Ebie

We didn't grow up together. Not really. I'm 15 years older than my brother, Troy — so while he was making a name for himself in school, I was already raising my own children. Our lives didn't overlap the way most siblings' do. We weren't in the same seasons, the same routines, or even the same daily orbit for much of our lives.

And if I'm being honest… there were times I didn't always get it right as the older sibling.

But here's what's always mattered: He did. He has always been kind to me. Always genuine. Always steady in a way that didn't depend on whether everything around him was perfect. And that says more about who he is than anything else ever could.

If you grew up in Clare, you probably knew him as Ebie. The kid who could do what most couldn't. Setting records — whether it was track or something as simple (and ridiculous) as how many push-ups a human being can do without dropping.

There was always something a little different about him. Not flashy. Not loud. Just… capable. Driven. Consistent.

And now, years later, it looks like this: A 40-year-old man running the Boston Marathon in 2:54. Qualifying again.

And the truth is — it isn't the least bit surprising. Because this isn't new. This is just a continuation of who he's always been. The kind of person who shows up. Who puts in the work. Who builds something over time instead of chasing quick wins.

The kind of person who lives a good life — with his family, in Houston now, thriving — and still carries that same core with him.

And maybe for me, that's the part that feels worth saying out loud. We didn't grow up side by side. I didn't witness every step of the journey. But I've always known who he is. Kind. Determined. The real thing.

Ebie then. Troy now. Still the same where it counts. And if you're from Clare… you probably knew it, too.