DADISMS

Who Is Gary Chatham

I grew up on a horse farm in Illinois, where work ethic wasn’t discussed—it was assumed. Days began early, expectations were clear, and effort mattered. It was in that environment that my father’s sayings—his “dadisms”—took root. Some were encouraging, some challenging, and some difficult to hear, but all of them shaped how I approached responsibility, perseverance, and doing things the right way.

Athletics didn’t come easily to me. I was never the naturally gifted kid, and more often than not, I was picked last for teams. As a college freshman running track, I finished near the back of the pack in most 1600-meter races. Competing against others rarely went my way, and for a long time, sports felt more humbling than affirming. What I didn’t realize then was that those early experiences were quietly preparing me for a different kind of competition—one that would take years to reveal itself.

Why I Run—and What It Has Done for Me

I didn’t find running. Running found me. Oddly enough, it happened while I was playing soccer in college as a goalkeeper. Running became part of the job, and over time it became something more. I eventually realized I didn’t have to compete against others to find meaning in the effort. I only had to compete against myself.

At first, running was about goals—times, races, and eventually qualifying for Boston. I trained hard and set high expectations, because that’s how I was wired. Running gave my competitiveness and sense of adventure a place to grow, whether on roads or trails, and whether chasing speed or distance.

Gradually, though, running began to give me more than outcomes. It taught patience. It introduced humility. It reinforced the value of showing up consistently, especially when progress wasn’t obvious. Running became an arena where effort mattered even when results lagged behind intention. It shaped how I approached challenges beyond sport.

Moments That Shaped the Journey

Some moments clarified what running had become for me.

My journey to the Boston Marathon spanned twenty-four years—years marked by frustration, near-misses, and doubt. I never chose to quit, and that decision made finally reaching the starting line especially meaningful. The accomplishment wasn’t just the race itself, but the persistence required to stay committed long after the outcome felt uncertain.

For a long time, I thought swimming in the San Francisco Bay during the Escape from Alcatraz Triathlon would remain my most difficult athletic experience. Sixteen years later, the Pikes Peak Ascent—especially as a flatlander—easily overtook it. The mountain demanded respect, patience, and honest effort, stripping away any illusion of control.

Between those moments were countless ordinary runs—early mornings, missed workouts, setbacks, and quiet miles where reflection came uninvited. Those were often the runs that did the deeper work.

Running as a Mirror for Life

I don’t believe running teaches lessons because it’s extraordinary. I believe it reveals lessons because it’s honest. Running refuses shortcuts. It exposes inconsistency. It rewards patience more than intensity, and persistence more than talent. Some days are about progress; others are simply about endurance. Both matter.

That pattern isn’t unique to running. It shows up in relationships, careers, parenting, service, and personal growth. You don’t have to be a runner to recognize it.

Where This Connects

Many of these experiences—and the lessons they quietly revealed—are woven throughout Dadisms. The book gathers moments where effort, failure, perseverance, and perspective intersected, often guided by words and values that took root long before I understood their importance.

Running serves as both a literal journey and a reflection of how purpose is built—not all at once, but gradually, through commitment and choice.

Still Running

I’ve been a runner since 1980. I still wake up each day wanting to improve, even as aging makes that more difficult. Goals continue to matter to me—sometimes tied to time, sometimes to mileage, sometimes simply to consistency. Running a half marathon in all 50 states has become a meaningful and joyful way for my wife and me to explore the country together. And despite two knee replacements slowing me down and reducing my mileage, my love for the sport hasn’t changed.

I don’t believe running is for everyone. But I do believe the pursuit of physical fitness should be. Finding an athletic endeavor that keeps you engaged, challenged, and young at heart—something you can return to across the seasons of life—matters. Over the years, I’ve come to believe that purpose doesn’t require perfect timing—only a willingness to begin. Momentum follows motion, not the other way around. When doubt creeps in, I often hear my father’s voice offering a familiar challenge: Let’s get crackin’.

If you’re searching for meaning, it’s not about rushing. It’s about choosing to move, to engage, and to trust that meaning reveals itself along the way. That perspective helps me avoid chasing who I was—and stay connected to who I am becoming.