In the '90s I ran two Dallas White Rock Marathons. I'll think I'll get out there and run a couple more.
Not because I want go retro like your Texas Rangers. But rather because I spent 30 minutes talking with Steve Damm. Didn't really take that long, honestly.
Dude's story will change your perspective in a second.
"I was always self-sufficient, a workaholic," Steve told me last week. "If I wanted something done right, I did it for myself. Now, I've learned to f
​Hate to bring the room down in the wake of Cowboys 20, Eagles 16, but I'm sitting here crying. Tears streaming down my face. Off my cheeks. Onto my keyboard.
I shit you not.
A year ago I was introduced to one of the bravest, most courageous men I've ever met. Steve Damm was, like a lot of us, an average 40-something dude. Married. Father of two. A runner. Just a happy guy living his modest life.
In November 2007 he woke up with a headache.
On Sept. 7, 2009, he died of brain cancer.
