Sunday, July 24, 2011

On "Being Prepared" "Perspective"....

This past week was a hectic one for me.  I was able to get a swim in.  My boss was in town and we played a round of golf in sweltering conditions.  All very good.
My youngest, Sam, went off to Cub Scout Camp Thursday at noon.  This is also a very good thing.  He loves being in Scouts and the whole experience has been very good for him.  Kimm had packed a duffle bag with everything on the list the camp sent us and Sam was comfortable knowing the first night he’d be on his own.  I had made arrangements to be one of the “helping” dads and arriving Friday after work. 
So all was good.
I should have known better when the night before he went to camp, Sam asked me a question:  “Dad, when I get back from camp, can I get some new shoes?”
“Sure thing, Kiddo” I promised him, blowing right through a red flag that had been raised.
Off to camp he went. 
Friday morning came and the phone rang.  It was Paul Steele, the “Pack Master” for Pack 289 and he was telling me Sam wanted me to bring some different shoes out. 
“No problem, I’m coming out after work and can bring a different pair” I said.  “Actually, I’m running by my house in a while…you could leave them on my front porch.”  Paul recommended.  “Will do!”
Red Flag #2...again missed.
I arrived at Camp Rota Kiwan shortly after 5:00 and got checked in.  One of the Dad’s that had been there the day before pointed me in the right direction to our cabin and complimented me on how well Sam had been behaving.  I was very pleased.
Getting to the cabin I saw Sam and a handful of other Cubs in their glory.  Filthy, sweaty, playing on a pile of dirt, banging it with sticks.  I’m not sure but I think they were “looking for gold”.  They were all taking this very seriously and working very hard.  It was a glorious “Lord of the Flies” sight.  Upon seeing me, Sam bounced over, gave me a hug, and showed me to a bunk.   His bunk was on the other side of the cabin.  “The bunk above me is open…” I offered.  “I’m okay here.  Sam responded.  The other dad’s chuckled at the dissing I got from my kid.    I unpacked and soon it was time to head over to the mess hall for dinner.
“Can I have a ride Dad?”  Sammy beamed.  “Sure thing Kiddo!” I said and swooped him up and on my shoulders in one move.  I walked him through the woods listening to all his adventures from the last day and a half.  Other than the sleeping arrangements, I was drunk in the moment!   I was the best dad in the world.  Ward Cleaver would bow at my feet.   These are the moments Dad’s remember always…
The campers have to line up and do some cheers, sing songs and have some fun before dinner is served.  I helped set up the tables with pitchers of water and juice.  I also made sure there were sporks on each  napkin.
The campers went in first.  Each cabin had assigned seating. I waited outside and came in with the last of the parents.  Hot dogs and brats were on the menu.  Sammy had saved a seat for me.  Dad and Kid…no hot dog ever tasted better.  Sammy even offered to clear our paper plates.
It was only then I noticed his limping.
“Sammy…what’s wrong?”  I asked.  His little face looked up at me “My feet hurt” he winced.  I carefully took his shoe off and say that the blisters he worked up from his undersized shoes had since popped and gotten filled with dirt while “digging for gold”.   I told him we needed to get back to the cabin and clean up his feet.  I took his hand and he tried to walk but the pain was really bad.  I picked him up and carried him through the crowded mess hall and got outside.  Back up onto my shoulders and back to the cabin at double-time pace.  I couldn’t imagine what a terrible parent I was.  I pealed his shoes off and washed his feet for him.  He was filthy.  What had been a cute “Norman Rockwell” picture of a boy was now a terrible mess for his father.  I got his feet cleaned up.   I quickly realized how unprepared I came to camp as I had no antiseptic or bandages.  Fortunately the other Dad’s, the “GOOD  ONES” as I was already calling them in my head had all the necessary gear to clean out the open wounds and get band-aids on them.   Paul even had some Ibuprofen for his pain.   Sam was back in action. 
I was so embarrassed.  “I’m going to run out and get the kid some shoes that fit” I announced.   “Is there anything else we need?”  I knew the answer, ”no….the good dads came with everything they needed.”
I run out to the nearest Meijers.  I find some size 4’s that I think Sammy will like.  I also get him a 6 pack of larger socks thinking these will go over the bandages easier.  BANDAGES!!!!  I go get a pack of bandages and some Bactine.  I see a whole little First Aid Kit in a little white plastic box…I grab that too.  I am in full “over-compensate mode” and my guilt would not be denied.  Some gummy candies and a new flashlight later, I am headed back to camp.  With any luck, I can salvage my son’s first experience at camp.

As I drove, I had ESPN on the radio.  I was not paying attention at first but then I heard a story come on about a boy named Adam.    He was now 16 and when he was younger he was a star football player.  It’s the only thing he ever wanted to do.  He was very good at it.
Then he got sick.
I’m not sure what the disease was, but it was one of those cruel blood disorders that take a long time to diagnose.  The poor kid was in and out of hospitals for years.  He lost part of his lower intestine due to complications.  When they thought the worst was behind him, he had a stroke leaving him paralyzed on his left side.
He was in a coma for over three weeks.  His mother refused to leave his side because she was afraid he was going to die alone.  He came out of the coma but the ongoing treatments took a tremendous toll on him.  “God must have chosen me because I am strong enough to deal with it” his young voice said.
The announcer continued the story “but that was not always the case…”  His mother began to speak of how when things got really bad, her son asked her to help him die.  That the doctors could just give him some medicine to help him go to sleep and never wake up.
I had to pull the car over because my eyes were welling up.  I sat there emotionally taxed.  The story continued with Adam meeting his hero, Tim Tebow  of the Denver Broncos.  Adam got to go to a practice and draw up plays that Tim would run.  It was a nice story about a kid and a family that had been through hell and back.  Okay…not back.  The kid is still very ill.
I sat in my car for a moment.  I looked down and saw the box of Sketchers I bought for Sam.
“I cried because my son had no shoes…” I thought to myself.
I got back to camp re-bandaged up his heels and got the new socks and shoes on his feet.  Within minutes he was back to the pile of dirt and leading one cabin of boys on an “attack” of the cabin up the road. 
Despite my new perspective on how lucky I was, I still felt somewhat sorry for myself.  As “taps” and “lights out” came,  I sat on my bunk when all of a sudden a little boy stood in front of me with a pillow and sleeping bag….
“Dad, can I still have the bunk above yours?”
“Sure thing Kiddo…”

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Tadpoles and Guppies and Minnows! Oh my!

As I’m having continued issues with my legs that are preventing me from actually getting some roadwork in.   I’ve tried to find other, less stressful methods of exercising until I’m ready to get some miles under me.  I’ve purchased one of those big inflatable balls that we used in yoga class.  I find using this makes it easier to get good stretches in, adds new twists to doing push-ups and sit-ups, but makes me feel like I’m in the Belinda Carlisle video of “Heaven is a Place on Earth”. 

Taking my dog Bailey for a walk gets me out too.  She is about 14 years old and still looks great for an old girl and her pace is fine as I gimp around. 

That said, to get a really good work out in while my legs heal up, I need to do the one thing I can push myself hard doing without doing more damage than good.  I need to swim.
So I head over to the YMCA.

I usually swim early in the morning when only a few die-hards are there.  It nice, quiet, and I can get a lane to myself.  This is a necessity not a choice.  Not that I’m a prude but I’ve determined that I am a bit of a “bull in a china shop”.    I’m a large man.  I’m not graceful.  Okay, I have had my moments, but these are few and far between.  Even if I were the size I’d like to get back to, I’d be considered a “big ape”.  Just this past Friday, for example,  I met my wife and some of her co-workers for an after work “re-fresher”.  As I slid into the booth, I mis-judged the space and hit the back wall of the booth a bit harder than intended.  The wall shook. The glass above us bowed.  I thought I knocked the whole thing down and we would all be covered in glass and splintered wood.   Any security cameras capturing this would soon have a viral video out on You Tube and I would eventually be flown out to Los Angeles for a “Web Redemption” spot on Tosh.0.  Actually, that would be kinda cool. 
But I digress…I CAN’T share a lane.  I’d kill someone with an inadvertent elbow. Really…or as my youngest, Sam, would say…"For real!”
I figured the “Y” would be busier on a Saturday morning at 10:00 than what I’m used to.  What I had not expected was the lobby, which doubles as a viewing area for the pool, would be packed with people.  There were kids.  There were parents.  There were grand-parents.  None of which has any spatial respect for any other human beings.  I begin to step around, crawl over, and dance between the obstacle course of humanity to get to the front desk.  Remember, I’m a bull...in a china shop…with a gimpy leg.
I have to stop for a second…Why do 7 people have to come watch one kid sit on the edge of a pool refusing to get in the water to “blow bubbles” and kick their feet?  None of them WANT to be there.  Come on people!   Instead of going for a swim, I felt like I was waiting for my allotment of Soylent Green.  (It's "goodness from the sea" don't ya know!)
My patience for humanity at times like this lead me to reconsider my scoffing off that “career guidance” exam I took years ago that recommended I become a “Light-House Keeper” or “Shepard”.
“How long until there is open swim”?  I asked, hoping that the classes would be wrapping up in a couple minutes at the top of the hour.
The young lady behind the counter pointed out that lane 3 was roped off for lap swim and with a quick glance pointed out “It’s all yours”.  
“Really”?  I asked unbelievingly.
“For real!” she assured…sounding very much like Sammy.
I quickly headed to the locker room to change and shower.  I walked out on the deck and headed over to my lane.  Everywhere around me are three, four and five year olds in little groups about the pool splashing and kicking.  Amid all the chaos that is a pool full of tadpoles and guppies and minnows, there is an avenue of peace and clarity that was “lane 3”.  I’m pretty sure there were dark clouds parting and a ray of light that pointed right at my lane.  I slip in the water with all the grace of a tripped water buffalo.  The instructors from the classes on each side shoot me quick, dismissive looks.  “Uh…sorry” I shrugged, not really sure they heard or cared.  I was immediately pleased I had not invested more sincerity in my apology.
Upon fixing my goggles, I pushed off and began swimming.  Usually it takes a few laps to get going but by the time I made my first turn, I had found the always sought for “groove”.  This is something found in every sport I participated in.  In running, the “groove” is hitting your stride at a pace you feel like you can run forever at…strong and quick…able to dart and react to anything.  In rugby, it was the feeling that any ball, anywhere on the field was yours.  Others got to hold onto it until you got there.  Your team mates sensed they needed to give it to you…your competition would tremble as you ripped it from their hands.  In football,  it would be lining up and knowing you could tell the defensive tackle across from you the play, the count, and what direction you were going to block him and he could not stop you. 
“Grooves” are glorious feelings.
So I found my “swim-groove”.  My body felt like a dolphin cutting through the water.  My strokes were long and strong.  My heart beat and breathing were in perfect synchronization.  It felt as if my spine were stretching with each stoke and I were reaching a foot farther than I should be able to.  I was hitting each turn in stride and exploding off the wall.  I tore off the laps and before I knew it I had reached a half mile.  A one mile swim is usually a pretty good work out for me.  Today, I was killing it.
Having the lane to myself in the middle of the pool was beautiful.  With all the kids in the pool I felt like a Tour de France rider riding through the spectator lined streets of Paris.
A mile is 72 lengths.  40, 50, 60, were flying by.  At 10:30 the classes let out and the last 12 lengths of my work out had the kids shuffling out.  By the time I got done, the pool deck was empty except for the lifeguard and the instructors picking up the array of kickboards, noodles, and diving toys.
One of the best things about swimming is the “pump” you get.  Upon getting done, I got out of the pool and my chest, shoulders, and arms were huge.  I looked like Mr. incredible.
I strolled over to my towel and headed into the locker room for a well-deserved hot shower. 
Getting my groove back feels good.
Now to find it while running….
On a side note:  There are certain “sounds” associated with sports that I love.  I grew up a few blocks from the high school I later attended.  As a little boy, I could see the “Friday Night Lights” glowing over the trees and hear the marching band drum cadence through the night.  It was magical.  Other sounds I love are light towers turning on with a “click-chunk” from an electrical box, the collective groan of 16 men as a rugby scrum comes together, and the sound of a person shooting baskets in an otherwise empty gym. 
Yesterday I was reminded of another “sound” that is unique and beloved.  All swimmers will recognize it…the sound of a Suitemate water extractor.  This is the wall mounted machine that performs a quick “spin-cycle” pulling much of the water out of your swim suit.  It sounds a bit like a UPS truck slowing down in front of your house with a vibrating “rumble, rumble, rumble…”
The one sound I am longing for is that of running shoes slapping out strides through a quiet neighborhood.
Oh well…Rome wasn't built in a day.

Monday, July 11, 2011

The thoughts that go through my mind....

Sunday morning I awoke and found that my troublesome knee felt remarkably “normal”.  I felt confident enough to get my running gear on and give it a go around the mile loop in my neighborhood.  My wife woke up with a similar thought in her head and we discussed the concept of running together.
“I’ll run with you” she offered generously…
Kimm has never really enjoyed running the way “runners” do.  She has trained and ran a few road races and, on occasion, found the groove that runners love to get into of a great pace and the feeling of being able to go on forever.  That said, she has been getting out and hitting the road and prepping for a 5k race that she is going to be running in August.
“Thanks…but I’ll just slow you down”.  No way do I want to impede her progress.
She continued “Don’t worry about that…I’m happy to run with you”.
“Run” I think to myself.  “…or something that looks like it…just much slower”
“This is something I need to go through alone.”  I said, knowing that the first time out it would be an ugly and painful experience.
So Kimm took off to get  a couple of miles in.
I got stretched and took care of a couple of chores while she ran.  During that time, Sammy came down and watched me stretch out.
“Can I run with you”?  His little face was all lit up…
I paused…. “This is something I need to go through alone” echoed through my head.  I really did not want to have to drag a seven year old around the loop when I really needed to focus on dragging myself around it.  I also remembered one of my reasons for starting off on this journey:  To be a better example as a father. 
“Sure Kiddo…get your shoes on”.
By the time he was ready I was fully stretched and I had gotten a bottle of water ready for Kimm as she would soon be returning.  We stepped outside and saw her coming down the street. She had a nice stride going and I thought she might just wave and keep going.  Upon seeing the water though,  she came right to me “It’s a lot hotter out there than it feels”.
In my head I hear Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry saying “Swell…”
“Oh it can’t be that bad…” I say smiling....trying to convince myself.
She playfully squirts me with some of the water and says “Be careful…”
So Sam and I start off. 
“We’re just going to go nice and easy Sam…no need to kill ourselves” I instruct my young son knowing I should do so while I still have the breath.
“Okay!”  He replied in a tone that was so nonchalant it was almost flippant.
The quarter mile or so I was really focusing on my knee.  I wanted to make sure that it was really feeling sound again.  It was holding up.  Now I just had to turn my attention to the fact I was actually running again, planning to go for a full mile, and having to deal with blowing the rust out of my muscles and lungs that had accumulated over time.
“Once around the loop” I think to myself.  The term “loop” triggers a Caddyshack-esque run of “looper” thoughts.  I find myself thinking “So I jump ship in Hong Kong and I make my way over to Tibet, and I get on as a looper at a course over in the Himalayas”.   My random thoughts do nothing to help me run faster though it does take my mind off the "WTF!?!?" messages my quadriceps are sending me.
“Hey Dad…this is easy!” Sammy squeals with glee as he darts ahead and slows down adjusting his pace as not to leave me in his dust. 
“Gungala  galunga... ” I say not even realizing I’m doing so.  Sammy bounces along for another 50 yards quietly before he asks “Dad…what’s gungaba gungaba mean”?  Before I can answer, he follows with “Hey Dad…look…I can run backwards faster than you”.  I look even though I know what I am going to see.  Sammy is running backwards…effortlessly. 
As for me, I am realizing Kimm was right.  It was MUCH hotter than it seemed when standing around in the front yard.  I felt like I had Extra Virgin Olive Oil flowing out of my forehead. 
“Dad…what’s gungaba gungaba”?  Sammy repeated?
The humidity in the air made it that much harder to breath…which is what my body really wanted me to focus on… but I managed to say “On your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness”.
This confused the boy.  A quick look over and he resembled “Mongo” from “Blazing Saddles”…  In my head I hear Alex Karras saying “Mongo just pawn in game of life”…
The EVOO has now drenched my shirt and I feel like I am jogging in a waxed cotton duster coat.  The heat and humidity is oppressive.  I plod on.  I really want to finish the loop without stopping.
“What’s total confluence”?  asked Sam, pulling me back to reality.
“Consciousness”, I corrected him.  “Basically it means that when you die you’ll understand everything you need to know”.  Right about then I needed to make it another half mile without listening to my screaming legs.   I just needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other…
Cue the music…enter stage left the Winter Warlock from the Rankin Bass animated Christmas special “Santa Claus is Coming To Town”  Next thing you know I have Mickey Rooney and Keenan Wynn singing “…and soon you’ll be walking ‘cross the floor…oor…orrrr!”   
Really.  This is the soundtrack of my life.
“Dad, once I’m dead, what good is understanding everything”? Sam asked as he darted up ahead only to run slow motion until I pass, then to darting on up ahead again.
“You’re mocking me aren’t you”?  With that he giggles and sprints the last couple of houses to where Kimm is waiting for us with some water. 
Sam’s ease of doing something that I struggled through, coupled with his hare-like running style that taunted my slow and steady tortoise-like pace made me realize why tigers eat their young.  I also realized that he served a tremendous distraction to me and kept me from listening to my body wanting to stop and walk.   I really owed the kid a debt of graditude.
As I finished in front of my house, I hear the Winter Warlock again “One foot in front of the other…and soon you’ll be walking out the dooooooorrrrrrr”!
I had made it.  A bottle of water, a hug , and kiss were my rewards.  Sam proudly announced that he had “won the race with Dad”.  Kimm let him know it wasn’t really a race and that we both were winners for getting out and exercising. 
In my head, the Winter Warlock agreed…”Hey, I’m not such a loser after all”!

Monday, July 4, 2011

Nobody knows...the troubles I've seen.

So I am back.  And much like the tortoise charging from the gate, my progress has been less than impressive.
The truth is I am struggling. 
I have started a quest to turn myself into a sprinter by participating in exercises that noticeably do not have my feet on the ground securing a grip for my legs to propel me forward down the road.   I have swam three times, golfed, bowled, and have participated in a yoga class that left me sleeping on a mat in a darkened studio.
Not the stuff one would think of as traditional “sprint-training”.
So Sunday, I tied on my trainers, stretched my legs, and looked at “the loop” as my family refers to a mile long trek through our neighborhood.   As I started to trot I knew within the first 200 yards that I had a major problem. 
My knee. 
Specifically, my right knee. 
Last weekend when I was throwing the shot, I could feel a strain as I drove my entire weight off my right leg in an attempt to generate speed through the ring and build momentum to get off a good throw.  Despite what I thought was plenty of warm up, my knee thought otherwise.
Each step told me my knee was not ready to do this.  I was pretty sure this was going to happen.  It still was very disappointing to face.  The pain is hard to describe.  If I bend my leg as if I were to squat, my right knee does not have the full range of motion.  I’d say I have about 85% motion.  Still, I’d describe my knee as feeling “soft” or “unstable”.    I am not confident of its ability to deal with 100% push off it. I'd say I'm 80 % confident in it.  But when you are running 80% confidence over thousands of steps means you're going to have trouble.
I have felt this injury before.  It will pass in another week.   Yet it has broken my stride right at the start which has made me irritable.  I have now walked the past two days as I can do this and despite a limp (think James Garner in the” Rockford Files”) can do so at a decent clip and without straining other muscles compensating for a strange gait and making myself a complete hot mess...
So I deal with my physical challenge of healing my knee and the emotional disappointment of stumbling out of the gate.  This had led me to conclude two things:  First, my journey is going to be a long one.  Progress will be slower that I would like to see and I am going to have to deal with it. Secondly, as much of a physical challenge as this will be, it will be as great, if not a greater mental challenge for me to deal with the many setbacks I will face.  I think this is the part that I am most anxious about. 
So this entry has been a bit of a downer.  No humor.  No success story.  Perhaps this is why I’ve waited a few days to post.  I’m not pleased with my results. 
On a positive note, I am very proud of an old friend who completed her first triathlon today.  Heather Campeau has found her inner strength to train for and become a triathlete.  Her journey serves as inspiration to me.   Congratulations Heather! 
It’s 12:34 a.m. as I write.  I need to get to sleep.  My alarm goes off early and I will hit the loop again.
New plan:  Get my knee back.  Get my legs under me.  Get back on track.
Don’t wish me luck.  Wish me strength.