My youngest son, Brian, is a long-distance runner. He ran across the United States in 1998. Having crossed dozens of states he then decided that every summer he would lay out a course of 300 to 400 miles and set a goal to run across each of the 50 states by the age of 50. He had checked off 36 of them by 2015 but then along with his wife began teaching at international schools overseas and spent the next four years, first in Kuwait and presently in Switzerland. He’s still running and recently ran 350 miles across Switzerland which involved climbs totaling 30,000 in the Alps. One of Brian’s email addresses is runforrestrun@hotmail.com inspired by the Forrest Gump movie.

In anticipation of his forthcoming 50^th birthday, Brian sent me an email saying he understood I had celebrated one of my zero-ending birthdays by a notable long-distance run.  Here’s the story.

I got the running bug late in life for runners in my middle 30’s. At first it was just three-mile fitness jogs, but as my endurance improved, the distances increased. On my 40^th birthday, I decided to celebrate by running twenty miles from the west entrance of Brown County State Park to my office in Columbus, Indiana. That was in 1988 and marathons and 10K races were just gaining popularity. Our local newspaper wrote a brief article about my birthday run.

Some claim my passion for running turned into an addiction and they might have been right. Nine marathons later with scores on mini-marathons, and 10Ks, I was running 2,600 to 2,800 miles each year averaging more that 50 miles a week in training. I had planned some kind of celebration when I ran more mileage than the circumference of the earth, but then didn’t realize it when I surpassed that distance—24,901 miles.

In my late 50’s my daily mileage had tapered off, but for my 60^th birthday I decided to celebrate with another 20-mile run. My wife had planned a small gathering of friends that night to celebrate and my weariness that evening suggested 20 milers were something I was not going to repeat often. Geeze Louise!

In 2016 my oldest son Eric turned 50. His younger brother, Chris, the middle son, decided he would treat Eric to a skydiving experience, and both would sign up with a skydiving operation out of Frankfort, Indiana. They called me afterwards saying how they loved the adrenalin rush and the challenge, “Dad, you have got to do this!”

As a former Navy pilot, I always felt there was never a good reason to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. However …. It’s something I’ve thought about … So, why not?

So as a 78-year-old, I made arrangements—not telling my wife of course—and rode my motorcycle 100-miles to Frankfort. My sons told me what a thrill it was floating down under that parachute and watching the earth slowly rise up to meet you. The landing they described was not on your feet but a gentle slide on your fanny once your tandem instructor tells you to lift your feet in front of you.

So, what didn’t they tell me? They didn’t say anything about that jarring impack when the chute opens and your freefall slows from 140 mph to zero. And they didn’t caution me about those straps that come up between your legs. If they are not positioned correctly, Yowie! Get on the ground quickly!

That gentle slide was also fake news. “Dad, you’ll have grass stains on your pants.” Well, not in my case. We made a dent in the ground. Whomp! When we hit I wondered if I hurt myself, but once on my feet realized I didn’t break anything, but my tailbone was sending signals of distress.

Riding home on my motorcycle I had to stand on the foot pegs to keep pressure off my derriere. When I got home, I bought one of those inflatable donuts so I could sit comfortably in a chair.

So, happy birthday, Brian. Run some ridiculous mileage, but I suggest you NOT jump out of a perfectly good airplane.