My next marathon*

I have, at this point, never run a marathon.

I have run the official distance on at least 4 occasions, and beyond on two. However, if one were to attempt to validate that with anything other than word of mouth, or the gps on my phone it couldn’t be done. My 2010 Memphis marathon experience was no exception.

I have had at least four people in my life utter the sentence “I am going to train for a marathon.” I, for whatever reason, always respond with “If you do I’ll run it with you.” When Echo said it shortly after “the incident” at country music I knew I might have to make good on that one.

Echo is one of the busier people I know, she has been plagued with knee trouble, and is coming off of a serious defeat at a recent half marathon. I know this marathon is gonna be tough, and to top it off the forecast says it’ll be in the 20′s. I also know if anyone can do it she can. I refuse to let her see any negativity from me. I try to only relay excitement and discuss her concerns way in advance. I warn her of a few things to expect and start gearing up for our adventure. After all, December is rapidly approaching.
We two couples decided to make a whole weekend out of the trip. We stayed at a lovely hotel with all the amenities, ambient interstate noise, flickering fluorescent mood lighting, and carpets that were vacuumed bi-annually. It had everything you could ask for an old-fashioned murder, or a down home organ harvesting.

Now being a typical last minute shopper I missed the cutoff and this race sold out, but I committed to run the race with my friend so I conclude to just show up and run the race without a number, I mean what’s the worst that could happen (I confess the idea of a video surfacing on youtube of security chasing me on a race course only made the idea seem more awesome). The morning of, we peruse the race guide and see several mentions with very strong language, “no unauthorized runner on the course.” We begin to rethink our plan. This could be her only marathon ever and just for the sake of being overly cautious I decide to drop her in the last mile and run up ahead to meet Chassi and Chaz where we can cheer her across the finish line.

After a good nights sleep our spousal support team dropped us off as close as possible to the start line. Thankfully meteorologists change their minds more often than my daughter changes outfits so by race morning the temperature hovered around 50 and only slightly overcast. The weather was quite literally perfect. We walked up and got ready to start this silly adventure we were about to begin.

We start strong and steady. We literally talked the entire race. Talked about kids, running, family, overweight people, underweight people, money, life, and past and future adventures. I for the first time have no goal times, no one to beat, I am only there to support and have fun. I am running slower than my comfortable pace which allows me options I wouldn’t otherwise entertain, Like the beer stop at mile 12, high-fiving the children near the hospital, and the beer stop at mile 18 (come to think of it maybe they weren’t all great options). We continue to run a pretty steady pace and actually finished quite a bit stronger than we started. As discussed, at mile 25 I take her bag of pretzels, the last of the nuun, hug her goodbye and proceed to run as fast as my tired legs will move. I am concerned there won’t be much time so I am pushing pretty hard. I probably pass over 100 people in the last mile. They all look pretty beat, and rightly so. I make a point to cheer on every person I pass with at least a few words between heavy breaths. I cross the finish line and keep right on running though the maze of people who hand me water, I wave off the lady trying to put a medal around my neck(I mean I didn’t pay, it wouldn’t be right). She looks at me like maybe I need medical attention. I duck a few others and dart up to the bleachers to look for Chassi and Chaz. I get distracted in the looking and hear her name announced and quickly lose her in the crowd, oh well. Eventually we all connect and there was much rejoicing. Echo is beaming from her accomplishment, and rightly so. She quickly encourages us to get to the car while she can still move. We comply.

We hit the town later that night, where I offer Echo a “from personal experience” suggestion, “after a marathon one celebratory drink will pack more of a punch than normal. ” At least I can say I warned her. We ate fried burgers at Dyers, wandered around the Peabody, saw an awesome band at BB Kings. Memphis was an amazing getaway weekend and thanks a million to Chassi and Chaz, the best support team anywhere. I swear they popped up every couple of miles and cheered like no one else.

The conversation on the road there was mostly “I just wanna say I’ve done this.” The conversation on the way back was closer to “I can’t wait to see what’s next…”
And I for one, can’t.

The heart of Rock and Roll is a beatin’

Ok, now I am the first to admit that music has changed through the years, and not necessarily for the better. Were someone to put my ipod on shuffle your more likely to hear the black crowes, ac/dc, or the Who than anything from the past decade. However the spirit is out there ever changing and there are brave souls still making real music, and when the top 40 nonsense dies down we can still look back on this era proudly.

Joshua’s terrible no good very bad day.

Ok… My drafts folder is overflowing. I am gonna try to finish some of these posts as my end of the year resolution.

This story has been the go to party story of myself and my wife, and remains the only time in seven years of marriage that she has witnessed me losing my temper (Which I personally think is respectable). I am very mellow and this was one rare moment of weakness. So read, laugh, but c’mon cut me some slack… Here goes…

I have at this point in the story spent several nights in a row, after work, making a 4 1/2 inch by 7 1/4 inch beam that is exactly 12 feet long. This beam sits on a base about a foot and a half off the ground and was finished just in time to play an integral role in children’s kung fu class I will be helping to teach in about a half hour.
Begin.

30 minutes to class: I arrive home from work. I change into my workout clothes. I grab a cliff bar.

26 minutes to class: Loads of time. I carry this monstrosity of a beam out to my van. I begin a complicated game of masters level tetris. Only to discover that the maximum achievable distance in my van is exactly 11′ 7 3\8″

14 minutes to class: Still enough time. I remove the beam and in the process spill my tool bag that was too near the door. I begin attempting to secure the beam to the roof. The beam is heavy and is bending the roof luggage rack.

8 minutes to class: running out of time. I decide to give up. I might as well be on time. However, there is a beam halfway tied to my van. I get in my wife’s car to head to class. Just as I begin to back up I feel a violent jerk in the vehicle. I exit the vehicle to see the handle of a clamp that used to reside in my tool bag protruding from the tire. Ok. Ok. I am angry.

5 minutes to class: No time. I begin picking up the other tools strune in the driveway and throwing them out of the potential path of cars (in retrospect this was no faster than picking them up). I move chassi’s car which now has a very flat tire. I enter my van to discover that apparently in the attempted loading process I put a large crack in my windshield. Deep breath, count to three. Oh yes, and I have to remove that beam. I exit the vehicle. I am unable to undo the strap due to the tension it is under. I begin scouring the yard for a sharp tool to cut it. Once it is cut I throw the beam into the yard with all the strength I can muster, it is very heavy and doesn’t go far. I slam all the doors to my van and enter it to drive away. I survey the scene once more.

-4 minutes to class: Very out of time. Half of the tools I own are lying on the yard. The beam l just made is there also. My wife’s car sits with a clamp still jammed firmly into it’s tire and I have a crack now serving as the visually dominant feature in the front of my van… And no one to blame for any of it but myself.

Ragnar

My 2010 Ragnar experience.

After not nearly enough sleep, I rose from my bed before the sun and started washing dishes… I mean who wants to come home from a long weekend to a sinkload of dirty dishes. We arrive at the Vetters at about 6 and begin loading into the van, which will be our home for about the next 32 hours. 32 hours in a cramped space my only significant breaks being to step out into cold and run a grand total of 36 miles.

The great thing about the group we had is that it was an all inclusive group of intelligent runners prepared to take on any challenge foolish enough to lay before us. So naturally we all did the responsible thing, nothing. Our fearless leader and team captain crossed all the t’s, dotted all the i’s, and even filled our lacking roster save two empty spots which were filled by myself and another runner who doubled up.
All in all, the whole experience was far too much for a simple blog post. We experienced the widest array of weather and geography one could ask for. Ran up crippling hills, ran through bitter cold, people ran personal bests, others(me) barley finished. Any of my teammates that wish to, leave a comment or share a memory please do. As for the journey, you just had to be there.

Some things I want to say to people:

Everyone in van 1 – This was so unique, in one day we saw each other in a barage of uncomfortable scenarios it was like a crash course where you get the first few months of a friendship out of the way. I really care about all of you.

Michelle – you make me laugh

My wife – where did you come from, you came out of nowhere and dominated, wow.

Carrie – you had the most amazing attitude in the face of extreme discomfort, a few times it made me want to grab your shoulders and shake you until you quite smiling, but it was an incredible encouragement to us all.

Andy – You were an amazing asset this weekend, even though we all teased each other, when you left the van to run we all realized how good you were at keeeping us on track, thank you.

Chaz – It was amazing to have you so envolved and not even be a runner, you essentially did the race but without your turn to be the focus of our attention. You always new what was going on, Who was where, who needed to be getting ready, and still managed to be really encouraging.

Everyone in van 2 – I felt like we were on seperate teams, It was like you were running a whole other race and every so often we would see you. You did amazing. Proud of you all.

Guy on leg three in a yellow shirt – holy crap, slow down, at your age it can’t be good for you to run that fast. and it certainly isn’t good for my self esteem.

Brian – You were a workhorse this weekend, thank you so much for all you did as a volunteer.

The city of Cowan, TN – Really, I mean… really… My choices for a dinner that isn’t coming out of my duffel bag are the nicest mexican place I’ve ever seen (the waiters wore vests and they had 21 different types of tequila) or pizza by the slice from a shell station. I never thought I’d be wishing a Mcdonald’s.

Tall late 40′s guy with broad shoulders – I saw you off and on the whole race and I don’t know what you do to your hair but it always looked flawless even while you were running.

Echo- our fearless captain, proud of you I know you had a tough time getting us ready, and a tougher time with the race, but you did wonderful with both.

A child after my own heart.

So this evening I had one of those awesome glimpses into who my children are. Some quick background info: Anna has lost a few teeth recently and had 2 dollars from the tooth fairy. Anna and Morgan were both promised a reward for a number of tough days we’ve had in the past week where their behavior has remained exemplary. We have to make a late night trip to the store for a gift to go to Anna’s school party, of course due in the morning. The stage is set.

Anna, Morgan, and myself are wandering the isles of our local Wal-Mart in the fashion that I typically shop when unsupervised. To say the least it is a very organic process. First I circling the perimeter looking for the various zones I will need to hit, not wavering more than a few feet for any item I will be able to get on the next pass. This is also the pass where I try to isolate sales and remember what in the world it was that I came to get. When my children are thrown into this stage it adds new tangents or conversations, “Where do pomegranates grow?” “Which rice is better, the orange box or the gray bag?” “What if the lobsters had babies, would they get their own tank?” Finally we emerge and commit to a checkout line. This time of year in Cool Springs you can count on a line no matter the time of day or night, and no matter how many lanes are open. Anna begins thinking aloud and ultimately resolves to give Morgan one of her dollars. This will enable them to both pick some gum because even with tax it will be less than a dollar. Morgan quickly agrees and decides on icebreakers. Anna picks fruitstripe gum and jumps in the front of the line. Anna pays for the gum herself, says “yes ma’am… thank you,” takes her receipt and change, steps to the side, and waits patiently with the efficiency of a seasoned shopper. Morgan observes this whole exchange and watches very, very closely. She looks down at her ice breakers then at her dollar, or rather Anna’s dollar. Then with expert nonchalance she slides her icebreakers onto the belt with the other groceries and steps to the side easing the dollar back into her pocket. I, already knowing the answer, ask “whatcha doing?” Morgan’s reply is polite but very frank, “If you buy the mints then I can keep the dollar for later.” The cashier and I exchange amused glances. I reply to Morgan, “I will and you can, but maybe you should think about your sisters generosity to share that with you and if you should really keep it.” She stared long and hard at the dollar the whole way home (Anna spent the car ride home discussing what we learned about pomegranates and never thought of the dollar again). Morgan is obviously now facing great emotional turmoil. The dollar is sitting on their shared dresser and I couldn’t be more anxious to see where it goes next.

Faithfulness

Semper fidelis

A simple phrase that through the centuries has been engraved on coats of arms, carved into doorways of old Scottish homes, posted at the entrance of townships, and stuck on the back of F-150s. Always faithful.

I have found faithfulness on my heart lately and what it really means to be faithful. What does that really look like? How can one be “always faithful”?

Several stories come to mind.

On a cool April evening I stand pacing around the kitchen. Trying desperately to do something (I am at this point unsure what that is). The dishes are washed, the girls are in bed, the living room is clean. My wife is talking about something but I confess I am not listening. I am in a perpetual state of restlessness every task I complete brings me no closer to peace. She is winding her evening down getting ready for bed. While I walk through our bedroom trying to remember why I came in there in the first place. I notice my running shoes lying in a corner exactly where I left them almost a week ago when I last used them. I turn to my spouse and say “I’m going running.”

“Now… ok…”

I lace up my shoes and head out into the cool night air. I have grown quite fond of my tattered old shoes. They have stains of sweat and blood around the heel. The tread is worn. They are permanently dirty and several shades darker than the original quite ugly color. They are also the shoes I wore in my first 5k, the first time I ran 10 miles, my first marathon, my first trail race. They probably have close to 400 miles logged on them, and yet every time I reach for them they prove ready for my next round of shenanigans. They sit idly waiting for me to need them, only to reply “I’m right here”.

I was recently in a grocery store with Emri. We were picking up a few things, goofing off and just generally enjoying our trip out of the house. Emri was preoccupying herself with a box of cereal that featured some cartoon character, So much so that when I stepped behind the cart she didn’t see me move. I was looking at the frozen vegetables when she looked up to realize her father had left her all alone in the store and gone home
(In reality I was behind her and within arms reach, but she couldn’t turn far enough around in her seat to see that). Being the spirited two year old that she is, she digressed into a state of panic so quickly I didn’t have time to see it coming. I stepped into her field of vision, lifted her from the cart, and held her for a few moments. The whole time softly reassuring her “If you need me, I’m here. I’m never going to leave you alone… I’m right here.”

I frequently feel a little to strong. I lift something without help just because I know I can. I run, workout, and put in a long day at work, just there’s no confusion that I am able. This is doubly true when it comes to emotion. I don’t cry or sit around and be sad. I laugh. I move on. I take on stress. I over commit to myself and others. I think about work, money, time, my kids, my wife, our home, dinner, laundry… You get the idea. I quickly turn away from prayer and from scripture. When things get hard I roll up my sleeves and politely ask God to move over because I have work to do. I am usually able to keep up a remarkable level of discomfort for a remarkable amount of time (I think it’s my Irish side). However, all things come to an end, and so far no matter how far I have run, no matter how preoccupied I have been. God has always been there to say, “I’m right here… I’m Always Faithful…”

Zombies

My daughter Anna walked into the room pensively.
“Dad… What if zombies were real?”

“Well, sweetheart, they aren’t. They are made up for games and movies, just like monsters or unicorns.”

“I know, I know, but what if?”

“Well… IF… then I wouldn’t want to see one.”

“What if one tried to get us?”

At this point I assume that Anna has been laying awake at night fearful of evil beings going bump in the night. This is all, of course, my fault for not being strict enough on her exposure to media and now I have permanently scarred her fragile psyche. I begin a speech about how we are safe, and the difference in reality and fantasy. She quickly interrupts uninterested in my boring rational speak.

“I bet you’d shoot him with one of your guns.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, unless he was to close. Then you might have to stab him with a knife.”

“I see, well I’m glad that will never happen.”

“Yeah, and you should try to do it outside because there would be a lot of blood to clean up.”

Content with her conclusion she left the room. I have spent the day trying to pinpoint exactly when I irrevocably warped my child and if it’s too late to save the other two.