giving rise to action; staying fit and sane through running
827 miles. That was the journey before us as we pulled out of the parking lot of the Crown Plaza in Suffern, New York, before dawn on the last Friday in June. The hotel, just over the border, had been the overnight accommodations for my daughter, our dog, and me for the previous two nights following the closing on our New Jersey home (the cat was guest at Best Friends Pet Motel).
Read moreMy mom was like the advancement department in my father’s political machine. She wrote the press releases and OpEd pieces, pitched the media, recruited volunteers, organized the logistics of the door-to-door outreach and fundraising events. I learned a lot.
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A love of baseball was something my father instilled in me. He was patient in explaining the play-by-play and it was an easy game for me to understand. He waited to take me to my first MLB game until I was nine probably because he knew by then it would be more enjoyable for both of us. It was 1974 and the Yankees were playing at Shea Stadium because Yankee Stadium was being renovated. He taught me to keep score so I would pay attention.
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There was that picture of me in my Yankees tee holding the baseball bat over my shoulder. But I was only posing then. I started taking tennis lessons when I was 5 or 6, but I don’t remember anything I learned that far back. I think the year I became an athlete officially was 1973. That spring, almost a year after the passage of Title IX, my dad signed me up for T-ball. He gave me a glove for my birthday and a practice T for my First Holy Communion.
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