Passing the Baton

I’ve been running for a longer time than I have the brain cells to remember, but I must have started around my oldest son’s age. Which would have made me a middle schooler. What I do remember in mental high-def was getting up super early before school—while it was still dark out—and cracking an egg into a glass, which I would drink before my run, its sliminess tempered by the dash of vermouth my dad suggested I add.

Yes, this was the early eighties, and Rocky Balboa was my idol in all his raw...