Three Minutes

Today I watched my 76 year-old father start off on his first 5K.

It's odd wording to say I watched him start. Most people would say they watched him finish his first 5K. But I didn't. I didn't see him finish because he was three minutes ahead of me.

Three minutes!

He killed it. He has been walking three miles a day almost every day for over a month now. And he is killing it.

He placed 2nd in his age group, and he teared up a bit after the race when I told him how proud I was of him. He put his head down and said, "So am I."

I walked the course with my brother and sister. We talked and laughed and huffed and puffed and complained about our aching calves while we got our collective asses kicked by dad. It was a fun morning.

And everyone agreed to do another one. Here's to a new family tradition that just might kick all of our butts into gear.