The 2025 Ride to End ALZ

      I’ll just start with this:

      The first time I forgot to load a suitcase and didn’t notice until we were miles away and I had to drive back to get it was the time we spent a few days in Angel Fire before going to Camp Oro Quay near Albuquerque for Cyndi’s Family Reunion. The next morning I drove back to the condo, grabbed the suitcase, then back to the camp, arriving in time for lunch.

      The second time I forgot to load a suitcase was Friday, November 7th, on my way to Dripping Springs for the 2025 Ride to End ALZ. When I got to San Angelo I realized I didn’t have my suitcase that contained all my cycling gear. Since I didn’t want to hunt down a cycling shop to buy a whole new kit, I drove back to Midland, grabbed my suitcase, drove back to San Angelo, and the on to Dripping Springs, making the total drive nine hours instead of five. This wasn’t a great start to the weekend.

      A few days later, when I told this story to a friend, he said he would’ve taken the missing suitcase as a sign that he should spend the weekend at fine restaurants instead of cycling. I told him I’d raised too much money from generous friends to not ride. He said, you don’t have to tell everybody everything.

      The original plan was to do the ride together with my brother, Carrol. This would’ve been our 3rd year participating. We’re always looking for opportunities to ride together, something we never did while growing up because of the 12-year age gap between us. He was one of the convincing voices that encouraged me to take up cycling when arthritis made it increasingly difficult to run, and in 2010 he helped me get my first bike in this modern era. He once wrote, “Riding myself into oblivion is something I hope I can do with my brother until the day when our wives have to hide our bikes from us.”

      We were first drawn to this particular ride as an opportunity to honor our mother, Lenelle Simpson, who passed away with Alzheimer's in July 2014. We wanted a chance to ride together, and to do our bit to raise money for Alzheimer’s research.

      I used to visit my mother every Friday in the Manor Park Younger Center; I don’t know if she recognized me as her oldest and most cherished son, but she wasn’t afraid of me and would tell me stories from her past. Afterward I’d ride bikes around Manor Park with my father. It’s interesting how those two things (Alzheimer’s and bikes) have circled back around, together.

      As it turned out, my suitcase fiasco wasn’t the first blow to our plans for this year’s Ride to End ALZ. Carroll was struck down by the recurrence of a stomach bug. He even had his pickup loaded and ready to go when he texted me that he was running a 102* fever. It was to be a solo effort for me this year.

      Since I would be riding by myself, my plan was to enter the 50-mile group. Not only would I miss Carroll’s company, I ride slower when I’m by myself. I’ll crank my way up a steep hill trying to breathe, trying to stay upright, and then stay slow at the top of the hill as I catch my breath, but often forgetting to speed up and enjoy the flat portions. In general, I’m slower by myself than when I’m with a group, even if the group is only two of us.

      The route is famous for all the hills. In fact, to this West Texas flatlander, it felt like it was nothing but hills. The only level places were at the peaks and valleys. For me, with no place to train on hills, that means a lot of suffering.

      This was one of the few occasions I’ve had to use every single gear on my bike, over and over. More than once I bottomed out into the lowest gear and then had to mash the pedals the rest of the way to the top.

      I’m not familiar with the roads around Dripping Springs, so I never know where I am. All the roads wind around hills and valleys, and though I love the views and beautiful scenery, I never know if I’m riding north or south or east or west.

      As a result, somewhere along the way, about 2/3 into my planned 50 miles, I made a wrong turn. The only reason I knew this – all the road markings were for the 100-mile ride. I was in trouble, but I didn’t know how to recover from my mistake. I just kept riding. I didn’t actually know where I was until I got to the next aid station and studied their course map. It revealed I was about as far from the finish as I could possibly be. I asked one of the course sag drivers my shortest route home, and he smiled and said, “In my car.”

      My odometer said 51 miles. Good enough. So I took his offer and let him drive me to the finish line. He let me out about a 1/4-mile from the finish so I could ride through the chute. It was an unconventional ending, but I got my 50 miles and heard my name called out when I crossed the line.

      The 2025 Ride to End ALZ was a great event, and one of the most beautiful cycling routes in Texas. There were plenty of smiling and helpful volunteers, the course marking was the best I’ve ever seen (it wasn’t their fault I got lost), and the aid stations were friendly and fully stocked. H-E-B was everywhere, with teams, riders, volunteers, food at all the rest stops, and lots of energy and enthusiasm. They continue to make me proud to be from Texas.

      The 714 registered riders raised $1,029,289, 100% of which goes directly into Alzheimer’s research. Together, Carroll and I raised over $6,000. I’m certain we’ll be back in 2026.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

Some Benefits of Growing Up

      Wednesday morning, on the way to the men’s room, I walked past several booths full of rough-and-tumble covered-in-field-dirt young oilfield workers. I doubt any of them noticed me, and they certainly didn’t notice what I was wearing, but it felt to me like I was parading down the runway in a fashion show.

      Why?

      Because I was wearing a jacket on a warm sunny day. Do real men do that? None of these burly guys were wearing long sleeves.

      My previous self resisted putting on a jacket or windbreaker or fleece on a warm day because I didn’t want to look foolish, unmanly, or soft.

      Nowadays, I don’t care. I put on the jacket and don’t worry who sees. In fact, I find myself pulling it out of my backpack two or three times a week. I figure my gray hair and gray beard give me permission to be eccentric. 

      Growing up has finally become an asset. 

      I don’t think I can actually say I like being old, but I don’t resent it, or fight it, as I thought might when I looked ahead to this season so many years ago. Cyndi and I’ve had enough peers pass away in the past couple of years we both know how fortunate we are. (I have a note taped to the inside of my bathroom cabinet: Aging is a privilege; don’t waste it.)

      Growing older no doubt brings diminishments, but more than a few benefits as well.

      Here are a few personal examples:

      I’ve learned to enjoy walking as much as I once loved running. I still miss running when I see a race or someone out training, but the moments are few. It took me a long time to be comfortable telling Cyndi, “I’m going walking” instead of “I’m going running,” without it feeling like a downgrade, but now I’m completely used to it.

      I don’t feel I have to be good at everything, or pretend I’ll learn auto mechanics someday, or plumbing, or home electrical wiring. Nowadays I’m more interested in having friends who are experts.

      I trust my intuition more. Not everything has to be evidence-based.

      I no longer mind if someone rushes across Lowe’s parking lot to help me load something heavy into my pickup. Now I appreciate and accept their offer.

      I’ve grown accustomed to my public persona. I look in the mirror and think, “Well, this is the way I look, now.”

      I love bringing up ideas and details from 60 years of reading and studying - it feels like a superpower.

      I’m grateful for the people God has surrounded us with. I feel blessed to be around so many men and women who think deeply about significant things.

      I resent intrusions on my private time less and less. I’ve learned to enjoy the interactions instead of seeing them as missed opportunities to work on something.

      Both Cyndi and I are learning to do stuff now, while we can. We don’t intend to slow down until we have to, until life forces us to, which will happen someday soon enough.

      I’m more confident in my ability to speak or teach in a large, crowded room, and braver using the weight of my personality and history to speak out when I need to. Also, I’m more confident in my ability to bring people together.

      I’m becoming more cold-natured-ish, and enjoying it. One reason why wearing my jacket in Whataburger bothers me less is because I like winter clothes better than summer clothes. I’m happiest when wearing a fleece pullover. Also, if my personal temperature runs cooler, I’ll be more like Cyndi. Always a good idea.

      All of these changes have made me a better man, and I’m looking forward to more changes in the future. It’s my desire to grow up with more grace, less judgment, broader interests, less dogma, a bigger view of life, and a deepening walk with God.

      YOUR TURN: How have you changed in your current season of life? What has surprised you?

*  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

40,000 Miles!

      I was out walking one morning last September when I remembered the milestones soon to arrive in my life. I repeated to myself “10-20-40” so I would remember them when I got home. I wanted to celebrate them all, hoping they were lead-ins to more and greater. Here’s what happened.

      Ten: 2025 is my 10th year anniversary using after-market knees. I celebrated with an 8-day backpacking trip on a section of the Appalachian Trail.

      Twenty: 2024 was our 20th year of Iron Men, and we celebrated as a group with a raucous dinner party.

      Forty: I calculated I would cross the 40,000th mile of running and walking (since I first started in June 1978) in the summer of 2025. I didn’t know how to celebrate this milestone. Should I enter a big race – like a marathon? Or ask people to join me as we walk the last mile together?

      Well, last Friday afternoon, August 8th, I walked in 98* heat and pushed my lifetime cumulative to 40,000.76. I ended up walking it by myself, which was fitting since 95% of my miles have been alone. Afterwards, I had a vanilla milkshake to celebrate.

*  *  *  *  *

      Leonard Sweet wrote about stories and how they form the “deep structure” of our life. Another writer, Penelope Lively, used the word “ballast” to describe those stories.

      Running is one of my deep-structure, ballast stories, one that I told in my first book, Running With God:

      In May 1978, after I completed my first senior year at the University of Oklahoma, I came home to Hobbs, New Mexico to work as a summer engineer for Getty Oil Company. Within my first week home, I realized my plans were in trouble: the girl I’d dated the previous summer, who attended New Mexico Junior College in Hobbs, and whom I’d hoped to date again, had been seeing a track-and-field jock during the school year. He was a javelin thrower, of all things. How could I compete against a guy like that? I needed something besides good grades, a slide rule, or a trombone, to win her back.

      So I did something uncharacteristic for me - something that shaped the rest of my life. I decided to go for a run. If I had to compete with a jock for the affection of this girl, I knew I had to do something physical. Running was the easiest thing I could think of.

      I was never an athlete as a young boy. I simply wasn’t interested, and I had no skills. I didn’t play baseball, or football, or run track, and I didn’t learn to swim until I was a junior in college. So my first day on the roads was also the first voluntary run of my life.

      I ran almost every day that summer in Stan Smith Addidas tennis shoes (a big mistake) and Levi cutoffs (an even bigger mistake).  Eventually, after beating my knees and chafing my legs, I realized how important it was to buy real running shoes and better shorts.

      I continued running when I went back to school in September and even went to the mall to buy a pair of shoes. I was so nervous about which shoes to buy that I made five trips to the athletic store before finally settling on a pair of Brooks Vantages. I was a student with very little money, and the $35 I spent on shoes specifically designed for one thing was a difficult commitment. But I stuck to it; I ran four or five times a week that entire school year.

      Back in 1978 I never imagined that running would become instrumental in how I lived my life, how I planned my time, where I traveled for fun and leisure, how I met my friends, and how I ended up serving in local government. All I wanted to do on that fateful day in late May 1978, when I put on my shoes and stumbled through three miles, was to win the heart of a girl.

*  *  *  *  *

      Nowadays, I’m no longer running thanks to two replacement knees and one rebuilt foot, but I’m walking three miles about 4-5 times per week. And, yes, I include those walks in my running log. I don’t differentiate between running miles and walking miles since I do them both for the same reasons and the same purpose.

*  *  *  *  *

      But still, why the big deal about 40,000? It’s just round (albeit large) number.

      I believe we should find reasons to celebrate our victories whether the celebration is an eight-day hike, a dinner party, or a vanilla milkshake. The world we live in is scary enough, and the Enemy actively distracts us from the things we should be thankful for, so we must make it a point to celebrate. Not as an ego boost, but in gratitude for the gifts God has given.

*  *  *  *  *

PS: Three things I should mention:

(1) This 40,000-mile achievement says more about my ability to keep records for 47 years than my skill as a runner. It’s more engineering than athletics. All those miles works out to only 2.3 per day, nothing outstanding in the runner’s world.

(2) I already know the next set of milestones: 15-17-70.

(3) And that girl I was trying to win back? Her name is Cyndi, and we’ve been married now for 46 years. That’s definitely worth celebrating.

*  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

Tell Her About It

      I’ve been drawn toward love songs for a long time. Mostly on the assumption they were all written about Cyndi and me. I may not agree with every lyric, but I can enjoy the song and appreciate the fact they wrote it just for us.

      Paul McCartney once wrote, "There were accusations in the mid-1970s – including one from John – that I was just writing silly love songs." Paul then went on to sing:

Some People Wanna Fill The World With Silly Love Songs.
And What's Wrong With That?
I'd Like To Know, 'Cause Here I Go Again

      Silly love songs often describe the best parts of life; and besides, I’ve always been more McCartney than Lennon.

      Cyndi and I married on July 28, 1979, so this summer is our 46th anniversary. We feel fortunate and blessed to have each other, and we want to share that with people close to us. And so, for you, here is my 2025 playlist of love songs.

      This practice started in 2007, as a project for Iron Men. I collected my favorite love songs into a playlist and gave them away. Since there were always more songs to put on more lists, I kept doing it. Now, this is my 19th list. In the beginning I made CDs and gave them away, but starting in 2020 I began creating playlists on Spotify. Mostly because, as was pointed out to me, few people had CD players anymore.

      Music is a deep root for Cyndi and me. We first met in a high school band hall in 1973 in Hobbs, NM – I played trombone, Cyndi played percussion. We rediscovered each other and started falling in love at a North Texas State University One O’clock Jazz Band concert featuring Bill Watrous, in Denton, TX, in 1976. We’ve been playing music together ever since – in our church orchestra, in the Midland College Jazz Band, and on several mission trips with Global Missions Project. It’s impossible for us to separate love from music.

      To listen to the playlists (I have them all, back to 2007), follow this link. It’ll make me happy if you listen to them. Let me know which are your favorites. I hope at least one of them will soften your heart and push you toward your own true love.

*  *  *  *  *

1      This Will Be (An Everlasting Love), Natalie Cole, 1975, … “Together forever, throughever, whatever, you and me”… Cyndi and I recently attended the O’Conner/Norris wedding, and Mr. and Mrs. (Chase and Bethany) Norris left to this song. It lit up the entire room. You could feel the air vibrating as they joyfully walked up the aisle.

2      Conga Heartbeat, 2025, … My friend Rabon used AI to compose this song, based on one of the stories (one among many) of how Cyndi and I first met. It’s scary how swinging this arrangement is. I hope you can listen to it through Spotify, but if not, write to me, I’ll send a copy of the file.

3      Dancing In the Moonlight, Bossa Nova Covers, Mats & My, 2020, … “It's a supernatural delight, everybody was dancing in the moonlight” … After our June trip to Brazil, I couldn’t resist including a couple of bossa nova tunes. This song contains one of my favorite lyrics of all time: You can’t dance and stay uptight.

4      How Deep Is Your Love, The Bird and The Bee, 2007, … “How deep is your love?”

5      What the World Needs Now Is Love, Steve Tyrell, Burt Bacharach, Martina McBride, Rod Stewart, James Taylor, Dionne Warwick, 2018 remaster, … “What the world needs now is love, sweet love, it′s the only thing, that there's just too little of.” … This has become our (Cyndi’s and my) favorite version of this 1965 classic Burt Bacharach/Hal David song. It may be the only pop hit to begin with a euphonium solo.

6      All I Do Is Dream of You, Michael Buble', 2009, … “All I do is dream of you the whole night through.” We played this same arrangement in a recent jazz concert with members of the MC band, the OC band, and the UTPB band, and it’s lived in my head ever since.

7      We're in This Love Together, Al Jarreau, 1981, … “We're in this love together, we got the kind that lasts forever” … We used to tell our kids that all love songs were written specifically for the two of us. Especially this one, of course, since it plainly says, “like Berries on the vine, it gets sweeter all the time.”

8      Be Without You, Dave Barnes, 2020, … “Girl, I'm still learnin' pieces of you, all these little encores that I never knew” … It often surprises me that after 46 years of marriage preceded by 2-1/2 years of dating, Cyndi and I still learn new things about each other.

9      If You Were the Rain, Stephen Day, 2016, … “I you were the rain, I'd be saying, well, I wanna play in the rain” … Thinking about rain makes me happy.

10    I Will Always Be Yours, Ben Rector, 2018, … “But no matter who I might become, or who I've been before, I will always be yours” … As we both continue to change year after year, I’m always yours.

11    Your Love Has Lifted Me Higher And Higher, Rita Coolidge, 1977, … “When you wrap your lovin' arms around me, I can stand up and face the world again” … I’ve loved this song for decades; I can’t believe I never used it on one of my previous lists.

12    Our Love, Gregory Porter, 2012, … “How did we meet? This is the question of our love” … I have a collection of stories telling how we met. They are sort of mostly true.

13    Say You Love Me, Kurt Elling, 2025, … “Cause when the lovin' starts and the lights go down, and there's not another living soul around” … When I shrink the world down as far as it will go, I see only two people – Cyndi, and everyone else. There’s not another living soul around.

14    Swayin' to the Music, Done Again, 2012, … “And we're slow dancin', swayin' to the music, just me and my girl” … Cyndi turned me into a dancer (well, not a great one, but a lucky one).

15    Meet Me In Montana, Dan Seals & Marie Osmond, 1985, … “Won't you meet me in Montana? I want to see the mountains in your eyes” … We joined our son Byron and daughter-in-law Angela for a week in Montana in July, and this song lived in my head the entire time. I love the line, “I want to see the mountains in your eyes.”

16    Ends of the Earth, Lord Huron, 2012, … “To the ends of the earth, would you follow me? There's a world that was meant for our eyes to see” … Cyndi and I hope to spend adventures together for many more decades. We discovered this song from the movie soundtrack to A Walk In The Woods.

17    You Belong To Me, Ben Taylor, 2006, … “Fly the ocean in a silver plane, See the jungle when it's wet with rain, Just remember when you're home again, You belong to me”

18    Kiss on My List, Daryl Hall & John Oates, 1980, … “Your kiss is on my list.” … I remember well our first kiss; I realized in that moment Cyndi had been waiting for me to step up.

19    Night And Day, Sergio Mendes & Brasil '66, 1970, … “Night and day, you are the one.” … Again, in honor of our trip to Brazil, here is Sergio Mendes, who introduced Brazilian bossa nova to the pop-music world.

20    Tell Her About It, Billy Joel, 1983, … “Tell her about it, tell her everything you feel, Let her know you need her, let her know how much she means” … Most of our dating life was long-distance, and in the early years I wasn’t good at telling Cyndi how I felt about her. As a result, I almost lost her. And so now, Billy Joel and I both say, “Tell her about it.” Don’t waste time making her guess. Even after all these years together … tell her about it.

*  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

Just Keep Breathing

Every time I fool with my feet I realize I need professional help, but I’ve been too timid to simply walk myself into a nail salon and ask for a pedicure. My recent birthday reminded me that I’ve reached that stage in life when I must turn my toe maintenance over to someone else.

So, last Saturday afternoon, when Cyndi pulled out a gift card to a local spa and said she wanted to “have her toes done,” to my own surprise I seized the moment and asked, “Do you ever see men like me in there when you do that?”

“Occasionally. Do you want to come with me?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it. Nowadays I can’t bend my feet enough, or see well enough, or stretch over enough, to take care of my feet. I’ve been considering a – pedicure – but too chicken to walk in by myself.”

“OK. Let’s go.” And just like that it was a done deal. I couldn’t turn back.

The spa had at least forty big, leather, mechanical massage chairs with fancy, plastic bag-lined tubs for feet. I didn’t see any men, but going to yoga classes has conditioned me to being the only man in a room full of women, so I was fine.

The maître d' sat Cyndi and me in adjacent chairs and handed us laminated menus from which we could select the treatment. I showed the menu to Cyndi, and she selected for me “Elegant Pedicure: Indulge your feet in an aromatic foot bath while having your legs exfoliated with a Sugar scrub. This is followed by a mask treatment wrapped with a warm towel. This pedicure also includes a soothing foot massage With a moisturizing scented lotion.”

She added, “No, he doesn’t want polish.”

“Thank you, Cyndi.”

I watched Cyndi to see where to put my feet, mostly because I didn’t understand what my technician, Kim, was telling me to do.

I was braced for Kim’s scream when she saw my crooked toes and protruding bunions, but she must see that sort of thing often because she had no reaction. She immediately started clipping nails only nanometers from my delicate skin. I averted my eyes and tried to think happy thoughts.

When she reached into her toolbox and pulled out a wood rasp, I gripped the armrests and stared across the room, trying not to flinch in front of Cyndi.

      Apparently, I was shaking the entire chair as Kim scraped skin off my feet because she stopped, smiled, and asked, “Does it tickle?” I didn’t know how to tell her it reminded me of when I had stitches removed from my left foot. Simultaneous pain and tickling. Complete and total discomfort.

      Cyndi smiled, looked at my grip on the armrests, and said, “Just keep breathing.”

      I’ve never been a barefoot guy. Not even when I was a kid. So I haven’t built up resistance in my feet. It took me seven years of regularly seeing the same masseuse before I was comfortable having him jack with my feet. I’ve spent a lifetime keeping my feet to myself.

      And now Kim is rasping my soles.

      I told Cyndi through clinched teeth, “I didn’t expect this to an ab workout.”

      “You aren’t supposed to tense-up your stomach muscles. You’re supposed to relax.”

      “Every part of my body is tense. Even my eyelids.”

      “Just keep breathing.”

      Cyndi knew I couldn’t resist writing about this experience, so she suggested I not use the word “toenails” in the first sentence. I told her I wouldn’t, and considered two reasons she might feel that way: (1) she thinks toenails are funny only to 5th grade boys - the sort she taught for 20+ years and still thinks are mostly gross; or (2) she’s still haunted by an essay I included in my first book, Running With God, entitled Collection of Courage, about the toenails I lost while running marathons. “They represent personal sacrifices … tiny white badges of courage.”

      Well, my spa experience ended quicker than Cyndi’s because she had to sit and wait for the pink polish to dry. I asked, “What do we do now?”

      “We sit and wait to let it settle.”

      I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the polish or my own erratic breathing. I finally pried my fingers from the armrests and relaxed my shoulders, and thought, this isn’t my last time to do this. I’ll be back.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

Birthday Ride: Level 69

      One thing I’ve put a lot of thought into but haven’t decided on yet is my favorite metaphor for aging. Should I approach it as a laboratory experiment (What can I still do and what adjustments do I have to make to keep doing it?), or as a spiritual pilgrimage (Who will I become; what sort of man will I be?) Aging is a privilege, and I don’t want to waste it.

      Several years ago, without considering I was making my future harder, I decided to ride my age on my birthday. I’ve continued the practice almost every year since. It’s been pointed out to me more than once that I set a goal to do something progressively harder each year of my life, which may be unsustainable. Will I ride 90 miles in 2046?

      Maybe.

      A phrase I learned last week, used by Neel, my new friend from Dripping Springs, to explain why he always took the hotel stairs: Do it “While you can, until you can’t.” In the past two months I’ve learned I can still cover big miles, whether hiking on a mountain trail or riding city streets, as long as I pace myself and take more breaks. I don’t know how many years I’ll be able to ride my age, but I’ll ride while I can until I can’t.

*  *  *  *  *

      Last Monday, June 23rd, I rode another birthday ride and I gathered this collection of random thoughts from the day. At least, the thoughts I remember and feel at liberty to write down. Other thoughts still stranded in the back of my mind may never break into the open and should be forgotten and never repeated.

      I doubt I’d’ve tried this ride had I known the wind would be blowing 18 to 19 mph all day. Sometimes it’s better not to know all the data.

      Sixty-nine miles shouldn’t have been such an ordeal for me, and wouldn’t’ve been had I been training, but as it turned out, it was further than I’ve ridden by 3xs since last November. I’ll be walking stiff-legged for the next couple of days.

      To my non-cycling friends, 69 miles sounds like a death wish and why would I take on the added risk in this season of my life? But to my cycling friends, 69 miles sounds merely like a solid day’s ride and why am I going on and on about it. Well, (1) going on and on about things is what I do, and (2) the ride actually had less to do with mileage more to do with choosing the harder yet more fulfilling option.

      From my house, I can’t ride more than 40 miles without crossing busy major highways or making mind-numbing back-and-forths through residential neighborhoods. To get 69 miles I had to ride multiple laps around Green Tree, Fasken, and Greathouse. And I took 3 breaks at different Kent Kwik convenient stores where I bought soft drink, salty snacks, and energy snacks.

      Mile 20 was a major decision point where I almost talked myself into turning back toward home. My butt and shoulders were aching, and the wind was pushing me around, and besides this was a stupid goal anyway.

      But I told myself this might be more important than one bike ride. Going on without turning back will set the pattern for the rest of the summer and predict how hard I’ll work to accomplish my goals. Will I push through the hard parts, or turn around and give up? I knew I had to decide at that moment. And then, before I knew it, I was at mile 30. Decision made.

      Anytime I ride more than 60 miles I earn a milkshake. So there’s that. A Vanilla shake at Texas Burger is a worthy goal and sweet reward.

      For me, my birthday always accompanies personal analysis, and I’ve realized there are some things I do better nowadays than I did when I was younger. For example: playing trombone, teaching, and writing.

      There are plenty more things I can still do but they take longer, such as: hiking, walking, cycling, recovering from injury, sitting down on the floor, or getting up off the floor.

*  *  *  *  *

      Thank you, God, for giving me the physical ability, health, and resources to do something long and stressful like a birthday ride. Thank you for giving me the desire to keep doing hard things. And thank you, especially, for giving me one more turn.

*  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

They're All Younger Than Me!

      I don’t remember the day I crossed over the line where most of my advisors were younger than me.

      The line-crossing happened organically in the normal course of life – there wasn’t an announcement. Still, why didn’t I notice?

      I surprised myself this morning while listening to a financial analyst on Morning Edition discuss the possible fallouts from higher tariffs, and the chance the tariffs might not lead to inflation as many of colleagues have suggested, when I noticed how young he sounded. That’s when I started going over my personal list of advisors and mentors.

      Many years ago when I was part of the city government, I remember being in a meeting in Washington DC when we were quizzing our congressman’s staff about government grants and programs we might’ve missed. It occurred to me that while all the young staffers were bright and insightful and friendly and well-informed, I doubted any of them had ever owned a mortgage or paid property taxes. My friend, Kieth, who was sitting beside me, and I decided the US government was being run by fresh college graduates wearing their first suits.

      Maybe that was the day I crossed the line.

      Now, there is no going back. My financial advisor is younger than me (maybe younger than my adult son and daughter), my lawyer is younger than me, both my pastor and my worship leader are younger than me, the podcast hosts I listen to are younger than me, everyone I know in city government, including the mayor and my neighborhood councilman, are younger than me, and most of my favorite authors are younger than me.

      The only reason I can’t say my Adult Bible Study teacher is younger that me is because I’m the teacher and I’m younger than two-thirds of the class. I’ll leave it for them to say they’ve crossed the line.

      I once overheard Cyndi ask someone who was trying to give business advice with a cold call, "What’s your favorite Doobie Brother’s song?” She was trying to get a handle on the caller’s life experience before she spent time listening to his pitch.

      Don’t misunderstand my point. I believe I’m in good hands. I trust the advice I get from all of these youngsters even when I might disagree with it. But the awareness of aging comes in bits and pieces, and this bit hit me this morning just after my morning walk and before my shower. At my age, that’s when the best ideas usually arrive.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

First Day On The Trail

      I started hiking as soon as Nathan dropped me off at the Sam’s Gap trailhead and was immediately surprised at the long continuous steep climb, no switchbacks, no warm-up, no easing into it, just straight up the mountain trail stairs, and then straight down the mountain on the other side. I expected more level ground when I set a goal for ten miles per day.

      In retrospect, ten miles per day was overly optimistic for me even for level ground, but I was captured by this epic journey. I intended to hike on the North Carolina / Tennessee border portion of the Appalachian Trail for eight days, and I’d been planning the route and sorting gear for weeks.

      It was exhausting and, as always on the first days of a backpacking trip, my hips began to ache. Everything is hard when you just get started. So to make it up the mountain I started counting steps, one-to-hundred, then stopped to lean over both trekking poles and counted recovery breaths, one-to-fifty. Repeat, over and over, until I cleared the top.

      I finally reached Hogback Ridge Shelter about an hour before sundown and decided to camp there. It was getting darker and cooler, and I knew I didn’t have enough daylight left to make Flat Gap, my original goal for the first night. I hiked down to a small creek and filled all three water containers, then back to the shelter to set up among the tent village of thru-hikers.

      During those afternoon hours on the trail I traveled through all the thoughts: Is this the end of my backpacking career, or the beginning of my next phase? I’m certainly feeling my age, but maybe I’m supposed to. Is counting my steps and stopping to breathe a picture of my future? Is setting goals based on time (8 days) rather than distance (70 miles) what I have to look forward to? Even so, settling for what I can do rather than being disappointed for what I can’t do doesn’t mean settling for less, but embracing the new life God has for me going forward.

      Those weren’t my only thoughts. I also appreciated how fortunate I was to do this hike, how beautiful it was walking in countryside that’s green in every direction, and how blessed I am to have the desire and health to stay on the trail for eight days. On the outside I was wheezing; but on the inside I was smiling in gratitude. Many of the most gratifying experiences in my life have also been the most demanding. They seem to go hand-in-hand.

*  *  *  *  *

      One night I texted Cyndi: “Only a 6.7 mile day, but probably the longest and steepest trail of the entire trip. It rained with cold wind today. It’s cold now, at 6:50 pm. Colder than I expected or packed for. I’m now in my tent curled up in my sleeping bag.”

      My text should have been clearer because to Cyndi it sounded like I was miserable, and she worried about me. But I meant to say I was safe in my tent and had figured out how to relax and stay warm. Overcoming discomfort is the fun part. I was never miserable or sad to be there, even in the cold wet wind, or going up and down those trail steps.

*  *  *  *  *

      My basic assumption going into almost everything is: I can figure a way to make this work. I may not be the best or fastest but I will make it work.

      Too often that assumption turns out not to be true, but that’s always where I start. I trust my ability to discover solutions and workarounds. I believe I can work it out, solve the problems, or develop a hack that works for me.

      But even as I was hiking up the mountain God reminded me that His promise was not, “Berry can do all things by himself alone,” but, “Berry can do all things through Christ who strengthens.” I need these difficult uphill trails through life to remind me where real strength lies.

*  *  *  *  *

      Cyndi said if I do something like this again, she wanted me to have someone with me. I pointed out, “It would still be hard, cold, and windy,” and she said, “But you’d have a friend. Besides, I don’t want you to take someone else for your own benefit, but for mine, so I can worry less.” Fair enough. She’s a very smart woman.

      And so, I’ve already started dreaming of a weeklong backpacking trip on the Colorado Trail next summer (June 2026) with a group of men. Write to me at berry@stonefoot.org if you’d like to be part of the discussion.

*  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

Lunchtime Ritual

      Friday afternoon I sat on the waiting-for-your-date bench at Blue Sky Texas restaurant in Midland TX on one of the worst dirty dusty windy days I’d ever seen. And I’ve lived all but eight years of my life (only 12%) in West Texas; that’s a lot of dirty dusty windy days. This time it was so bad the National Weather Service gave severe weather warnings all week so smart people would plan to stay home. The dusty skies covered the Texas panhandle as far south as I-40, and all of Oklahoma. I’d already seen photos of a massive 50-car pileup on I-27 south of Amarillo and read that this was the windiest day in Oklahoma in 30 years. The wind even derailed a freight train near Logan NM.

      And yet, we didn’t stay home. We weren’t going to let a little dirt in the air boss us around. I spent the morning running errands and writing and working on a Bible lesson for Sunday while Cyndi taught multiple yoga classes at her studio.

      But stubborn resistance to the weather wasn’t the reason we were having lunch together and why I was waiting on the bench. The truth is, we meet at Blue Sky every Friday at 1:00 pm unless we’re out of town. It has become a treasured ritual in our marriage.

      This day Blue Sky had about half as many customers as most Fridays, but twice as many as I expected. It was truly awful outside. This time the weather forecast was dead-on accurate. People were staggering across the restaurant parking lot, leaning into the wind, trying to keep their West Texas credibility and continue with their busy day as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

      I looked at my weather app and it said the wind was blowing 38 mph with gusts up to 50 mph. It didn’t mention the dust that came with it.

    Cyndi and I aren’t big eaters, by which I mean we are big into eating but not into eating big meals. We usually split entrees wherever we go. At Blue Sky we split a hamburger with tater tots. We each get our own drink. It isn’t the food we’re after, even though we love their hamburgers, but the scheduled time together. It has become a ritual for us. Friday mornings one of us will ask, “1:00?” and the other will nod, and we know we are on for that day.

      We believe rituals, like meeting at Blue Sky at 1:00 every Friday, or Taco Tuesday at 7:00 pm, or Thursday jazz band rehearsal, or Sunday morning Bible class, enrich our marriage. For us, the repetition and anticipation of doing something simple week in and week out trumps fancy meals or elegant settings. Scheduled, intentional, repetition is relationship glue, and even after 45 years of marriage, we can’t get enough.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.”
Psalm 119:32

No Guarantees

      What would I be willing to sacrifice if I knew the results were guaranteed?

      Would I live on 2,000 calories and work out every day and cycle hard if I knew in one year, I would be lean and fit and fast? I think I would if I was certain about the results - but of course, there is no guarantee. Why sacrifice day after day, workout week after week, if the outcome is uncertain? What if I put myself through that hard work yet all I got out of it was a 10% improvement? Would that be enough?

      Would I get out of bed every morning at 5:00 AM and write for two hours if I knew for a fact that after a year I would be selling a lot of books and changing lives? Would it be worth the discipline and sacrifice? I think it would.

      I ask those questions because I doubt I’ve ever given a supreme effort in my entire life. It’s my nature to pick around the edges, to make incremental efforts, to hold back the best part of myself, until I’m sure of the end result. I’ve always been more afraid of embarrassment and pain than motivated by success. I’d rather finish second with energy left over and my head held high than push for first place knowing failure would be embarrassing and painful. I won’t risk too much; I keep most of myself in reserves. I’m more George B. McClellan than Robert E. Lee.

      When I was in high school, I learned I could keep a B+ average with only minimal effort, so I seldom worked hard enough for an A average. B+ was still better than most of everyone else I knew, and it took no risk to get it. In high school I didn’t yet know about Erwin McManus, but I would’ve agreed with his comments: “We love permission to do the minimum.”

      Yet some things need more than minimal effort if they are to succeed.

      What if I want to run another marathon? (Or, I should say, since I don’t run nowadays, walk a marathon,) Am I willing to put in 20-mile training runs – risking failure and injury – in hopes of finishing 26.2 miles. Without sufficient investment up front and along the way, it’s senseless to attempt the big race.

      How about music? Would I practice my trombone ten hours a week if I knew for sure I’d be a jazz phenom someday? I think so. I hope so. But I haven’t so far.

*  *  *  *  *

      There is a well-known Bible story about a rich young ruler who came to Jesus, looking for eternal life (Matthew 19). He felt justified in his obedience that satisfied all of God’s criteria, but he wanted more. Maybe he was bored with his religious life.

      Jesus told him to: “Sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasures in heaven. Then come, follow me.” It was too much; the man walked away.

      When Jesus offered him adventure, he turned it down. He rejected an opportunity to study with the smartest man and holiest teacher he would ever know. I wonder why?

      I think he turned down Jesus’ request because there was no guarantee attached. Jesus did NOT say, “Follow me and all your dreams will come true.” He just said, “Give your stuff to the poor and follow me,” and left out the part about reward or results. The man walked away because he wanted to follow Jesus without risk. He wanted to change the world without adventure.

      The older I get, the less I want to be like that rich young man. As a believer, shouldn’t I be more willing to take big risks?

      I shouldn’t have to fear failure – it isn’t where my worth comes from. I should be the guy most willing to risk it all on a worthy venture.

*  *  *  *  *

      Monday night, I dreamed over and over all night long about this very essay – one that I originally wrote in 2009. It seemed a bit random. But sixteen years later, the questions I asked myself haven’t changed; maybe my urgency has. As I get older, I’m firmly aware my remaining years are slipping away. Even if I live to one hundred years old (that’s my plan and intention), that means I only have 32% of my life left.

      Tuesday morning I was trying to understand why I dreamed about an old essay and taking changes, until I saw an email offering a sign-up sheet for private trombone lessons with one the world’s premier jazz musicians. I knew what I had to do. It took me twenty seconds of insane courage and embarrassing bravery to sign up, but I did it.

      It isn’t the instructor I’m worried about. It’s me. How will I do? Will I embarrass myself and my friends? That's the risk. I put my name on the list and closed my laptop before I had a chance to breathe or change my mind.

      Mark Batterson wrote: “I’m at a place in my life where I don’t care about outcomes. I’m focused on inputs.” I want to be more like that nowadays. I don’t want to live out my life, always wondering what might have happened if I’d given it my best. I want to invest in what I sense God calling me to do, and perhaps God will bless it. No guarantees. Take the risk. Just say yes.

*  *  *  *  *

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.”
Psalm 119:32