On November 8th, my father turned 81. Last year, when he turned 80, at about the same time my mother turned 75, we celebrated both of their "milestone" birthdays with a family get-together. This year, I flew down to beautiful Barenton, Florida to visit them somewhere between my mother's 76th and father's 81st birthdays, because I strongly believe that once you reach three quarters of a century of living, EVERY birthday is a milestone, and cause for celebration.

I've written about my father before, but it's been a while. When I first started running, now over 25 years ago, he was my inspiration. He was already in his mid 50's, older than I am now, when I ran my first miles. At that time, he had already been running for around 15 years, but until I started to run, he had never really raced. He ran primarily because he doctor told him he needed to, in order to combat high blood pressure and live a long and healthy life.

Well, I started racing, and soon, as a result of my dragging him to a race or two, he caught the racing bug as well. I was never really fast, but I was a lot faster than I am today. Since I was in my mid 20's at the time, I had no idea what was like to be a 50 something runner, like my dad was then. I was still young and immortal in my mind.

Dad and I ran together often and raced together frequently before I moved away from New York. I lived out on Long Island, and my parents lived in the city. A normal weekend routine was that I would take an early train into Penn Station, where he would meet me. Then, we would drive to Central Park, and run whatever race the New York Road Runners Club was putting on that weekend. We had our favorite races, like The Perrier 10K, which was the kick-off of the spring racing season, and The Trivera Twosome, a couples race that wound for 10 miles through the park.

When I raced alone, I ran for speed, but when I raced with my father, I often paced him, and got more pleasure from that than I did setting my own PR's, which were easily obtained when there was not much racing history to fall back on. Some of my fondest memories are of races in which my father PR'ed. There was a 23:25 5K in Central Park in 1983, a 37:32 in Oceanside the same year. Years later, after I had moved to NC, we ran 47:20 in Chapel Hill on an extremely difficult course when he was nearing 60. There was also a 2:00:13 half marathon at Camp LeJune, also in NC, after he had retired and moved to coastal Carolina. He must have been at least 65 then.

His times didn't really mean that much to me then. I was still young, and still saw everything from a young person's point of view, without respect for the aging process.

I knew he was proud of his accomplishments, and so too, was I. He always said he couldn't have done those times without me.

Dad continued to run into his mid 70's, overcoming many obstacles along the way, including a dislocated shoulder, which happened when he tripped and fell at the start of one run, a sliced up hand, by virtue of a trip and fall on a bridge grating while training for a bridge run, and tennis-related major knee surgery which put him out of action for over a year. Every time, he came back. He came back slower, but he still always came back.

He pretty much quit racing when he was in his mid 70's, but we still had one annual event we always did, every December in Kiawah Island, a lovely island community of the Charleston coast. I'd usually run the half or full, and he's run the 5K. Unfortunately, they discontinued the 5K race a few years ago, and thus, sadly ended our tradition. His last races were in the 32 to 33 minute range.

Dad transitioned from a run to a walk about 5 years ago, not due to lack of spirit, but due to painful feet. Running just started to hurt too much, and so he settled into walking, 4 miles or so 4 or 5 times a week. When I visited, I'd run on my own, and then walk with him. I found walking with him to continue the bond that running had first tied a quarter century earlier. It was no different, except it gave us more time to visit.

So, flash forward to this past weekend, five days shy of Dad's 81st birthday. When we used to run together, his times were always much faster than when he ran alone. This had also been our experience the last few years, when runs turned to walks. Dad had been walking a 2.5 mile route on a semi-regular basis, and he told me it usually was taking him about 50 minutes to complete. When we started our walk on Saturday morning, I had no clue what to expect. I just looked forward to that special time athletes share.

We walked and talked, and talked and walked, and sooner than I would have expected, the walk was done. Dad looked at his watch and said one word. "Wow." We had completed the walk in a little over 42 minutes. Another PR. Not bad for someone less than a week from turning 81. And my own personal sense of satisfaction was no different than it used to be all those years ago when we were tearing up the roads.

Now, I am 52, and am not even close to running any of the times Dad used to run when he was in his mid 50's. I never realized back then how truly amazing his accomplishments were, because I was an immortal 20 something kid who believed I would never age. Now, I know better, and DO appreciate not only what he has done in the past, but how amazing his accomplishments are now. Every time I walk with him, it is a blessing, and I treasure every time we can do it.

Even at 81 years, it never gets old.

TRS