Playing with House Money

Earlier this week, I did something I never thought I’d do: I ran my first-ever 5K.

Now, I get it—if you’re a seasoned runner, this might seem like no big deal. But for me, this was huge. I’ve always admired runners—the way they glide effortlessly, like gazelles in a good mood. Meanwhile, every photo I’ve ever seen of myself running looks more like a man contemplating his life choices mid-stride. My face screams pain, confusion, and What were you thinking?

But this time was different. Kasia, my daughter, recently caught the running bug and encouraged me to join her. I said yes, mostly because it felt like a chance to bond over something new… and partly because I figured, How hard could it be?

Spoiler: quite hard.

I started training with one of those “Couch to 5K” programs I’d never heard of until now—clearly designed for people like me who once believed running should be reserved for catching buses or escaping wild animals. Kasia, in her wisdom, quickly opted to train solo once she realized my cardio might slow her down. Fair enough - I thought.

Still, I was determined—not just to keep up, but to show her (and myself) that I could rise to the challenge.

On race day, I had two goals: don’t stop, and don’t embarrass myself. I knew if I stopped to catch my breath or even for a bit of water, I’d be tempted to Uber the rest of the way to the finish line. But somehow, I made it—running the whole way, surprising even myself. Even more surprising? I finished about 30 seconds ahead of Kasia.

But here’s the thing: she didn’t even look tired at the end of the race. Meanwhile, I was congratulating myself for staying upright. It wasn’t about “winning”—it was about earning that little nod of respect from her. A subtle shift that said, Maybe Dad’s not as old or slow as I thought. That alone was worth every training run.

April has been full of moments like that. Opportunities to stretch, to reflect, and to be deeply grateful. I’ve been stepping onto stages more often, sharing stories that come from the heart—and every time, I feel that nervous energy just melt away once I begin. I’ve started to realize: I love this. I feel at home in the discomfort of pushing past old limits.

One recent highlight was a talk I gave at the local Kiwanis Club—with Janice in the audience. That meant a lot. Her honest feedback after the talk helped me refine it even further, making it more aligned with who I am now. Her presence made the moment richer, more grounded.

I’m not exactly sure when it happened, but something inside me has shifted. I don’t see obstacles the same way anymore. I’m more open, more curious, and more willing to try—even when it feels a little scary. And my daughters are witnessing it. They’re seeing a version of me that was always there but often buried under layers of responsibility, fear, and a narrow definition of success.

Now? I feel like I’m playing with house money.

The wins—big and small—keep coming. Even when something doesn’t pan out the way I expected, it somehow opens the door to something even better. And I don’t take that lightly. I’ve got a team working with me now to uncover speaking opportunities I wouldn’t have dreamed of a year ago. Every time I think I’ve reached the peak, a new summit appears.

So each morning, I pause. Just for a moment. I say a quiet thank you—to the universe, to my ancestors, and to everyone who’s helped me get here. And then I roll the dice again. Because even though I’m playing with house money… I’m not done yet.

There’s more ahead. More to learn. More to share. And for now, I’m enjoying the thrill of surprising even myself.