My Dad

I wanted to share a blog post from two years ago. In fact, I wrote this post two years ago, yesterday. It’s about my dad and I think it applies here, because it talks about how my love for running started…

It started with my dad.

It’s a short read. I hope you enjoy it.


Today I was asked who the most influential leader in my life has been…the answer is simple; hands down it is my father. 

For those that don’t know my dad he’s a pretty simple man…but as a wise man once said…simple ain’t easy. Throughout my life he’s displayed all of the traits that I would hope to one day have. He’s honest, he’s caring, he’s courageous, he’s tireless…he has spent his entire time as a father teaching and leading and loving. 

I became a runner because of the stories I had heard about my dad growing up. I saw newspaper clippings about how he had won the mile at his District High School Meet and how he had set the school and District record. That record — that 4:40.8 mile drove me in high school. At one point in my high school life it was all I could think about, “How cool would it be to break my dad’s school record?” 

That record never happened for me…but it spawned a life long love affair with running. I remember getting up early with him the morning of high school cross country meets and having him make me peanut butter toast. I remember how he would tell me to be sure I was sweating before the race…that meant I was warmed up. And then he would be at every turn on the course cheering and supporting. 

I learned about hard work through him…I remember the first day of my first job; I was just a junior in high school and would be spending the summer working at the Hull Hardware. The morning of my first day as I was leaving he came outside before I left and calmly but sternly said, “You’re a Phillips, they expect you to work hard. I expect you to work hard. If you can’t find anything to do, grab a broom and sweep.” 

That’s who he was…he was tireless in his work ethic. He worked hard and long hours and he never complained to us. And he did his work to the very best of his abilities – whether that was at his job or in his chores at home. He was not going to do something half way…that’s not what a Phillips does. 

Probably the most important thing he taught me was the power of prayer…growing up my mother was sick. She had two brain aneurysms and throughout those traumatic events he was a rock for our family…he always said, “Just say a prayer…” Throughout that experience and throughout his example I finally understood the power of Jesus Christ and the power of prayer and that’s now the foundation of my life…and I can thank my father for showing me that. 

There’s so much more I wish I had the time or words to say…so many stories I wish I could share. But to end I just really want to say thanks. 

Thanks, dad.

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