Last year I ran a half marathon in 1 hour, 43 minutes and 51 seconds. It was my first attempt at running a half marathon as fast as I could. It’s an odd concept to not only pace your self to last 13.1 miles yet push yourself as fast as possible for those 13.1 miles. It’s a microcosm of how every battle we face is really only with ourselves. We are always juggling between the one voice in our brain that encourages us to be our best selves and the other voice that tells us to give in and tells you, you can’t do it. 

As I continue to move about the house, Anne isn’t too far behind in her morning routine of watching cooking shows. I check the weather and let her know it’s going to be around 40 degrees this morning with a chance of rain.  We both gather our clothes for what has become our Sunday ritual.

“Hello, my name is John Paul Derryberry,” a statement I have proclaimed so many times in my life. It makes me wonder how many times I have actually stated my name.

We push ourselves to the next work out, the next career milestone, and to the next big life moment so fast that we forget to stop, connect, and just breathe in the beauty of now

I was doing laundry one day when I was 27.  The washer and dryer happened to be down two flights of stairs and after two trips I was breathing heavy, and needed a break.  

It’s football season, which means I’m excited for the Cleveland Browns draft in April. I mean, we haven’t been good in a long time.  I think I was 6 and vaguely remember when Bernie Kosar and The Browns losing two years in a row to John Elway and the Denver Broncos

She asked me if would have really gone through with it. If the picture of my mom and dad didn’t stay up on my desk and tug at my heart enough to stop me, what would have I done?