Preface: I am constantly asked the reasons "why" I founded Faithful Soles. I hope this story will answer all of those questions. Thank you for taking the time to read it.

I was born in Jacksonville, Florida in December of 1959.  Although the good Lord blessed me with a decent brain, my physique and athletic abilities left a great deal to be desired.  Looking back now, I believe that the feelings of inadequacy regarding my physical stature, real or perceived, are part of what gave me so much drive and determination to succeed not only in distance running, but in many aspects of my life in spite of what I or others felt were my limitations. I recall a comedian once making a comment that in his adolescence he felt like the poster child for Multiple Uglyosis. I can completely relate to that statement.

To say that I grew up a little skinny is like saying that water is a little wet or the North Pole is a little cold.  I was skinny beyond belief.  I often looked at myself as a skeleton with just a tissue paper thin layer of skin covering my bony little body, and I was not too far off in what I saw.  My mother who loved me dearly once cried when she saw me in a pair of shorts because my legs were so thin.  I was very ashamed of my appearance and became more acutely aware of my lack of any physical prowess when I got into junior high school.  I elected to never wear short-sleeved shirts or shorts at all, even in the hot summers in North Carolina, Georgia and Texas where I lived from the 7^th grade through high school and into college.   Nope, you would always find Robert out in the sweltering heat in his long sleeved flannel shirts and blue jeans.  Nobody was going to see this body, no way. In high school, some football players would beg for me to go out for the team just because they wanted to see who could hit me the hardest and make me fly through the air the furthest.  I graciously declined their eager invitations. When I graduated from high school in 1978, I was 5’11” (still the same height now) and weighed a whopping 115 pounds. I guess that God finally pitied me as a late bloomer, because from 1979-1982, I gained 40 pounds and have remained at around 150-155 ever since.

My all-time favorite skinny comment actually came from a high school girlfriend.  During a school dance, we had been sitting on the floor and I got up and walked over to get us a drink.  When I came back, she innocently informed that I was so skinny that my jean pockets came together in a “V” shape in the back. Talk about devastation.

Adding to this beautiful picture, I was so buck-toothed that I could not close my mouth completely. To top that off, I had a space big enough between my two front teeth to stick my index finger completely through the middle of them.  My parents got me into the orthodontics program at the University of North Carolina when I entered the 7^th grade.  They accepted me into the program at no charge because I was such a bad case and they felt their students could learn a great deal from my being there. Each time I would enter the examination room, the head professor would make everyone stop what they were doing and gather around me to look at my mouth.  I was the epitome of what their expensive schooling could accomplish and they all looked down on me with huge dollar signs in their eyes.  Surely a slew of patients like me after graduation would yield millions of dollars in orthodontic fees.  So, for a little over 4 ½ years, I wore braces, headgear, rubber bands and whatever else they could shove into my mouth to straighten out my teeth.  I still believe the only reason they did not figure out a way to get concrete and welded pipes into my mouth had to do with some childhood cruelty law that I was unaware of.

Oh yeah, and I forgot to mention my vision and complexion. Not only did I need glasses, I needed the coke bottle variety, and of course my parents got me the deluxe horn-rimmed black glasses frame (pocket protector not included). So, I had amazingly bad teeth and horn-rimmed glasses. To go along with this, in my teen years I developed acne. I did not have just the garden variety acne. I had the “oh-that-reminds-me-when-are-we-going-out-for-pizza-with-pepperoni-acne”. So to say that I was a homely physical specimen is a major understatement.

To top off my physical appearance, I was slow and not very well coordinated.  Therefore, I suffered the inexorable humiliation of always being the last one chosen at any sport.  The team captains who were choosing sides would eventually get down to me and an argument would typically ensue over who had to take me.  Once I was finally placed on a team (via a loss of a coin flip, drawing straws, fight to the death between the team captains, etc.) I was always placed in an area of the playing field where the likelihood of the team having to call upon my talents was pretty much nil.  I remember one day having the opportunity to knock out the most popular and athletic boy in junior high school in a game of dodge ball. I was less than 2 feet from him. This was my shining moment.  I reared back and threw the ball with all my might. I was going to be a hero at last.  Unfortunately, he had read my eyes and quickly fell to the ground on his stomach and the ball careened away (hitting a really cute girl behind him who never spoke to me again) and he knocked me out of the game on his very next throw.

After my Dad got me into running in 1970, I joined my junior high cross country team in the 7th grade in 1971, and for the next two years established what I am sure is a record that probably stands to this day... I finished last in every single meet. I did not just finish last, I brought a whole new meaning to what "last" meant. As I like to describe it, if there were 10 of us in the race, I would come in 11th. Thus, any time I had the opportunity to be put in the game or be part of the team, I usually did not fail in bolstering the preconceived notions of the other kids that I was a total sports failure.

Except for one time…  My father had placed me into a summer basketball program when I was about 10 years old.  The coach, quickly summing up my talents, sat me on the bench in practice and in every game.  I never played, regardless of how far ahead or how far behind we were. Finally, much to the coach’s chagrin, “Parent’s Day” came, and the guy knew he had to play me.  My father, knowing that my being in the game would be a brief tenure, told me over and over again on the way to the facility to “shoot the ball as soon as I got it”.  Well, being the literal brainy kid I was, when my time finally came to go into the game (late in the second half) and the ball was passed to me, I immediately turned and fired.  One small problem – I was standing at the half-court line.  However, on that day, God smiled down on me.  The ball sailed almost magically through the air, glanced off the backboard and through the hoop.  The crowd went crazy.  For the first time ever, they were all cheering for me.  The coach did not quite have the same elation.  He yanked me from the game immediately shouting at me not to ever shoot the ball like that again.  Thus ended my basketball career, but I am certain to this day that I am the only kid in that league or any league who shot 100% for the season.

Now, as I have recently celebrated my 50^th birthday, I look back on all these experiences and realize that God gave me the strength to endure these things so that I would have the compassion and understanding to help others who are struggling, which I have also learned in one way or another, includes all of us. I think sometimes it is the genuine article, not the fake, that confuses people the most. I have people ask me all the time, "Why are you doing this? What's in it for you?" It's as if it is beyond their comprehension that someone is simply genuinely interested in helping others to feel good about who they are and wanting them to accomplish their goals. When I give motivational talks to running clubs, schools or other groups, I will often start the speech with "Let me tell you a story about a boy I knew growing up..." and I tell about all that you have just read. The audience, regardless of age, usually start out smiling or perhaps even laughing a little, but by the time I'm done, there is dead silence because they realize it is me. Most tell me afterwards, "I would have never imagined...". The truth is, we pass people daily, and we can never imagine what they are going through or have gone through, but oh what beauty and magic there would be if we took the time to simply look at one another and say, "I believe in you."

The kid you read about is with me on every run, and he has been with me through 20 marathons including 3 Boston Marathons, and he is who drives me to inspire everyone I come in contact with to see the greatness within themselves. That kid is a big part of Faithful Soles, and he is the main reason that I am trying so hard to reach out to not just adults who have their own kid inside, but also to youth and teens. I know there are literally thousands and thousands of other Roberts out there, male and female, and I don’t want any of them or you on the bench, I want all of you in the game, and I want you to turn and shoot the ball as soon as you get it. Whether it goes in or not is irrelevant. What is important is that you tried. YOU are capable of great and amazing things, and I believe in you.