My father would have turned 80 years old this week. He would have loved it. Entering a new runner's age-group. Being, once again, the young kid on the block, ready to challenge for first place. Another milestone. Icing on his cake.

Today we celebrate his life's effort with the release of this new web page. This is our birthday present to him and our gift to anyone interested in fitness and self-realization. We feel, as Bill Rodgers once stated, that "his voice is irreplaceable." And so, we have worked to make available his words of wisdom for all to share.

As I worked on this project I, too, have returned to my running. Finally having built up a decent foundation, I can now enjoy the feeling of disassociating from my body to enjoy a free ride through nature's path. The autumn season brings me to life. I run down the same river road that my father trailed years before, and he is with me. I feel him in my stride, his "sit down, push-off" mantra goes on. I hear him as my council, instructing me that life is full of choices and experiences. And because of the beautiful journals he left behind, I will always have his words of discovery and advice.

Running was not my "play" in youth, but it is where I hold some great memories. As a freshman in high school I was placed on the cross-country team due to my family bloodlines. It held some validity as I easily won the first couple of meets and was quickly given responsibility as my team's "first guy." The third meet was against the county powerhouse, Christian Brothers Academy. My father and grandfather were founding fathers of C.B.A., but I had chosen, on advice from my brother, to attend the co-ed rival school, Red Bank Catholic.

As the two teams lined up at the start, my nerves were buzzing, tears were in my eyes. I was a lonely freshman thrown into the contest. Life away from home had begun. This was a new playground and it had history. Time to make it, no time to hide. (I remember wishing that I was the official holding the watch.)

The gun went off. The pain began. The thinking, maneuvering, placing, and pacing was all around. My effort was there but this other kid seemed to have an extra gear that I didn't. Battle for second began.

Again the effort was there but I couldn't break away. The hill, straight up and turning, was just around the bend. As we turned the corner, there, out along the course, was my father. I didn't even think he knew there was a race that day. "Now, Michael, take him on the hill!, " he hollered. And I did.

It was a "peak experience" in my life, I told him years later. It gave me the confidence of knowing that he would always be there for me, in some way, as I faced the challenges in life. And, as I said earlier, he is there for me today, as well.

The feeling of awe that I held for him as a little boy has returned. Married and raising three children of my own, I find in his writings my questions and desires. He lived a "strenuous life." Giving his all, seeking his best, making mistakes along the way. But more importantly, he lived a "genuine life," true to himself and his beliefs.

I have taken from him the notion that life is filled with choices that we must make for ourselves; that there is nobody to blame but yourself; and that our greatest fear should be living "a life inferior to ourselves." He showed me that "effort" is the true measure of a man.

Today, I run the river road, facing my choices, knowing that my goal is to make every move count on the path to being the best Michael Sheehan possible. And knowing that it does not matter what I do as long as I do it with class.

I have much to be thankful for. Happy Birthday, daddy-o.