Hey, Big Guy in Blue Tshirt on Hwy 26 in Watertown ... Saturday About 3 p.m.

Hey, Big Guy in Blue Tshirt on Hwy 26 in Watertown ... Saturday About 3 p.m.:

Yeah, you. You were running in front of the the old Kohl's grocery store, across the street from the old Ponderosa, heading north.

You weren't moving super fast. Let's face it. You're a pretty big dude. Moving fast is probably not the easiest thing in the world. And you were sweating. A lot.

But you were moving.

And you literally brought tears to my eyes.

I'm not sure if you heard me. But I screamed at you from my car. "You GO, dude!!! Way to rock it! Keep going!"

I think I startled the others in my vehicle. I continued yelling in their direction. "Do you know how hard it is to do what he's doing right now? Do you UNDERSTAND?"

"Look at him. He's got a heavy cotton shirt on; it's soaking wet. His calves are bigger than my thighs. He's running. He's RUNNING. On a highway, with all these cars whizzing by and half of them making fun of him."

"He knows there are a few pointing at him and laughing at the fat guy trying to run. But he's running!"

My rant charged on. "He's dragging at least 150 extra pounds around with him. That's a whole other person. Can you imagine trying to run with another human being strapped to your back? That's what he's doing right now. His heart and muscles and bones aren't a bit bigger than yours or mine. But I guarantee you that right now they're stronger than ours combined."

"No one understands how hard it is to do what he's doing. No one knows how brave it is to try."

I do, dude. I know how hard it is. And I think you're amazing. I'm also fairly confident you'll succeed. Know why? Because you chose to run on the freaking busiest street in town, for all to see. You didn't hide in your basement. You didn't putter around on a quiet side street. You put it all out there, giving those that doubt you or who rush to make judgements about you a big, figurative finger as you plodded by.

I wish I had circled back, jumped out of my car, and ran a block with you to tell you that I think you are truly remarkable.

But you don't need me to tell you that. I assume the little girl riding her pink bike behind you was your daughter. And I also assume you're doing what you're doing, in part, for her.

She thinks you're the coolest guy in the whole world, no matter what size you are. But what you're teaching her about courage and determination makes you her real-life rock star.

Run on, my friend.

P.S. To those who drove by and saw the same thing I did and smirked a little? I'm flipping you off right now with both barrels. In solidarity.