Nola, St. Jude and grilled oysters from Felix's

It was one click of the mouse. I hovered the cursor over the submit button and selected it. In conjunction with St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, I would be participating in the Rock n’ Roll Half Marathon in New Orleans.

It wasn’t a difficult decision, mind you. One of my best friends in the world encouraged me to do so. You know, he said he was running and like any other guy, I cannot be one upped, so I agreed. 

Calvin White and I began the long and strenuous training regimen to successfully complete a run across downtown Nola to the tune of 13.1 miles. We both laid out a training plan, stuck to the manual and cruised right along. Honestly, neither of us faced any physical hurdles during training. Well, if you’re not counting our wives. Melissa and Amanda were probably happier than we were when we finished. Both were incredibly supportive for those night runs and long Saturday and Sunday treks around random places in Mississippi. 

Little did we know, while physically we were ready, emotionally we had no idea what was in store.

I began pondering a run for St. Jude after hearing publisher of RebelGrove.com Neal McCready talk about how rewarding it was. He ran the full Chicago Marathon and raised an incredible amount of money. For me personally, he was an invaluable source for training, nutrition and moral support via his daily podcasts. When Calvin called, the decision was easy. 

As the date drew closer, I began to get nervous. It was if I was about to experience something I wasn’t ready for. It was an exciting feeling but one I met with massive trepidation. So many thoughts would creep in your head loaded with doubt and uncertainty. A feeling you don’t belong. A fear of failure.

Calvin and I headed south on Interstate-55 and our plan was in place. We left early on Saturday for the early Sunday morning race. Check in at the expo, grab lunch at Mother’s, head over to Café Du’Monde and settle in at the hotel and rest. 

I was invited to the St. Jude dinner Saturday evening to carb up but was trying to talk myself out of going. I decided to go out of respect. 

This is where the true story of my race began.

When I walked into the room, I sat in the back. A gentleman came to me and sat down. He introduced himself and we talked about sports. Being that I was donning a red Ole Miss pullover, we talked about the LSU/Ole Miss game.

I talked about family and so did he. He talked about his son Bradley.

He paused.

“My hero is my son,” he said. “My son Bradley has Leukemia and he’s my hero.”

Hugh Hamilton, in one sentence, personified why I get up every morning. In one sentence, he laid out the blueprint of why I planned on running by taking 26,218 steps the next morning.

Our St. Jude liaison introduced the featured speaker. It was Hugh Hamilton.

Fitting, I know.

Hugh spoke about the attitude his son has. Football? It might have saved his life. Bradley, an aggressive wide out, was streaking across the middle on a slant pattern. He was hit. Hard.

Following a C/T scan, the doctor had news. Hugh was busy being on the board at Nicholls State University and an avid member of the LSU family. Bradley? Just a solid student and ardent athlete at E.D. White Catholic School.

The news wasn’t what they wanted. “We found something. You have leukemia,” were the words from the doctor.

The world turned on a dime. All of a sudden, everything else was pushed aside. Fast forward to the present and Bradley is doing well. Leukemia treatment is a painstakingly 2.5 year process. 

In Hugh’s final words of the night, he read a letter Bradley wrote to the nursing staff at the satellite office of St. Jude in Baton Rouge. 

It was a full page thank you note. This coming from a teenager, who had gone through more hell than I can fathom, writes a thank you note. I learned this night the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Hugh came back to the table, put his arm on my shoulder and with tears in his eyes said, “That’s my son, Bradley…my hero.”

Hugh Hamilton, St. Jude featured speaker

I was in the right place.

I did a lot of thinking on my walk back to the hotel. I reflected on the loss of my uncle Satch Logan and the battle my dad had with cancer. I thought about all the kids at the McDonald house in Memphis. I thought about their families. I thought about my daughter Evie and my wife Melissa. 

As we both woke and prepared on race day, Calvin suggested we could load up and be home in a few hours. I laughed and said no way but thought seriously about it. I was very nervous and the doubt was creeping in. Our hotel was very close to the check-in station and we headed that way. A “fish out of water” is a pretty safe description of the current state of affairs. 

We met a ton of people. No one was more athletic than the runner who was one week removed from running in the Phoenix Marathon. One. Week.

This didn’t help my anxiety or the current situation. 

Before:

When our time came, we were off. Three miles turned into six and we settled in. Everyone had a story to tell whether you knew them or not. There’s the fifteen members of the NOLA youth society that were running for downtown youth awareness against violence. There was the lady that was running for her son that lost his battle to liver disease. 

There was the Iraqi war veteran that was running on two prosthetic legs. There was the guy running with a purple shirt. For those that don’t know, it’s for support of Lymphoma. I briefly chatted with him and shared my dad’s story. I told him my dad was my hero. He said he was running for his wife. Before I put my earphones back in, I heard Calvin tell him he was running for his daughter Bailey. While she was only on earth for a short while, she was loved beyond measure.

“I’m running for my daughter Bailey today,” he said. I immediately looked up and knew she wasn’t hurting anymore and could see that smile looking down.

I understood this was not just a race. 

This was a life changing experience.

After 11.5 miles, seemingly gallons of Gatorade, salt pouches and packs of gels that tasted like garbage, I was out of gas. I thought about all the people that physically could no longer run or had passed away. I pressed on. I felt I had no choice.

I was going to finish. 

At the 12-mile marker, I was hurting. Bad. Heading north on Esplanade, we crossed Hwy 90, which is a four lane highway. People were lining the highway. When I saw the finish line in the distance, people were cheering. I didn’t know them and they didn’t know me. The feeling of crossing the finish line is impossible to put into words.

Once we finished an embraced the moment, food was the next item on the agenda. Felix’s was the decision and it did not disappoint. 

Felix's Oyster Bar

Heading home was much different. The trip had begun with worries of finishing, while the trip home was a fulfilling reenactment of what we hope to duplicate in the future. 

I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank the people that donated to St. Jude and sponsored the run. Katie Casanova, the liaison for St. Jude, did a fantastic job in her coordination efforts. The Rock n’ Roll crew and emergency officials were top notch. Finally, Hugh Hamilton and the families of St. Jude were the reason for my trip. It was an honor representing those guys. My good friend Calvin White. There are some good people on this earth but the line starts behind him. My wonderful wife Melissa was very supportive and I could not have finished without her.  

If I learned anything, the most important thing, is anything is possible. I truly believe that now.