Memory Lane (aka I-16)

Danny (left), me, Luis, and Dave

The weekend in Savannah was a huge success. I pre-celebrated my cancerversary with three of my oldest friends as planned. Despite a general lack of preparedness and over the concerns of more than one of our wives, we all started and finished our half-marathon, more or less as planned (meaning vertical).

On the drive down, we hadn't even made it a mile down the road together before we'd slipped back into our youth, as planned. We laughed about lines from old movies, stupid things we'd done in our teens, teachers we'd disrespected, girls we'd dated (except for Luis - we did not laugh about any of his girlfriends since he remains married to all of them), career choices we've made, places we've lived, and, at least by Saturday afternoon - running related injuries we'd recently suffered.

We walked through beautiful but breezy downtown Savannah, enjoying those extra few cobblestone blocks compliments of the one of us who allegedly knew the town best. We enjoyed great meals (also compliments of that same built-in tour guide), ample beverages, the sort of camaraderie I was hoping we'd have, but wasn't sure we could rekindle so easily.

There's not much in this post having to do with Kickin' Cancer's Butt, other than to remind us all, as I was reminded this weekend, that friends matter. I'd encourage any of you to pile into an SUV with your three closest friends from your youth, drive a few hours away, and start running. Or drinking.