.  As it turned out, after a couple of weeks, it looked like he might be strong enough for a cross country trip back to the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville.  

God had other plans, however, and Troy died in the hospital one night week before last, as we learned in a tearful telephone call the next evening from Cyndi's mom, Sue.  As she talked to Sue, then after she got off the phone, Jude was in tears.  I was, too.  We lay together on our bed and talked quietly, reliving old memories while we tried to come to terms with a world without Troy Baines in it. 

Jude and I hurt for Cyndi and for Wolf, Scout, and Finn.  There are no words, really.  We just hurt for them so badly.   

It was - and is - incomprehensible - to me that Troy is gone.  As I said, Cyndi and Troy were, to me, a perfectly matched pair.  I rarely referred to one of the, singular.  It was always Cyndi and Troy, almost like they were one name, or one person.  Cyndi and Troy.  Yin and yang.  Soulmates.   

In my life, I don't think I've ever known a more compatible couple, who just seemed to fit together so comfortably and so well.  Perfect balanced.  They competed each other in so many ways.  I thought Cyndi and Troy were forever.  I wanted Cyndi and Troy to be forever, in much the same way I wanted Jon and Carley to be forever.  

And maybe, just maybe, they are.  Somehow.  Through their memories together.  Innumerable memories.  Of laughter.  Of tears.  Of road trips.  Of their children.  Of their families.  Of a life built together from such a young age.  And a life spent together.    

Life, at least life on this earth, is ephemeral, or so I am learning, in my 61st year.

  

    

 

Fall Classic

It's Sunday morning, October 25, and I find myself at Nashville Collegiate Prep, listening to the sounds of baseball as I wait for the game before Joe's game to finish up, so the NBA Cannons can take the field and play.

Walk-up music playing.  The 13 and 14 year olds on the team Joe's Cannons will play are taking batting practice with heavy balls, laughing and talking, as young teenagers do.  Parents in camping chairs are everywhere, most of them staring at their cell phones (probably watching TikTok or looking at Instagram, sadly).  Now, cheering for one team or the other, was I sit in the morning shade behind the third base bleachers.  It's quite pleasant, really.  A beautiful fall morning, although it's going to be a too warm 78 or 79 degrees this afternoon.  

The other team's coaches fit the baseball dad/coach stereotype.  Overweight, bearded, self-important, cocky, and all too serious for a meaningless C +/B - baseball game on a fall Sunday.  A young man, McCarty it says on his red, white, and blue jersey just walked up.  He's bigger than his coaches, and they're not small.  Go figure.  

The crack of the bat just now.  More cheers from parents.  Now, AC/DC's "Back in Black" playing as someone's walk-up music.  Next batter.  And so it goes.

I shouldn't be as cynical as I am about travel baseball, I know.  For sure, I'll miss it when Joe stops playing in a year or two.  I'll miss the out of the way, small town ballparks.  Or the old school ballfields like Pitts Park, in Antioch, not too far from here.  I'll miss the gem of a ballpark, like Nashville Collegiate Prep, where we're playing today, or Beech High School, where JP played once upon at time.  

I'll miss talking quietly to other parents, although I typically keep to myself at these games.  I'm not sure why but I like to watch my boys play baseball in peace, without worrying about carrying on a conversation with someone I don't know very well.  The exception, of course, is Gavin O'Rear.  Damn, we had a couple of good summers together watching JP and Gavin play travel baseball all over Middle and East Tennessee.  

Yesterday, during Joe's games, I had a fun, running conversation with the home plate umpire.  As is often the case, though my year's of coaching, he and I knew each other.  Not by name, but we recognized one another.  In between innings, we started talking about bands we'd seen in the '70's and '80's at Municipal Auditorium.  .38 Special.  Kiss (him, not me).  Charlie Daniels at the Volunteer Jam.  It's always fun to run into a native Nashvillian because there aren't many of us around.  

Joe's Cannons split two games yesterday, winning the first on a last inning rally after giving up a lead they should have held onto late.  Joe played fine in center field, shortstop, and second base.  He made on error on a pop fly at second base that I missed but otherwise caught two or three fly balls and a couple of pop flies at second base.  He came in to pitch in a bases loaded jam.  After walking a run in, he got the second batter he faced to pop out to him on a first pitch change up.  

We'll see what happens today.  

The Last of My Lions

This is a post that I never want to write.  In fact, it's one I've not been able to complete since I stared it a couple of weeks ago.  More than with almost any post I've written in this space, I've stopped and started so may times.  

I don't know where to start and I don't know where to end.  

On the morning of September 28, 2026, my friend and mentor, Ed Silva, died peacefully at Alive Hospice in Nashville.  His wife, SuSu and his son, Tony, where with him when he died, as was his close friend, Carmine Grassi.

It's ironic that a man who was larger than life in every sense, a man with such a big personality, left this earth so quietly. 

Initially, I planned to write an obituary of sorts, but I don't want to do that.  I'm just going to write how much Ed meant to me, personally and professionally. 

Ed was the last of my lions.  He was someone I looked to in my life for professional inspiration.  For proof positive that I could be a fierce advocate for my clients while maintaining a (mostly) friendly relationship with other attorneys.  Like Ed, I strive to be a family man - dedicated to my wife and children - while building and maintaining a thriving family law practice.  Also like Ed, I've tried to be involved in the community and to give back, although the depth of his contributions and connections to the Williamson County community is something I never could hope to approach.

Monday morning, September 28, 2026, at Alive Hospice in Nashville, shortly after a priest administered the last rites, Ed Silva died peacefully.  His son, Tony, had arrived a few minutes earlier with Ed's wife.  Ed's dear friend, Carmine, was there, too.  I've am so sad, bereft really, but I am comforted by the fact that Ed was with loved ones when he died.  

Ed was a philanthropist who gave his time and very quietly gave his money to organizations he believed in, like the Heritage Foundation of Williamson County, the Downtown Franklin Association, Nashville School of Law.  He was a respected community leader.  

Ed was a businessman and, once upon a time, a restaurateur.  In 1985 or 1986, he and Danny Anderson invested in and opened the General's Retreat (General's Quarters), a local bar and restaurant that later became the Bunganut Pig.  It was an English-style pub in the basement of Carter's Court, a Cheers for Franklin.  It was a gathering place for Franklin politicians and locals, a music venue, and, at the time, one of the few places in Williamson County with a liquor license.  

The Bunganut Pig holds a special place in my heart because Puryear, Newman & Morton's first office was around the corner and upstairs from the restaurant.  I ate many, many lunches there.  Mark, Chas, and I often had beers after work there in the early days of our law practice.

Looking back, I can't think about the 30 + year history of our law practice without thinking about Ed Silva.  A couple of years in, he took Mark and me to lunch, then tried to hire us to come to work for him afterwards at Hartzog and Silva.  Mark and I didn't even need to meet to discuss it.  As we sat in Ed's car on Church Street, outside our office, we immediately told Ed we were flattered but, no, we wanted to run our own law firm, just like he and Mark Hartzog had decided to do many years ago.  

It's funny but the last time I saw Ed at the hospital, when he was still conscious, he told the nurse that Mark and I turned him down many years before when he tried to hire us.  Ed being Ed, under heavy pain medication, what he said, laughing, was "those guys f*cked me when I tried to hire them!  They turned me down!  What a couple of assholes!  Can you believe that!" 

Through his pain, he laughed and laughed.  I did, too.  I will treasure those last couple of hours we spent together for the rest of my life.  What a gift for me to be able to sit and talk with Ed for a couple of hours before he fell asleep, more or less for good, later that night.   

There are so many stories.  Too many to write about here, really.  Also, stories about Ed Silva are better told in person, preferably with a bourbon or other alcoholic beverage in hand.  

Ed always complained halfheartedly, that Mark, Chas, and I didn't invite him on our annual trip to Las Vegas during the first round of the NCAA basketball tournament.  Finally, one year, Mark sent him the dates, hotel reservations, and flight information.  Ed claimed he was going to join us on the trip and, of course, we thought otherwise, now that we had called his bluff.

On the day we departed, our jaws hit the floor of the Southwest airliner when Ed walked down the aisle, late, looking for a seat.  I couldn't believe he actually was going to Vegas with us.  As memory serves, this was at least 15 years ago, maybe more, so Ed was in his late sixties.  Ed was going to Vegas with us!

Now, truth be told, he didn't have as much fun as we had hoped.  He complained . . . a lot.  We stayed out too late.  We ate dinner too late.  We wouldn't go to any shows.  We wouldn't get up early and eat breakfast with him.  We watched too much basketball.  In fact, Ed called his wife, Suzanne, and told her he was coming home after two days.  She talked him out of it, suggesting that Mark, Chas, and I would never have let him hear the end of it if he had come home early.  She was right.  We wouldn't have.  

My fondest memory of that trip was Ed, Doug Brown, and me playing black jack one evening.  The table was hot and we were rolling.  Making money.  Having a few drinks.  Laughing and talking.  The dealer and the pit boss loved Ed because he was, well, Ed.  Funny.  Engaging.  Charismatic.  Sarcastic.  And the best conversationalist ever.  The three of us had so much fun playing blackjack together.  I didn't want the night to end.  

In later years, our relationship deepened as I got older and became a seasoned trial attorney and mediator.  We became colleagues, peers, and close friends.  I mediated for him and he mediated for me.  We called each other to discuss cases.  We talked about our families.  

One of my fondest memories is from a couple of years ago, when Ed agreed to serve as a mediator in the Nashville School of Law domestic trial practice class that Lee Davies, Sr., and I taught.  The only catch was I had to drive him to class, then drive him home from Nashville to Franklin after class.  No problem, I told him.  However, he had to go with me to watch my older son, JP, play baseball for the MBA junior school team.

It was a beautiful early spring day, as I recall.  Ed and I drove to the baseball field at 42nd Street in West Nashville, where we sat in camping chairs behind the backstop in the first base side and watched JP pitch a gem of a game.  It filled me with pride and made me so happy - it still does, actually - to have Ed at JP's baseball game, watching him play.  The last few years, Ed has brought up that day to me, and others, many times.  He enjoyed being here almost as much as I enjoyed having him there.  

Was Ed a father figure to me?  Maybe, but mostly he was a mentor and close, close friend.  Someone I always could count on for advice, support, and friendship.  One of my North Stars, professionally.  

Last Saturday, I was a pall bearer at Ed Silva's funeral at St. Philip Catholic Church in downtown Franklin.  It was the honor of a lifetime for me.  It also was a fitting way for me to say goodbye, or try to say goodbye, to a man I cannot believe is gone.  When I unpinned the single red rose from my jacket and laid it on his casket at the graveside service, I silently said a prayer.  

Godspeed, Ed, my dear friend.  Until we meet again.

    

   

Back-to-Back at the Nike Metro Cross Country Championships

In what was the last local race of his cross country career, JP won the Nike Metro Cross County Championship for the second year in a row.

It was a warm but beautiful fall day at Vaughn's Gap, MBA's home course, as the boys ran against, David Lipscomb, Overton, Hillsboro, Hume Fogg, Ensworth, Brentwood Academy, Nashville Christian, JPII, and maybe a couple of other schools I can't remember offhand.  Father Ryan was notably absent - by design, probably - as they ran at the Hermitage course in a different event on Saturday.  

MBA easily won the JV and Varsity races, as expected.  It was cool - really cool - to watch Cullen Weaver, an 8th grader, run with the junior varsity.  He ran well, I thought, although I could tell he was nervous at the beginning of the race.  I found him at the starting line and gave him some encouragement.  As is Cullen's way, he ran the 5k distance, for the first time, a little cautiously.  He looked great the third mile and in all likelihood, had more left in the tank than he realized.  Cullen is a very talented runner who will figure it out.  It's a great opportunity for him to be able to run a few races with the high school team.

When I asked JP Monday night what his race plan was, he simply said he planned to run to win it.  "That's the goal, isn't it?"  I guess that is the goal and that's what he did.

As was the case at the race last year, JP and Gabe left the rest of the boys early in the race and ran together.  Gabe was right on JP's shoulder at the first mile as they ran past us and he remained there when they rounded the turn near Old Hickory Boulevard and ran toward us to complete the first lap on the course.  Gabe looked great at that point and I thought he might be tracking JP and looking to out kick him on the last half mile.

My thought was that JP probably needed to put some distance between the two of them on the hills during the second mile.  I think that's what happened.  When JP came into view on the back side if the course, parallel to Highway 100, I could see that he had opened up a gap between him and Gabe.  He widened the gap a bit on the back side of the second lap and won comfortably in 15:38.  Not blazing fast by any stretch but a good time on a course that isn't particularly fast. 

I was in my feelings before and after the race, as the kids say.  The feeling of nostalgia was so strong, as I walked the course, awash in memories of all the summer mornings JP and his teammates have trained at Vaughn's gap.  I also thought about the junior school races JP ran at Vaughn's gap, all wins.  

And, of course, I thought about the three previous Nike Metro Championship races.  His freshman year, their was so much talent in the race.  Two boys from Brentwood Academy and Thomas Arender from JPII, all of whom are running in college.  From MBA, Samuel Trumble, Mitchell Chaffin, Jack Wallace, Gabe Guillamondegui, and JP.  That was a stacked field.

What hit me the hardest, though, was when Gabe hugged JP in a private moment after the race, just after he crossed the finish line in second place.  Those boys have pushed each other for four years.  They've made each other better runners.  Although my perception is they run in different social circles, on the course they're so tight and supportive of each other.  It's been a joy to see them grow up. 

I snapped a couple of photos of them together.  When I showed Gabe's dad, Oscar, the photo of them hugging, he choked up with tears and I did, too.  I hugged him, told him I loved him, then quickly tried to compose myself.  What a ride it has been with Gabe and his parents, Tara and Oscar, and JP and our family.  

What a ride indeed.  Roll Red.