My son Max turned five this August, and announced that he wanted the training wheels off his bike. We had enjoyed a wonderful ritual this summer of a lap or two around the block together before I would head out on my workout. Special times. But, for the last two weeks of August he begged me to put the wheels back on and barely touched his bike.
Over Labor Day weekend, I had many long workouts on my schedule and two bro-in-laws in town that were both hardcore cyclists. Michael, Jim, and I rode every day. On day three, Max announced he was going to learn to ride his bike today. We worked for hours on it in on grass and made some progress. We tried on the street but he wouldn't let us let go.
The day after everyone left, Max had the breakthrough, and within an hour, was riding up and down the street by himself. All the kids on the block were running after him shouting, "Go Max Owens!" It was a proud moment for him. He came in the house and announced that he was now able to ride to Washington, DC with daddy.
Max is five and all he knows is possibility. He knows that when he decided to ride, he made it happen. He looks at the map of the country of my ride, hears everyone say that daddy is going to ride all that distance, and believes he can do it too. He knows daddy got something called a brain tumor but doctors made him all better.
In the two weeks since Max became a two-wheeler, Maggie and Meredith next door jettisoned their training wheels, and this past weekend Lucy up the street did the same. It is just like when Roger Banister broke the 4-minute mile barrier in 1957. Everybody said it couldnt be done so it stood as a brick wall that nobody could break through. By the end of the year 16 men had gone sub-4.
Everyone knows we are spreading Hope across the country. We are also spreading possibility. More things are possible than you would ever imagine. Look at Lance. Look at us. Now look at yourself, have Hope and go after those dreams.
Taking cancer out of our face and putting it in our rearview mirror is possible.