changing my life

My dad was diagnosed with brain cancer in the Summer of 2003. There is no history of cancer in my family and my dad was a relatively healthy, non-smoker who was severely addicted to golf. Dad went from healthy to brain surgery in about five days. And my mom went from happily married to terrified at least as fast. I went blank, not knowing what to do.

I had spent the better part of college and law school drinking far too many beers and smoking cigarettes and had forgotten my love of cycling that I had had as a kid. As a result, dad’s illness—and his passing 13 months later—was a wake up call. At the time of his diagnoses I was over 200 pounds, still smoking, and virtually inactive, spending long hours at my firm. Driving from New York City to Pennsylvania to see dad before his surgery it hit me—I had to ride a bike, for dad and for me.

See, dad had taken me to races like Pacers and Peddlers in Waxahachie (I think) and the Hotter ‘n Hell in Wichita Falls as a kid. I had fallen in love with cycling after seeing the movie Breaking Away and watching LeMond beat Fignon by 8 seconds in Paris. Dad was still a golfer, but he supported my interest in a then decidedly odd sport. Heck, he even got a bike and rode some. As I got older, we still chatted about the Tour each July, and that guy Armstrong who grew up in Plano just like me. So now, I had to ride.

I started to make repeated drives from New York to Pennsylvania with a bike. I would get to my folks’ town, head to the hospital to see dad for a bit (when he was recovering from surgery and then in recovery), and then eat lunch and get a ride in. Once he was home, I’d be visiting and head out for a ride, only to come back and have dad sitting in the yard, enjoying just being outside, and asking me about my ride. I realized quickly that dad’s illness, regardless of the outcome, was going to change my life. Either he was going to make it, and we’d ride, or he wasn’t, and I would ride for us both.

After about three months I remember that Lance had created a cancer foundation and hosted a ride in Austin. I got involved and made the trip to the Ride for the Roses in October of 2003. Dad had not, and would not, recover, and I’d deliver my ride report to him by cell phone. It was during that trip that my now wife suggested a move to Austin. And we did it, changing my life again.

My wife and I planned to move here and pick up our careers as lawyers. She did. I couldn’t. We both suffered through yet another bar exam, and we both passed. But I knew I was happiest on my bike. Since I wasn’t about to get a pro contract, it made much more sense to get a job at a bike shop and follow my passion and my new-found sense of joy.

Now my life has changed completely. I quick smoking cold turkey the day of dad’s surgery, I’m 45 pounds lighter, I’ve ridden thousands of miles a year and run two marathons. I can’t win the PGA Tour for dad—my golf swing is awful. But I can ride, run, and be happy as a way to honor him. Nothing beats telling dad about my rides. I do it every time I finish a ride. And I tell him how grateful I am that we changed my life by getting back on the bike.