Standing Up and Standing Out

Last month, I traveled to New York City for the TD Five Boro Bike Tour, which was part of a Young Presidents Organization (YPO) event my good friend Kevin Donnelly had pulled together for about 120 of us. Another good friend, Grant Korgan, was the keynote, and as I’ve written before, he’s one of the most inspirational people I’ve ever met. Also part of the event were representatives from the Wounded Warrior Project, including a woman named Corinne from Tampa and a guy named Jack from North Carolina.

 

As we listened to the keynote, I saw a spark in the eyes of Corinne and Jack as Grant recalled how he went from being paralyzed to pushing himself across Antarctica to creating The Moment Foundation. It was amazing. 

The next morning, there were 120 of us leading the 32,000-person, 40-mile bike race. We were the ones up front and everyone was hyped up—they had closed down the streets of New York through all the boroughs, just for us.

I was there to support Grant and Kevin by looking after Jack and Corrine. So I was riding along Corinne on her hand-cycle and she looked up at me and said, “Chris, I’m not going to make it.”

“Yes you are,” I said.

“I’m dying right now,” said Corinne, who was holding about nine per hour. We had to go at least 10 miles an hour to make it to the finish line to catch a ferry, get her back to the hotel and to her flight back to Tampa. 

Instinctively, I took my left hand off my bike and put it on the top of her hand-cranked bike, and we were able to carry 10 miles per hour.

We were swerving all over the place in this awkward set-up. Oh, God, I’m not going to be able to do this, I started thinking. I’m hurting, and we’re only a quarter of the way finished.

And then McClure King, who I’d met when I was the keynote at a YPO event two years ago, came up alongside us in his $20,000 bike and spandex. I didn’t really know him, but I asked McClure if he’d push the other side of the hand-cranked bike. We proceeded together to push Corinne, and we talked with her, and we helped her readjust her legs. A bond was created among the three of us, and we got to the finish line right at 4 hours. We went straight to the ferry. As soon as she was off safely and on time, I began hobbling as my hamstrings cramped up.

It was an amazing experience to be part of something and to see and feel the sacrifice of the Wounded Warriors. These kinds of connections are what define my life, and they keep happening. To my point: as I was flying back to Atlanta after the TD Five Boro Bike Tour, I was wrangling with the overhead bin when I heard a voice say, “I really like your Jordan Ones.” I turned to see a guy about my age, and I looked down to see he had matching Jordan Ones. 

“What were you doing in New York?” he asked.

“Well, I just completed a race,” I said, getting a bit-teary eyed as I remembered Corinne. “Unbeknownst to me, I ended up pushing a Wounded Warrior nearly the entire way.” He asked for my business card.

Two days later I got an email from Val Dike who had written, “Chris, I think God put us together on that plane for a reason and had us both wearing matching Jordan Ones, because I'd love to talk to you.” 

In typical fashion I said, “Well why don't you come to my house for lunch?” And so last week Val came to my house for a two and a half hour lunch where we dove into the fact that he's going to be leaving his position as head of partnerships for CVS Pharmacy and is looking for his next thing. I tried to be a resource for him in the way that I love to be a resource for anyone. And, um, he's now invited me to his wedding up in Mystic, Connecticut, when we're up in Rhode Island.

We text every single day. It’s carrying this spirit of what Grant is doing all the way through to these Wounded Warriors and bringing it to our daily lives—the power of authentic connection. This is what happens when we stand up, stand out and find commonalities as humans, even if it's wearing Jordan Ones.