tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68781638140281738082024-02-20T13:02:02.863-08:00Professor BozProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-84114641896429775872014-10-12T12:39:00.000-07:002014-10-14T17:55:00.141-07:00First karate tourney<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
When the judge yells, “Go,” I use my 11 inch height advantage to sting
Gary with a left jab. Yes, that’s correct, 11 inches. The tale of the tape puts
Gary at 5 foot 2 and 180 pounds. I am 6 foot 1 and have a bit more than 100
pounds on him. But, he does have a very long beard.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I walk back to my line feeling a bit ashamed that I used my huge reach
advantage to score that point. Well, I thought it was a point until the judge
indicated he didn’t see my gloved fist pop Gary in the forehead - the score is
still tied at zero.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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On our second clash, Gary kicks me in the groin (generally not legal nor encouraged) right before I punch
him in the ribs. The judges debate whether to give Gary one point or two
before deciding on one. 1-0 Gary.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I hesitate a bit on the next clash, not sure what I have to do to score
a point on Gary while at the same time protecting the family jewels. He uses
this opportunity to throw a short kick - I move out of the way and tag him with
a short jab to the jaw. 1-1.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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On the next clash, I chase into the corner Gary, and he catches me with a kick as he is falling away from me. 3-1 Gary.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Gary kicks me in the groin again. As I am chasing him down, the judge
decides there should be a break, right as I am popping Gary with a short right
hand which sends him to the canvas. No point. Still 3-1 Gary.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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On the next clash, I back Gary up with a thrust kick before my second
thrust kick sends him to the canvas. Point Gary. 4-1<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Seemingly able to kick Gary at will, I tag Gary with an ugly combo
roundhouse kick. As Gary does not get within 3 feet of me, the judges decide I
may have earned these two points. 4-3 Gary.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Feeling confident, I attempt a spinning wheel kick which missed by a
few inches but leaves me in perfect position to drill Gary with a left jab,
knocking his helmet nearly completely off and sending him wobbling. No point.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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On the next point, I decide to go back to the basics and just stick
Gary in the face with a left jab. Gary goes down hard and some piece of his
equipment falls off, which he angrily tosses aside. The judge tells me that because Gary chose to wear a
helmet without a facemask, I cannot hit him in the face. But, as I am wearing a
facemask, he can hit me in the face. No point, but that blow got Gary ticked off.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At this point, I was pretty perplexed about what move to attempt. As I
don’t have very good balance my kicking arsenal is limited, so my attack is
usually focused around left jabs to the face, which are now illegal. So, I go at Gary with a weak thrust kick - he blocks it and counters with a nice right hand toward my chest. I largely block
his punch so no point is given. I would have given Gary the point - it was a great counter attack.<o:p></o:p></div>
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On the final clash of the match, Gary stays aggressive and comes at me
with a low kick, which I block. As he loads up to throw a haymaker to the
outside of my shoulder, I swat him in the side of the helmet, carrying my blow
into his face. He wobbles away holding his eye. No point.<o:p></o:p></div>
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2 minutes is up and the match is over. Gary wins 4-3.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A couple hours later, I am catching some of the other action at the tournament and see Gary in the distance. I walk over to him and congratulate him on his victory. It turns out that he is
from Missouri. He has been whooping up on his competition down there, so he
joined some members from his gym on a 10 hour bus ride to Minnesota for this
tournament. I ask if he brought any family with him, and he shook his head,
saying he could not afford it. We shake hands again, snap a quick picture, and
then go our separate ways.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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As I reflect back, I’m certainly not satisfied with
how the fight was judged. From an obviously biased perspective I felt like I
should have won somewhere between 7-3 and 11-3. However, I take two lessons away from the experience. First, I have a lot of improving to do when it comes to clean technique and striking. If my form was better, I probably would have received more points.<br />
<br />
Also, I can’t help but be happy for Gary. I’ve
had plenty of moments in the sun, but something tells me Gary has not. He can
go home with his head held high and tell him family and friends how he whooped
up on a big boy from Minnesota. So, good for you, Gary. I look forward to a rematch next year - any chance you could wear a helmet that has a facemask?</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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Here is the video (the left jab that put Gary down and got me the warning was not taped):<br />
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6NYEQDmChk&feature=youtu.be</div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-25326914461162454922014-01-09T22:27:00.000-08:002014-01-09T22:29:03.424-08:00Operation: Creature Preservation - Day 3<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the things I love about writing is that it causes reflection. I
went to bed last night feeling somewhat unnecessary, kind of like a caretaker
more than a head-of-household. But the act of putting my feelings on paper,
especially in a public venue, was rather therapeutic.</span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, when Tito woke me up this morning, two minutes before my alarm was
to sound, I had a different energy about me. I went downstairs and engaged with
him during his morning routine. I can’t even recall what we discussed, but I
recall spending good time with him. And when I woke Bitsy up a short while
later, I repeated the routine. I just hung out and chatted with her. </span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know my mom reads my blog, so I will just give her a quick shout out
and say that I remember how you would get up each morning with me and I
remember feeling like I wasn’t alone as I stared the day. And I really
appreciated it.</span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the kids departed, I went through the rest of the routine…dog…cats…chickens.
But I chatted with the creatures during this process, and they appeared
pleased. Well actually, Cash was the only one who seemed pleased. Cats never
really seem much of anything, and chickens don’t have much in the way of facial
expression. But, I had tried. So when I curled back into my warm bed an hour
and a half after rising, I fell back asleep with a satisfaction.</span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After yesterday’s ten-snooze debacle, I made real progress today –
arising after only three snoozes. I am about to enter my busiest time of the
year, so the ability to just lay around at times is certainly satisfying. </span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Upon arising, I saw my jeans on the floor and had a decision to make.
Put them on and do the right thing, or remain in shorts and take the easy way
out. It was perhaps the reflection of trying to add value that gave me a nudge,
and the jeans went on. This was important as this meant that Cash and I would
be going for a walk.</span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We walked for a good half hour, much better than the last walk I gave
him which was only fifteen minutes long. “Why even bother?” may have been the
question I received upon returning that day. After our walk, Cash and I went
into the backyard to find three eggs. I can see why Kacey enjoys the chickens,
as you never know how many eggs you are going to find. Eggs are kind of like
presents, and presents remind me of Christmas - except that with chickens, every
day of the year is December 25<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>.</span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I fetched the mail (three days’ worth I believe), and found a package.
This is not abnormal as Kacey frequently receives packages (or “prizes” as she
likes to call them). But this prize was different – it was addressed to me. I
opened the package and found a gift from heaven – 2 packages of K-Cups (34 in
all) for my office coffee maker! And accompanying the K-Cups was note from a
freshman student. </span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">His note was a simple thank you for all I had done for him this past
fall. Interestingly enough, this student was probably my favorite of the 95 students
I taught this fall, long before he gave me this gift. So to receive a gift of appreciation
from him was truly satisfying. Plus, there was a time this fall when my Keurig
was broken and I taught some caffeine-free classes – and it showed, badly. Perhaps
he is also looking out for my future students.</span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On my drive out to my consulting client, I called Kacey. She answered
the phone with excitement, like she was actually happy to hear from me. And I
felt loved, and I felt important. And when I feel like that, I feel as if I can
conquer the world. Well, I may not have conquered the world, but I conquered some
German and Italian tax issues and billed a few hours.</span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After back to back dinners of chicken wings, I decided to vary it up a
bit and provide my children with a balanced meal of meatloaf, potatoes, and
green beans. And when I say “provide,” I mean that I accepted my mom’s invitation
to join them for dinner.</span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After dinner, I leisurely enjoyed a glass of Alexander Valley Cab and
some good conversation with my parents. A bit too late, I summoned the children
to head for home.</span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I arrived home to some restless creatures. The cats were meowing at me,
being that it was three hours past dinnertime. And Cash was sitting patiently
next to his empty food dish. Feeling a bit guilty, I may have given him a bit
more than extra.</span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We were out of duck-based cat food so I risked it and gave the cats the
chicken-based cat food. Within thirty minutes, DollyMama was hacking up a lung.
And I made a plan to venture out to a pet store tomorrow for more of the pricey
duck-based food. While I am not sure I like our cats enough to spend
significantly more cash on their food, it does not seem right to effectively
poison them. So for now, expensive cat food it will be, and I will hound Kacey
to whip up a less expensive recipe herself.</span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As Tito diligently completed his homework, Cash and I went outside to
round up the chickens, freshen their water, and food, and stuff them in their
coop. They are struggling less when I touch them and pick them up – perhaps they
are even getting used to me. Or perhaps they were just tired. </span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I got back inside and plopped down on my easy chair, I felt better
than at the same time the day before. For today, I felt as if I added value.
That doesn’t mean I am missing Kacey any less, it just means I am embracing her
absence a bit more as an opportunity.</span></div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-74477827144818508962014-01-08T22:37:00.002-08:002014-01-09T01:16:34.079-08:00Operation: Creature Preservation - Day 2<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For quite some time, I have been unsuccessfully trying to put my finger
on “it.” The “it” is referring to what our home is missing when Kacey is not
here. Tonight, as I reflect on the day’s events, I think I have identified “it.”
When Kacey is in charge of the house, she “adds value,” as one would say in the
business world. But when I am in charge, we simply punch the clock.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Take today for example. I “worked” until the wee hours of the morning
last night, and was slightly disheartened when Tito woke me up at 6:38am with
his man-child voice barking, “Get up.” I still had seven minutes to sleep
before my alarm was to sound at a quarter ‘til seven, and honestly felt robbed
of those seven minutes. I lumbered downstairs to basically watch Tito make his
own breakfast, make his own lunch, and walk out our door toward his school bus.
I really did nothing of any value in that time other than comb his hair.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I walked with him down the driveway to our street and asked if he
wanted me to walk him to his bus stop. Predictably, my twelve year old son said,
“No, I’ll be alright.” So, I stood at the end of our driveway and watched as he
walked down to the end of the street. I was jacket-less, and it was fifteen
below zero, but I didn’t mind. I knew that the number of times I would get to
do that are limited.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When his bus pulled away, I re-entered my abode and fed Cash. As for
the cats, they didn’t even pay attention to me when I dumped their $6 per pound
duck food on a fresh plate. They almost seemed disenchanted with my existence. “Screw
‘em,” I thought to myself, and Cash and I went out to the chicken coop. I opened
the coop, freshened the water and food, looked for eggs (none), and retreated
into the warmth of my house. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Never haven fully woken up, I found it easy to fall asleep on my easy
chair for twenty minutes. I arose to the sound of my cell-phone alarm and went
upstairs to wake up Bisty - fortunately, she didn’t even fight it. She got
herself ready while I mindlessly watched You Tube videos in my office – at
least they were keeping me awake. At one point Bitsy called up to me and said,
“Mom usually is down here with me during this part.” I obliged and asked if
Kacey did anything special and she said, “I don’t know. She just kind of hangs
out and talks with me.” Value added.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When it was time to drive her to school, I decided to take Cash with to
get him out of the house. I opened the garage door, expecting that he would
simply hang out by my car and wait for me to open the door. That expectation
was foiled, however, when he spied a cat on our street. Collar-less, he bolted.
And not surprisingly, wouldn’t obey my pleas to return.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For a moment, I imagined losing him forever, and I imagined Kacey
beating me over the head with her largest mixing bowl. But then, the cat must
have jumped a fence, as Cash came running back, and we got Bitsy to school
right on time.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, I am known for napping. It wasn’t always that way. But a hip
injury diagnosed as “osteitis pubis” shelved me for nearly nine months last
year, and my physical condition went to pot. I also seem to have developed
sleep apnea, and need to act on my doctor’s referral for a sleep study. So,
after only resting for about four hours the night before, it is probably
understandable that I laid down for a nap, and maybe even understandable that I
set my alarm (my third of the day), for a full 2 ½ hours later. Well, what is
not understandable is that my alarm sounded and I snoozed it TEN times – for a
total of 90 minutes. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Horrified at my slothfulness, I sprung into action and I went
downstairs, heated up some of yesterday’s coffee, and did some consulting work.
Before long, I decided to check for eggs, and remembered how Kacey told me, “If
the chicken is just sitting there, lift it up because it is probably just
sitting on its egg.” I did so, no egg was present, and the chicken scurried
away. I felt as if I had just violated the chicken’s privacy, and wondered if
this would constitute an “intimate” moment between the two of us. I did find
two other eggs, one of which was frozen. As I said in yesterday’s blog, Kacey
suggested that I scramble any frozen eggs and give them to the chickens - to
which I said, “Whatever.” </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, after scrambling the frozen egg (see what I did there?), I arranged
for a play date for Cash with his best friend Freddy. And by “arranged,” I mean
that Freddy’s owner called me and said,”I am coming to get Cash, have him ready
in ten minutes.”</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A while later, I picked up Bitsy from school. Dinner consisted of
left-over chicken wings and Chinese food, much to the delight of the children. At
church, I actually had a value-added moment and led my small group of rowdy
twelve year old boys in a game of mini-marshmallow dodge-ball. Effort was
expended, teamwork and strategic skills were developed, and nothing got broken.
Some marshmallow may have got stuck in the carpet, but I will throw an extra few
bucks in the offering plate this Sunday with a note to pass it along to our
church’s custodial staff.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we got home, I tended to the chickens and promptly fell asleep in
my easy chair for another fifteen minutes. During this time, the kids, perhaps
sensing my ineptness, proactively worked on their homework. The cats never even
bothered to ask (and yes, they would ask) for their special dinner. In fact, I
am not sure if Scarf is still in the house or not. Regardless, they certainly
miss their usual caretaker. All of us do.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today, we survived, but no value was added. Tomorrow, I will see if I
can make a difference.</span></div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-56797248913961634772014-01-07T20:27:00.000-08:002014-01-08T00:34:51.933-08:00Operation: Creature Preservation – Day 1<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Out of habit, I smacked the snooze button when my alarm clock made that
hideous noise at seven o’clock this morning. I pondered dozing for those nine precious
minutes, but knew that the sooner I got up would be the sooner I returned to
bed. And so, I donned a sweatshirt and a pair of dirty jeans, the only kind I
own, and buffaloed down the stairs and into the kitchen. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I fired-up my laptop and found it - the Word document titled, “Creatures.”
In this document, I found instructions. These instructions would be vital in
keeping alive the creatures in my home while Kacey is away frolicking in the
Arizona sunshine. The creatures, in order of importance, are as follows:</span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
1. (tie) Bitsy the girl and Tito the boy</div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
3. Cash the dog</div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
4. Boz the husband (I have a better life insurance policy
than Cash)</div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
5. DollyMama the cat</div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
6. Scarf the cat</div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
7. Gracie the chicken</div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
8. Bob the chicken</div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
9. (tie) – Ziggy and Marley the chickens</div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Step one was to feed Cash two-thirds of a cup of food out of two
different bags. Done. Easy peasy.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Step two was to feed the cats. Kacey has been feeding them duck-based
cat food, as DollyMama seems allergic to the regular chicken-based cat food. How
one identifies food allergies within cats is beyond me, but my wife is cool
like that. However, Dolly’s duck food is quite a bit more expensive, and I proudly
identified a fix. I gave the duck food only to Dolly and the chicken food only
to Scarf, utilizing separate plates. They looked at me like I was the most
stupid excuse for a human being they have ever met. “You are a fool,” their
eyes said to me, and they promptly switched plates.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Step three was to tend to the chickens. So, I put on my windbreaker (my
only coat) and headed outdoors. Mind you that the chickens have been in our
possession for about 250 days, but this is the first time I have cared for them.
And I got to practice in beautiful elements – 15 degrees below zero. “But it’s
a warm fifteen below,” I told myself. “There is no wind.”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I successfully freshened their water, provided them with more food and
scratch (whatever that is), and let them out of their coop and into the run. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Step four was to get the children off to school – but alas, school was
cancelled due to the frigid temperatures. And with that, I was back in bed.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A couple hours later, I arose again and decided to check for eggs. I
opened a trap door in the coop to find either Ziggy or Marley sitting
comfortably – on three eggs! On this dastardly cold day, this feathered clucker
had guarded the eggs from the elements. Now the eggs were still cold, you see,
and this was an important. fact Because if the eggs had frozen, Kacey told me that they
would not be good for human consumption and I should scramble them for the
chickens. “Scramble them for the chickens!” I said to myself in a high-pitched
voice. “Whatever.”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Having no idea what frozen eggs feel like, I decided to crack them right then
and there, and fortunately enough, none of them were frozen. Sofia was the
lucky recipient of my culinary skills, and said she thoroughly enjoyed her
scrambled freshness – at least until the point she dropped her fork between the
couch cushions and could not find it.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Skipping ahead to seven o’clock in the evening…I figured it would be
good to feed the human creatures in my possession. I found a gift card to
Cowboy’s Saloon, and just our luck, it was “wing-night,” with twenty wings
costing only five dollars. Given that Tito and I were the only ones eating
wings, I only ordered forty. The saloon was packed, likely due to it not only
being wing night, but also bingo night. A lover of any and all games, I asked the kids
if they wanted to participate, and before waiting for their reply, I bought a
card for a dollar. Now, I don’t know that it is a great example to teach your
kids how to gamble at such a young age, so I told the kids to view this as low
cost entertainment – as any amount we won would be given to our server.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After coming up empty for two rounds, I asked the kids if they wanted
to stay a bit longer, as the thousand-dollar jackpot was just two rounds away.
Bitsy was game, as always, but Tito protested and expressed a desire to get to
his homework. I briefly tried to talk him out of it, before coming to my senses when I saw an image of Kacey's scowling face hovering menacingly over our booth.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We got home around eight thirty, and I fed Cash. Part of me felt badly
that I stretched past his normal dinner time, but the other part noted that he
is the slowest dog at our neighborhood dog park, and perhaps he could stand to
lean-up a bit. I headed back into the frigid outdoors and crawled into the
chicken run, scooping up the chickens one by one and pushing them into their
coop. They clucked at me, and not to be outdone, I clucked right back at them.
After giving them some fresh, hot water, and another batch of food, I retreated
inside, my chest slightly puffed out with accomplishment.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I oversaw the completion of math and science homework, and even got the
children to take showers. Plopping down in my easy chair at nine-thirty, I
thought to myself, “This ain’t so bad.” We shall see.</span></div>
<br />ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-15440459340198235352013-12-29T20:32:00.002-08:002013-12-29T20:35:27.977-08:00Metrodome Memories<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Vikings just played their final game in the Metrodome, and in only
a couple weeks the Dome will be deflated for good. A variety of news sources
have been posting their top “Metrodome Moments.” I was fortunate enough to
spend a fair amount of time in the Dome, so I figured I would create my own
list of top 13 Metrodome Moments (in no particular order).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 1 – In my senior year of college, my friend Jeremy caught 5
touchdown passes in the first 17 minutes of our final regular season football
game. We had a 42-7 lead at the time, and the coaches pulled the offensive
starters for the remainder of the game. Some of my extended family in
attendance grumbled that paying 10 bucks to watch me play for 17 minutes was
kind of a rip-off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 2 – My friend Joe and I watched Adrian Peterson have a decent
game in his rookie year against the San Diego Chargers. We left early to beat
traffic and turned on the radio in our car to learn that after we left, AP
broke the NFL record for my rushing yards in a game. Fool me once…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 3 – …but you can’t fool me twice. My brother and I were watching
Brett Favre and the Vikings battle the 49ers. Favre was having a pretty brutal
game and when the Vikings gave the ball back to the 49ers with just a couple
minutes left to go, my brother and thousands of others stood up and said, “We
are out of here.” I talked him into staying and sure enough, Favre found Greg
Lewis for a last second touchdown. Older brothers are always wiser - well at
least this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 4 – In 1998, George Strait brought Tim McGraw, Faith Hill, and
John Michael Montgomery with him for a big ole boot stomping stadium show. I sweet
talked the security guard into letting my wife and me on the main floor, where
we danced the night away. I got a bit carried away on one dip and my wife’s head
slammed against the concrete floor. She left with a mild concussion, and Tim McGraw
left with a new girlfriend (that would be Faith Hill, not my wife).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 5 – I played in the state championship football game as a junior
in high school. The coaches moved me back to linebacker for one play. a
position I had never played nor practiced in my life. I was scared to death and
can’t remember much about the play. But the TV showed that I knocked Burnsville’s
all state center onto his keister and made a good tackle on the running back.
Glory days. I won’t mention that I spent the rest of the game getting trampled
on by Burnsville’s dominant left tackle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 6 – During a junior high field trip to watch a Twins game, a
thunder storm developed. The Dome’s ceiling started rippling, and the huge
lights above our hands started swaying perilously. When the roof finally ripped
open and drenched one section of people, panic ensued as folks raced for the corridors.
That moment certainly did not help my claustrophobic tendencies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 7 – In my sophomore year of college, we played against Carleton
in a highly touted matchup which was billed as the conference championship.
After a Friday practice where I am pretty sure the scout team offense never
crossed the line of scrimmage, we destroyed Carleton 70-7. And we will pretend
our season ended right then and there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 8 – My brother and I were showing our German friend Julia around
the cities and decided to stop by the dome on the day after a Vikings game. I
pulled the “She is German” card and security let us go run around on the field
all by ourselves for thirty minutes. My brother and I played catch with used
Gatorade cups and were in hog heaven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 9 – Playing in the state semifinals football game in my senior
year of high school, our not so brilliant assistant coach was so hyped up that
he worked us into the ground during pre-game warm-ups - right up until the time
the game started. Supposedly a leader on the team, I couldn’t catch my breath
until halftime and played the lousiest thirty minutes of football of my life.
By that time, we were already well behind. I’m no longer bitter. Really, I’m
not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 10 – The Gophers asked me to come on a recruiting visit during
my senior year of high school. I was with a couple dozen other recruits
watching the pre-game warm-ups when an assistant coach walked over to me with
his right hand extended. Quite giddy, I shook his hand. He then extended his
left hand and asked for the game program I was holding in my left hand. He
looked something up in the program, said thanks, and walked away. It is stunning
that the Gophers haven’t had more success in football given that strong type of
recruiting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 11 – I was playing in a touch football league on a team of bean
counters when I faked a block and lumbered out for a pass in the left corner of
the end zone. I caught the perfectly thrown ball for a touchdown, then tripped
over my own feet and landed abdomen-first on the ball. The ref told me to give
him the ball and then roll off the field so the game could continue. I wheezed
for several minutes and now wince in pain whenever I see a player get the wind
knocked out of themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 12 – I attended Game 7 of the 1991 World Series when the Twins
played host to the Atlanta Braves – that was the last time a Minnesota pro sports
team won one of the four major sporting championships. However, my parents had
given me some football pencils in elementary school, and as I thought the
Atlanta Falcons one looked the coolest, I cheered for everything Atlanta. So,
when Gene Larkin hit the game winning fly ball to center field, I hugged my
mom, waved my homer hanky, and cheered along with 60,000 others, but inside I
was crying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Number 13 – I learned of an opportunity to do some volunteer tax
preparation as part of Twins Fest, which was taking place at the Metrodome. I
was disappointed when I arrived and saw that we would be preparing the tax
returns at tables in the corridors. A co-worked asked, “What, did you expect
that we would be setup on the field and that people would be cheering for us as
we prepared tax returns?” Well, yeah.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Metrodome – thanks for the memories, and may you rest in peace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-66490910499703495632013-10-07T08:35:00.000-07:002013-10-07T08:56:14.952-07:00Twin Cities Marathon 2013<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">October 5th, 2008. The date when I ran my fifth (and perhaps
final) marathon. Despite diligent training and a relatively clean diet which
was dangerously light on chicken wings, I was hobbled by cramps at mile 16 –
cramps in my calves, hamstrings, quads, and groin. This was the fourth marathon
in a row that I had battled cramps, and nothing I tried could seem to prevent
them. I staggered through the rest of the race and missed a personal best by 2
minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<strong><u><em><span style="font-size: large;"></span></em></u></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Discouraged, I decided to keep my focus on shorter distance, so when I
toed the starting line near the Metrodome the following fall, it was for the 10
mile race. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">I still remember that day – it was gorgeous. Somewhere around the 5
mile mark, my buddy Trent noticed that the faceplate of his new fancy running
watch had fallen off. We told his wife Tracy to soldier on without us and Trent
and I backtracked in search of a 2 inch by 2 inch black object.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We never did find the missing faceplate, and
after at least ½ mile of running backward, and more than a couple increasingly
annoying “you are going the wrong way” comments, we turned around. Trent was
ticked and I was feeling great, so we decided to drop the hammer. We flew past hundreds
of runners, especially on the many inclines, and caught up to Tracy right
before the finish.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">As is the case with many runners, a frosty beverage sounded like a good
reward for the weeks of training and a race well run. We drove back to an open
spot just before Mile 24 of the upcoming marathon, and carried a smaller cooler
and boombox full of Rocky music out to a nice grassy patch. We cheered on the
marathon runners until the final one had passed us by. We were amazed at how
many made a point to thank us for being out there. We were also amazed at the
number of people who asked us for a sip of our beer – pressing the can to their
lips before handing it back to us. And with that, a tradition was born.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Every year, a group of us meet up at Mile 23.9 to cheer on the marathon
runners. Sometimes we run the 10 mile race beforehand; sometimes we don’t. Here
is a report from the 2013 edition of the Twin Cities Marathon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">8:00am – My alarm clock sounds. It would be nice to sleep in some more
but not this day. Today, I am needed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">8:02 – I find that my wife has a full pot of coffee waiting for me. She
rocks. She is also pretty hot, but that is not relevant to this report.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">9:30 – We leave home with a mini-van packed down with essentials... A
full sound system, a couple coolers full of beer, and several dozen of my
wife’s homemade monster cookies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">9:40 – We stop at Target for the remaining necessities…Jolly Ranchers
and Tootsie Rolls, 5 ounce Dixie cups, a jumbo umbrella, and several gallons of
water.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">10:15 – Everything is unloaded at mile 23.9 and we are beginning to get
setup. My folks are out for their first Mile 23.9 experience and seem unsure
what to expect. The lead runners are beginning to fly by, but that is okay, we
really aren’t here to support than anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">10:16 – Residents who live on the other side of the street come over to
tell us they will call the cops if we play our music too loud as we are simply
“noise polluters.” They shake their finger at us in a menacing fashion. We
promise to keep the music to a reasonable level and go about our business of
preparing to help 10,000 people reach the finish line. They go about their
business of scowling at the evil that has taken over their street before
quickly retreating into their mansion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">10:30 – The music is pumping, with the Black Eyed Peas “I’ve Got a
Feeling” getting the nod as our opener.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">10:45 – Other members of our cheering section arrive – a former student
and his wife, sister, and best friend. Marathons bring families together, and
they are much cheaper than counseling and more fun than family reunions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">11:00 – Another 15 friends and family members have arrived and are
putting their hands together and cheering for the runners. Presumably the
mansion dwellers are getting nervous by our growing numbers. In fact, they
probably think that marathon day is kind of like the recent box office hit,
“The Purge,” and are expecting us to attack at any moment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">11:15 – One of the younger folks decides the runners may be thirsty and
volunteers to take over beer-pouring duties. His belief is correct and soon
thereafter our station becomes very popular.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">11:30 – It is drizzling on and off, and I am thankful for the newly
acquired $19.99 jumbo umbrella which is now protecting my sound system. Great
purchase, I tell myself with a bit of pride.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">11:45 – A guy wearing a headband, midriff-exposing t-shirt, and cut-off
jorts (that is jean shorts for you non-hip folks) runs into our station. After
he grabs his third Dixie cup of Corona, I wonder if we will need to cut him
off. But after pounding it in record fashion, he runs off - on pace to finish
30 minutes faster than I ever did while wearing proper running shorts and properly
hydrating with water and Gatorade. I decide that if I ever run another
marathon, I will wear jorts. And then I remember how badly I tend to chafe, and
I decide that wearing jorts would be as silly as, perhaps, running in a
Chewbacca costume.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">11:50 – My brother is holding my almost three-year old nephew and they
are giving high-fives to the runners. The smile on my nephew’s face is sure to
shave 20 seconds off the finishing time of any runner who sees him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">12:05 – Our friend Sandra from church shows up. Sandra is running her
first marathon and is one of perhaps 100 runners that are running for the
organization World Vision. Sandra gives us a double thumbs up and runs off -
looking so happy that I secretly want to beat her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">12:09 – I turn off the music and announce to the crowd that it was four
hours and nine minutes into the Boston Marathon when the bombs went off. When I
say that the act of cowards cannot stop us, everyone begins to cheer. And I
crank up Toby Keith’s “Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">12:15 – A runner hobbles into our station to grab some water, and I
recognize his limp. It is the limp of someone cramping up. Without warning, he
grabs at his calf and shrieks in pain, Dixie cup tumbling to the ground. My dad
is first to embrace the sweat-soaked man, and former student Mike is soon to
follow. The runner is in luck, as Mike is an elite athlete and is currently in
chiropractic school. Mike goes to work on his calf, and after a couple more
bouts of cramping and shrieking, his pain is gone. He leaves us for a minute to
go heave in the bushes and when he returns, Mike gives him a thorough
working-over – stretching, massaging, and pressure points. At that moment, I
can’t help but wonder what the mansion dwellers are doing to help humanity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">12:20 – Drizzle has turned to rain, but thankfully my brother brought a
canopy large enough to cover the West side of St. Paul, so we are set. And I
have Luke Bryan’s hit “Rain is a Good Thing” queued up and ready to rock.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">12:30 – I play a Pitbull song and notice that most of the runners are
now dancing. I am unsure who this Pitbull person is – whether it is a guy, gal,
band, or simply an actual pit bull dog with a good voice. I also don’t much
care for Pitbull’s music, but today is not about me. I follow-up Pit-Bull with
ChumbaWumba, and I feel like I am back in the late 90’s.”I get knocked down,
but I get up again. Ain’t never gonna keep me down.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">12:35 – Our Rejuvenation Station is very popular right now. Many
runners cut across the entire road, nearly knocking others over, just to see
what we have to offer. Two female runners run by and one of them says to the
other, “They have beer.” So I grab my microphone and say, “Yes. We do have
beer.” And they turn around, extending their 26.2 mile race by an extra forty
feet or so.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">12:50 – A man I do not recognize is standing across the road, sometimes
watching the runners but mostly just staring at us with his arms folded. We
send my dad over to investigate.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">12:55 – My dad returns to say that the man is another neighbor, but is
very impressed by our spirit. He will no longer get an invitation to the
mansion dwellers’ holiday party. I am actually guessing that the mansion
dwellers do not have a holiday party as people having fun scares them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">1:10 – I notice that a few of my wife’s monster cookies are left, and
as I haven’t eaten anything yet today, I am tempted. By they are not for me –
at least not yet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">1:15 – No way! A runner in a full and very wet Chewbacca costume slowly
trots by. I am sure he/she is miserable, but in 2.3 miles, his/her race will be
over. And he/she will be able to say that he ran a marathon in a full Chewbacca
costumer. Bragging rights forever.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">1:20 – A runner juggling several balls comes into sight. He does this
every year, and he never ceases to amaze me. I am tempted to ask him if he can
one-up himself next year by juggling while wearing a Chewbacca costume with
jorts underneath, but decide against it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">1:30 – The folks coming through now are on pace to finish the marathon
in a time of about 6 hours. My slowest finish was a bit over 5 hours, and I
can’t imagine being out there for another hour.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">1:45 – The sweep bus, official race SUV’s, and a couple police cars
slowly drive by. The marathon is over. A few runners have fallen behind them,
but they are now moved off the road and must run on the sidewalk to make room
for traffic.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">2:00 – We have cleaned-up our area, including hundreds of used Dixie
Cups and empty Jolly Rancher and Tootsie Roll wrappers. The mini-van is packed,
and a bit lighter, for the drive home. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">2:10 – We are driving home and there are about eight monster cookies
left in the basket on my wife’s lap. She hands me one, then another, and then
one more. I decide that the runners should be happy I didn’t get into these
earlier.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">3:00 – I am taking a nap, but you probably don’t care about that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">6:30 – My son and I take our dog for a walk. Not surprisingly, I have
an extra spring in my step. As we near home, it begins to rain, and the three
of us break into a slow jog…and it feels good.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">And with that, another marathon and Mile 23.9 Rejuvenation Station are
in the books. Congrats to all runners!</span><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_ALFW22WU8&feature=youtu.be"><strong>http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_ALFW22WU8&feature=youtu.be</strong></a><br />
</div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-91842721581624248242013-01-06T16:57:00.001-08:002013-01-06T16:57:43.851-08:00The Beautiful Girl<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
It was a bit past five o’clock, and darkness was already beginning to
fall over the Caribbean. My wife was
fiddling with her phone by the hotel’s reception desk, and our friends were at
a restaurant watching the football game.
The hour before sunset is my favorite of the day, and I intended to
enjoy it. I picked up my John Grisham
novel and a bottle of cold Mexican beer, and made the 100 foot walk from my
cabana to a beach lounger. There I sat -
alone, but completely happy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
The occasional tourists would walk by, usually an olive-skinned couple
speaking in a European dialect. The men
would have plenty of tattoos and facial hair, and the ladies would have skinny
legs and sunglasses.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Eventually, a lone traveler began to walk down the beach toward me, and
when she drew near, she began to approach me.
Figuring that she wanted me to take a picture of her or provide her with
directions to the local cantina, I glanced up over my book.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“Could you watch my bag for a few minutes?” she asked. The accent told me that she was French – no,
Italian. Definitely Italian. She was probably in her late 20’s. Not planning to leave my spot until the last
ray of sunlight had disappeared, I agreed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
After setting down her bag, she slipped off her shoes, then her shorts,
and then her shirt. What was left was
nothing but a black bikini covering a small portion of her slender body. I guess she is going for a swim, I thought to
myself. With her back to me, she then
untied her bikini top, let it drop behind her, and walked out into the ocean.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
She bobbed about for ten minutes, and although I kept trying to focus
on my book, I found myself reading the same paragraph over and over again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
About this time, I began to get nervous, because I knew what was coming. She would eventually come back out of the
water.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I turned to our cabana and looked for my wife, but she was nowhere in
sight. I then thought about what my
pastor recommends to do in these situations – run! But, I had agreed to watch her belongings. So, I just sat there and waited for it to
happen. Eventually, she came out of the
water and pushed her long brown hair back as she walked toward me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I sensed that my anxiety would be more obvious if I pretended to ignore
her, so I decided to quickly engage her in polite conversation. Within a few seconds, her top was back on and
she picked up her belongings. She smiled as she said “thank you” and turned to
continue walking down the beach.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
And then she walked out of sight, before my wife or friends came to
find me. So, there is no proof that it
ever happened. But it did.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Five minutes later, my wife sat down on the lounger next to me and
asked how I was doing, likely expecting me to reply with a grunt. I told her my tale, and she simply laughed in
amusement. And I watched her face light
up as she laughed, and felt pleased to have the company of the most beautiful
girl on the beach.<o:p></o:p></div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-87109633093276645642012-11-20T08:13:00.001-08:002012-11-20T08:17:11.855-08:00John Gagliardi retires<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yesterday, like countless other days, I spent the morning in John’s office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To an extent, it was just like any other morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Players, monks, and coaches popped in, as John held court and fired off one-liners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But yesterday was different, as there was also a seemingly endless line of reporters waiting at his door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday, John Gagliardi retired, as the most winning coach in the history of college football.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Up until a couple years ago, I would have agreed with many fans who felt that John would never retire, rather he would take his final breath while still the football coach of St. John’s .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But John did retire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know this as I watched it all unfold from the comfort of his office sofa, audio recorder beside me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I caught John’s raw emotion, as well as that of his coaches, family, friends, current and former players, and even his loyal reporters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I experienced was nothing short of mystical, and I would love to share it with all of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I will…in my book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m not holding out on you because I want to sell more copies of my book, but rather because until you read the rest of John’s story, you won’t fully appreciate what happened on his final morning as the football coach of Saint John’s University.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br />
<br /> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, speaking of my book, the most common question I am asked these days (outside of my kids asking for a treat) is, “How is the book going?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think at the homecoming football game in September, I answered that question nearly 100 times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always reply that I have a lot done, but a lot yet to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have written over 150 pages single spaced, which is longer than I want the book to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything is organized into chapters, but the content within the chapters is still pretty rough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am getting close to the point of compiling my writing into a book proposal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are unfamiliar with a book proposal (as I was up until a few months ago), it involves a title (still not decided), an outline for the book, a synopsis for each chapter, a couple sample chapters, and a variety of other information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the news of John’s retirement, the core of my book will remain in place, but I will certainly need to modify my proposal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once this proposal is finished, I will send it to literary agents, and hopefully find one who believes in the project as much as I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After I have secured an agent, they will shop it to publishers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once a deal has been reached with a publisher, I will be assigned an editor at the publishing house to finalize the book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I anticipate being able to send a book proposal to agents within a month and should be able to finish a solid draft of the entire book within two months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had originally anticipated a release in either the fall of 2013 or 2014, but I am not yet sure how that timing will be impacted by John’s retirement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One thing that will never waver is that this book will be very honoring of John and his entire family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, while sitting in his office, I was mindful of how he was being treated by the media, and didn’t hesitate to break in and remind him to eat lunch and to keep drinking water so that he wouldn’t pass out during his press conference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At one point, John excused himself to “go to the can” and a photographer from a major newspaper kept snapping pictures as John crossed the hall and entered the locker room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bit afraid that this young lad would act on his excitement, I warned, “If you follow him to the bathroom, I’m going to tackle you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He stayed put, and I suppose that was a good thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But on the other hand, it would have been kind of nice to make one final tackle for John.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdNToQQUsqew8A3IQzjpkNj26893WIIyhqsrMQMNQUHg4SIbRvpvYews52AsghJjUl39yAV51-yFPNPZQpydIY3Bq0oOcV8PayIwlMZSBGYCcXUGdMx5WYM8GX9KfLLq2GaCzCx1bfsEqC/s1600/john+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdNToQQUsqew8A3IQzjpkNj26893WIIyhqsrMQMNQUHg4SIbRvpvYews52AsghJjUl39yAV51-yFPNPZQpydIY3Bq0oOcV8PayIwlMZSBGYCcXUGdMx5WYM8GX9KfLLq2GaCzCx1bfsEqC/s640/john+pic.jpg" width="524" /></a></div>
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ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-40690021128459807512012-11-18T21:18:00.003-08:002012-11-18T21:20:19.843-08:00The Norwegian Widower - Days 9 and 10<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
As I rolled over toward my nightstand to smack the noise-making-thing-with-numbers-on-it, I realized I would probably prefer to be awoken by the sound of nails on a chalkboard compared to my alarm clock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I limped (from fatigue, not pain) down the stairs and successfully located the frying pan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And on the ninth day…I finally cooked the scrambled eggs to perfection, or about as close as I will ever come.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
We had run out of juice boxes in the fridge the day before, and I had neglected to find out if stores would sell me some more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result, I was feeling uncertain and even somewhat afraid of what beverage I would pack Tito for lunch, and also how Bitsy would choke down her medicine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a whim, I looked on the shelf in the garage, and there, in what seemed like a modern day miracle, was another container of juice boxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nearly wept tears of joy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After letting her stay up until eleven o’clock last night, I somehow roused Bitsy around eight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was expecting an unpleasant morning, but in a shocking turn of events, she consumed all 40 milligrams of her medicine in only five minutes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much to her delight, I responded by loudly bellowing, “Ladies and gentlemen, here she is, your medicine consuming champion of the world, Sofiaaaa Bossssstrommmmmmmmmmmm!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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After dropping her off at school, I returned to the guest room for a two hour nap, unable to get myself back out of bed until snoozing the alarm two times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nearly the first thing I found after arising was Tito’s homework on the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may have been visible had the floor been less cluttered.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Just before leaving to do some consulting, the friendly people at Kohl’s charge card called to inquire as to why we were late with our payment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After successfully talking them out of both a $25 late fee and $10 operator-assisted payment fee, I settled our account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I hung up the phone, I couldn’t help but wonder how many other folks we owe money to, as I haven’t looked at bills since Kacey left.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I spend a few hours at my client and stayed in a consulting meeting until the last minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As usual, I grossly underestimated the time it would take to get to Bitsy’s school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As she finally saw my car drive into sight, she put her hands on her hips and scowled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I begged her forgiveness, which I believe was granted.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Upon arriving home, I found Big Daddy and one of my uncles trying to unclog my drain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple hours, thirty foot snake, and two trips to the hardware store later, we were back in business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knew that a leftover beef roast doesn’t work well down the drain?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
When they went to the hardware for the second time, I realized I had 30 minutes before leaving for church, and had neither the energy nor the knowledge of how to actually find something to make for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When my dad said he would pick up some burgers and fries at McDonald’s, I wanted to shout for joy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
By the time I arrived at church, I was absolutely numb and in substandard condition to lead a small group of 11 energetic sixth grade boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In an act of mercy, only six of the boys showed up and were delightful and well behaved.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I got home to see that nobody had kidnapped Bitsy Tito and I were gone; I was never so happy to see her spend a couple straight hours on the computer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I collapsed into my chair and wrote a bit, extremely thankful that Tito didn’t need any help with his homework.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bit late<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">r, as I tucked him in, I asked him what he missed most about Kacey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, “Well, probably that she is really nice.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I tucked in Bitsy, I similarly asked her if she was excited for Kacey’s impending arrival, “Yeah, I am happy mom is coming home, but it was fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are a good dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You aren’t completely useless, except for cooking and for picking me up from school 15 minutes late.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Despite being absolutely exhausted, I had consulting work to do, a book to write, and a Norwegian Widower blog to update (which in hindsight was probably not my brightest idea).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus, I couldn’t relax, and I worked until about one thirty in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After tossing, turning, and twitching for an hour, I got back up and worked some more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finally drifted off sometime after four-thirty in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Based on the recommendation of one of my blog followers, I just shut the door to my own bedroom to keep the cats out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wow, that was easy, and I wish I’d followed their advice earlier!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When the alarm went off just a bit over two hours later, I was depressed to realize I didn’t even leave myself enough time to hit the snooze button.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hunched over a bit, I staggered down the hallway toward Tito’s room and noticed that my mouth was hanging open, one eye was closed, and the other was half shut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough, after finally perfecting scrambled eggs the day before, Tito asked for a waffle today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Every time I turned around in the kitchen, I found myself needing to stand still for a few seconds just to re-focus both my eyes and my brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He made it out the door with combed hair, and a bit later, I supervised Bitsy’s medicine-taking for the final time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I failed in my goal to teach her how to swallow a pill, it seems that she developed a new way for her to take her medicine, as it took her barely over three minutes<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and the gagging noises were kept to a minimum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I dropped Bitsy off at school and went home to do some consulting work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a couple hours of Excel spreadsheets, I was unable to keep my eyes open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a late night and a long weekend ahead, I called my consulting boss and more or less pleased for an extension, which was I was delighted that she granted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">After hanging up, I was looked around my house and realized I was going to be leaving it somewhat messy for Kacey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was feeling discouraged about doing that, but just then, my mother-in-law called and said that she and Kacey’s sister would be over in a little bit to clean our house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wow!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I crashed for a solid three hours and scrambled to get ready.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had plans that evening which involved picking up a country music singing friend from the airport, so</span><span style="color: #333333; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> <span lang="EN">after moving my sister-in-law’s car out from behind my own, I drove Tito and Bitsy over to Big Daddy’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would be picking up both Kacey and my mom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As I dropped the kids off in my final act as a Norwegian Widower and drove away to pick up my buddy, I reflected a bit on the experience and want to give a quick shout out to three different groups of people:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">To stay at home parents like Kacey, I salute you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t meet anything but my kids’ basic needs, and my readers may even question if I did that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, your ability to be there for your kids provides a stability that is irreplaceable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, you could be making more money or contributing to society in a different way if you weren’t at home, but the role you play in developing your children is valuable beyond belief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know this, because I am married to a woman who is (almost always) joyful to be a stay at home mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the work she has done with our kids over the past years has molded them into responsible and delightful kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know how I would have survived 10 days with them without the benefit of the foundation she has built.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And to single parents who don’t have my fortune of seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, you amaze me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trying to balance<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the needs of my kids while still pulling home a paycheck was incredibly stressful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I have well-behaved 11 and 9 year old kids, and some of you have younger kids that require significantly more of your time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, to those of you reading this who know a single parent, please try to help them out periodically, either with chores, babysitting, or whatever you can offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kacey does this on a regular basis with a single mom, and I have never appreciated her efforts more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Wrapping up my journey, I picked up my buddy at the airport 45 minutes late and we began to head to our first event of the weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was then that I received a call from my sister-in-law asking me if I knew where her car keys were, as I had moved her car just an hour earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After thinking for a moment, I patted my front pants pocket and found them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I drove back home, I couldn’t help but think that it was a fitting end to my ten day comedy of errors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And with that, I don't think I have ever been so happy to say these next two words...</span></div>
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</span>ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-35564729818782666982012-11-14T21:53:00.002-08:002012-11-14T21:53:38.014-08:00The Norwegian Widower - Day 8<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tito again put the kibosh on my attempt to gain a few precious minutes of extra sleep with his standard, “Wake up!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is starting to resemble a character out of an Stephen King movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At least I remembered to heat up the frying pan today before spraying it, so his eggs didn’t turn out black, just brown as I over-cooked them for whatever-day-this-is in a row.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tito misplaced his jacket, and I had no energy to help him look for it, so I had him try on one of my old extra-large NASCAR jackets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It dwarfed him, I didn’t care, and I sent him off to school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thinking that Jeff Foxworth could have come up with another “You might be a redneck” joke had he saw my son that day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bitsy actually got up without too many problems and sat down at the kitchen counter to take her medicine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I set the timer for eight minutes and she made her usual gasping, gagging, and screeching noises until the buzzer went off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went over to ensure she had suffered down every last milligram, but as I approached her, I could tell something wasn’t right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her head was down, and she starting pounding the counter wish her fist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I reached her, she had tears in her eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She hadn’t finished her medicine, and the consequence was…no computer for the rest of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This unexpected situation put me at a crossroads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe in being firm with consequences, yet she had nailed this new medicine-taking process every day thus far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went for the empathetic approach and said, “Alright, if you can get the rest down in the next minute, that will be okay.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She worked in a fury, had it down within 30 seconds, and life went on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If she turns out to be an undisciplined disaster someday, well, go ahead and blame…Kacey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If she wasn’t in Norway, I wouldn’t have been in the medicine-enforcement roll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I would have still been sleeping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I was getting Bitsy ready for school, I took another look at the note that Kacey had left for me regarding the product that goes into Bitsy’s hair after head-washing (discussed previously on day 5).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough, it isn’t supposed to be a lotion, it is a spray – so whatever I put in Bitsy’s hair on Saturday was wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Raise your hand if you are surprised…seeing no hands, I will continue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After dropping Bitsy off at school with five minutes to spare, I returned home for my daily nap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, I could only snooze for about an hour, as I had a consulting call to attend. I thought <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>about taking the call from bed, and just may have done that if I wasn’t worried about falling asleep<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and snoring into the phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After my call, I actually thought about taking my second nap of the morning, but decided that drinking half of the country of Columbia’s annual production of coffee may keep me awake for a few hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I drove out to my consulting client around noon, I was frustrated at the thought of having to leave three hours later to pick up Bitsy from school, just to drive her home one mile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, she would probably just sit in front of the computer or play with friends until dinnertime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The problem is that Kacey decided that as she is a stay-at-home mom, our family shouldn’t pay the $250 to have Bitsy transported to school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is all well and good, except when Kacey is several thousand miles away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I enlisted Big Daddy for pick up duties, although it was also someone stressful for him to pick her up as he had some sort of repair dude at his house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before we hung up he told me, “I will pick her up, but do us all a favor and stay at your consulting client long enough (they pay me hourly) to earn the $250 and just put her on the bus next time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I ended up getting home around five and promptly found my easy chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was spent; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no motivation to do anything except stare at the ceiling, and even that was exhausting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yep, it was pretty obviously that I’d had it - I needed Kacey back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I tried to pacify the kids with a snack of chips and salsa, but was met with protests from Tito.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, dinner was burgers and tator tots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so defeated in my prior attempt to make broccoli that I didn’t even try again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tito has had fruits and vegetables a grand total of two times in Kacey’s absence (unless you count apple juice as a fruit).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interestingly enough, he went #2 three times after dinner and said his stomach was not feeling well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose a diet involving no fiber will do that to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kacey really needs to come home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tito had a fair amount of homework, and I erred in not having him start it until 7 o’clock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is an early bird and begins to tire around 8.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, his motivation wasn’t high and my energy level was on empty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was shorter than I should have been with him, a pretty poor teacher in fact (I guess I now know what University of St. Thomas professors feel like), but we got it done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After tucking him in, Bitsy sat on the couch across from me and worked on her own book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t homework, rather just writing for fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, at about eleven o’clock on a school night, I figured I should make her go to bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am pretty sure I didn’t even tuck her in – it was too far away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Completely exhausted, I tried to crash around midnight, but couldn’t settle my brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t made much progress on my own book, but have no energy to do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kacey gets back late Thursday afternoon, and it can’t come soon enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After tossing and turning for at least an hour, I finally drifted off to sleep.</span></div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-10422624925626038372012-11-13T20:20:00.000-08:002012-11-20T16:57:22.362-08:00The Norwegian Widower - Day 7<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Desperate to squeeze in a few extra minutes of sleep, I set my alarm for 6:55 instead of this week’s normal 6:45 (and compared to Kacey’s 6:30).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tito took care of that, however, when he came in a few minutes before my alarm was to go off and said, “Wake up, Dad!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I certainly need to beg Big Daddy to come over and install a lock on the door.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was in an absolute daze as I staggered down to the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I set the frying pan on the burner, stared at it blankly, and then sprayed it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was, of course, before turning on the gas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, when I figured out how to turn on the burner, the gas heated up the pan and made the spray somewhat black.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tito’s eggs thus ended up a mixture of yellow and black, kind of a like a bumblebee or one of the guys from the 1980’s Christian hard rock band Stryper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to hide the discolored eggs with his toast, which must have been at least partially successful as he ate most of his breakfast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I was making Tito’s lunch, I asked him where his lunchbox was, which led to this exchange:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I don’t know, I must have lost it at school.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What do you mean?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did you lose it at school???”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Dad…nobody is perfect.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had no comeback for that one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Coming off a long weekend, I let Bitsy sleep in a while longer than usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when I woke her up, she asked for just “twooooo morrrrre minutesssssss” to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I say no, especially when she fell back asleep right before my eyes and I watched her mouth drop open and her breathing become deeper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, I had to wake up her Royal Cuteness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Using the timer to get her to take her medicine worked yet again, although it was quite comical to listen to her cough, gag, and sound like she was being stabbed to death while putting those whopping 40 milligrams in her mouth over a period of eight minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As soon as I got home after dropping her off at school, I was back in bed and comatose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dang alarm clock went off 90 minutes later, as I had a meeting to attend at St. John’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as I was leaving my house, I noticed that our sink was plugged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been issues with our sink and garbage disposal lately, apparently it does not like the combination of leftover beef and hot water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh well, perhaps I can leave it until Kacey gets home and then when the sink fills up on her, I can pull a Chris Farley in Tommy Boy and yell, “Hey, what did you do to our sink?!?!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My meeting at school went quite well considering the person who called the meeting didn’t show up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My 80 mile trek was not a total failure, however, as I visited John, the subject of my sabbatical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t talked to him since the beginning of the football season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone has been asking him if he is going to retire, so we brainstormed some comical answers he could start giving to reporters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our favorite one…the head football coach at Hamline University just resigned, perhaps to pursue Bigfoot on a full time basis (he is an expert on Bigfoot, no lie).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John and I decided he should announce that he is leaving St John’s and has signed a 10 year contract to turn around the Hamline squad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I got back from school and plopped down on my easy chair to do some consulting work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a bit, the kids reminded me that it was my responsibility to provide them with dinner, so I decided to cook up some Denny’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a delightful dinner full of “would you rather” questions (one of our family’s favorite activities) and discussion with the 85 year old widow in the booth next to us – I am pretty sure she wanted to adopt me by the end of our chat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After dinner, we picked up Bitsy’s new eyeglasses and upon putting them on for the first time, she felt like the blind man healed by Jesus and shouted, “I can see!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But unlike the miracle in the book of Mark, no one needed to spit on her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One thing that I noticed in this experience as a single dad is that supplies are not endless in one’s house - you actually have to shop for toilet paper, it doesn’t magically keep appearing in the bathroom. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus, we stopped by Walmart to pick up a variety of things, including a small waste basket for used cat litter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After spending 10 minutes looking 8-gallon sized garbage bags, but finding only about 400 different varieties of 13-gallon sized bags, I gave up and began to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we passed a nearby aisle filled with treats, the kids launched into a tale of desperation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told them they could pick out a treat only if they could find 8-gallon sized bags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>60 seconds later, Bitsy surfaced while holding the bags and put her treat into the cart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What kind of treat is that?” I asked as I gestured toward the box of whatever she selected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Something really good,” she replied, “and that is all you need to know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We arrived home and I successfully made the kids brush their teeth before tucking them in around nine thirty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I probably should have just gone to bed as well at that time, I did some work and made a poor attempt at writing until I finally called it a night at half past one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, I didn’t even bother with my own cat-infested bedroom, I went straight to the guest room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have some friends coming in town this weekend, and they may be disappointed when I tell them that the guest room bed is taken. And I may not even let Kacey join me, as she'd probably bring the sleep-depriving-furballs with her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And to think I once paid good money to go to a Stryper concert, and my brother and I would spend hours debating whether "To Hell with the Devil" or "Honestly" was a better tune.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><img height="640" src="http://userserve-ak.last.fm/serve/252/128415.jpg" width="637" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">RIP Chris Farley.</span></div>
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ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-37280277899980357962012-11-13T06:28:00.000-08:002012-11-13T06:28:03.499-08:00The Norwegian Widower - Day 6<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of my buddies sent Tito to wake me up a bit after nine o’clock, and I must admit that I really enjoyed a cat-less night of sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Part of the benefit of this overnight play date was that my buddy’s wife always puts on a nice spread for breakfast - eggs, bacon, and sausage from their own chickens and pigs – and not only do I enjoy that deliciousness for myself, but I know the kids will be taken care of.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We left right after breakfast as we had to volunteer at church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As is my custom, I showed up a minute late, likely raising the anxiety level of our kind kids-area coordinator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every other week, we watch a bunch of 18-24 month olds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although my kids were feeling the effects of staying up past midnight and using the rocking chairs for themselves, we made it through the hour without incident and without having to change any poopy diapers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Upon arriving home, Tito announced that the Dolly Mama had barfed again, amazingly at the same spot at the top of the stairs next to the previous projectile that still remained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last time it worked much better to wait until it dried to clean it up, so I chose that option again and instead took a two hour nap. I did vacuum up the vomit, but again did not do any carpet-scrubbing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are getting new carpet sometime in the next couple weeks anyway, so is there really any reason to clean it up?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The kids read my blog while I was napping (they think these blogs are cool because they are in them) and Bitsy promptly told me, “Part 4 was not very good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was filled with a bunch of boring stuff that only adults like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please make the next part more interesting.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As an aside, the kids also like to “audit” my blogs and tell me if I am saying something inaccurate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that’s okay, I used to work for Arthur Andersen, so if I don’t like the kids’ input, I just shred it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After doing my best to satisfy the little dictator, I decided to actually cook dinner for the first time since Kacey has been gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess there is a reason she thaws meat in advance, as the rib-eyes were frozen solid when I took them out of the freezer, go figure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That delayed dinner until after seven o’clock, which would have been fine except only Bitsy obeyed my request to make herself a sandwich for lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While the slabs of meat turned out delicious, the French fries were a bit old and maybe freezer burned, and I advised the kids to eat them with caution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Further, I managed to mess up the steamed broccoli.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How I did that I am not sure, but I guess it is what I get for trying to serve a vegetable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some excitement for the evening was that I noticed one of the cats frantically trying to get into one of our kitchen cupboards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough, the mousetrap I set was successful!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In order to satisfy the cat’s curiosity, I set the “full” mousetrap down in front of the cat for his inspection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While that seemed like a good idea at the time, I hadn’t counted on the cat running away with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finally chased the cat down upstairs and in the guest room before any mouse parts were consumed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This evening, I accomplished a monumental task in getting Tito to wash his melon before bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As mentioned before, Kacey requested an every other day head-washing, so getting it done for the first time on day 6 probably counts as failure on that one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After trying to write, but generally feeling to worn out to accomplish much save for staring at the computer screen, I tried to hit the hay at about one o’clock in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the cats were again enjoying play time in our room, so I walked to the guest room and probably fell asleep around two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s okay, I suppose I only have to live with these cats for another 10-15 years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-9723740081875170272012-11-11T15:22:00.002-08:002012-11-11T15:26:09.085-08:00The Norwegian Widower - Day 5<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: SimSun; mso-fareast-language: ZH-CN;">Ahhhh, the weekend….I relished the opportunity to sleep in and did not get out of bed until 9:30 (in the </span>morning, thank you).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After eating a breakfast of leftover pizza, I let the kids know they were on their own for the first meal of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured that three days of cooking eggs and waffles entitled me to a break.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Kacey had left me a task of washing Bitsy’s hair at least once, so I figured this morning was a good time to check that off the list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kacey had also told me to put some sort of lotion in Bitsy’s hair before combing it; I assume it is some sort of anti-snarling potion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After Bitsy’s bath, I had her go find what she thought was the lotion and inspected it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon seeing the word “hair” somewhere on the bottle, I assumed Bitsy had grabbed the correct bottle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put what I am pretty sure was way too much in her hair, but not knowing what to do, I figured too much was better than too little.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After puttering around for a while, I had to leave for the Johnnies final football game of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Big Daddy wasn’t available to watch the kids, and I hadn’t arranged for anyone else to do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They expressed less than zero interest in going with me, even when faced with the alternative of spending four hours home alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">For any horrified readers… the game was ten minutes away from my house, the kids know my cell phone number, they get along great and don’t get into trouble, and we live in an extremely safe neighborhood where they know many of the neighbors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, my folks often left my brother and me in the car for hours on end while they went bar hopping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, maybe not, but my mom reads my blog so I figured I’d make sure she was awake!)<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before I left, I gave them each one instruction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tito…take a bath and wash your hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bitsy, here is your medicine, make sure it gets in your body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also pointed out where the bread, peanut butter, and honey was and encouraged them to make themselves a sandwich when they got hungry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I returned from the game a few hours later, Tito informed me that he had indeed taken a bath, but had not washed his hair as he could not find the shampoo - of course, I had pointed the shampoo out to him earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bitsy’s bowl of medicine was gone (not the medicine, but the entire bowl), and she did not remember whether or not she consumed it – I am going with ,”No.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither of them made a sandwich, but did manage to find other snacks and treats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While this may sound like a disaster, I was of course pleased that they were alive, well, and happy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before heading to church, I fed the cats and cleaned out their litter box, but couldn’t remember what I was forgetting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I later remembered that I didn’t check their water dish to see if it needed replenished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I figured if they ran out, they could get resourceful and use the toilets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After church, we stopped at McDonald’s for dinner, amazingly the first time they have eaten fast foot since Kacey has been gone!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had arranged for an overnight play-date for them, figuring that a good parent does stuff like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never mind the fact that the play date was at the house of my best friend, with another great buddy crashing over as well – I did this for my kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once we got to the my buddy’s house, my kids ran off with his kids, and I rewarded myself for a few days of hard work with a seat on the sectional couch in front of a 120 inch video screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We watched college football until after midnight and rarely saw or heard from the kids.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At that point, I made my way upstairs to find my kids watching a movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I arranged to have the movie turned off and found places for them to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did not bring their tooth brushes with, as I had asked them to do so before leaving for church, and then later realized we had got distracted and forgotten about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tito was so tired, he did not even protest about having to sleep in one of the girls’ rooms, unaware that he was be infested with girl germs and cooties.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tired from not having taken my usual nap, I decided to crash as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After asking someone to wake me up at nine o’clock, I found the guest room and laid down for a night of cat-less sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-70368481875871405062012-11-10T09:22:00.002-08:002012-11-11T15:26:00.887-08:00The Norwegan Widower - Day 4<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was startled awake in the middle of the night by something thrashing frantically under my legs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my sleep, I must have folded one of our cats into the blanket and rolled over on top of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cat survived, but I’m not sure he will try to snuggle with me on the bed anymore – and I am okay with that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only thing furry I prefer in bed with me is my wife when she forgets to shave her legs for a week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I crashed back to sleep again until the dastardly alarm clock woke me up at a quarter to seven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Due to Bitsy’s first student council meeting, this morning was a bit more chaotic as I had to get both kids out the door at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I timed it somewhat poorly such that neither kid was able to finish their breakfast, and much to her horror, Bitsy only had seven minutes to consume her medicine instead of her regular eight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, while I combed Tito’s hair, I didn’t wet it down first, so he looked like a kid that, well, combed his hair without wetting it down first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, I will admit, I preferred getting them both ready at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I worked hard for 45 minutes, and then re-assumed my slumber in the cat-free bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Around 10 o’clock, I was awoken by Big Daddy’s voice in our kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was returning my car and had not only filled it up with gas, but also got the oil changed and washed it inside and out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knew that someone could get so much done at such an early hour of the day?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Ummm, the folks at Valvoline said it has been over 10,000 miles since you last changed your oil,” Big Daddy said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is he fanatic about oil changing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I think if he ever wins the lottery (albeit difficult because he doesn’t play), he will hire someone to change the oil on his car daily, and probably also the oil in the cars owned by my brother and I as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not wanting to disappoint him, I figured my best option was to flat out lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No,” I said as believably as I could, “I changed it myself once in between, probably 5,000 miles ago.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No you didn’t,” he replied, “there was still a Valvoline oil filter on your car.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously, how did he find that out, did he tell the folks at Rapid Oil to hand him the filter?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided it would be best to continue the lie and tell him that I thought I had changed it 5,000 miles ago, but must have been mistaken, when in reality, I knew I hadn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After he drove away, all I could think was here is a guy who does all these nice things for me, and what do I do in return?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lie to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, five minutes later I called him up and confessed my sins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He laughed and forgave me, and I felt better for coming clean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I am quite happy not to have an overdue oil change hanging over my head for at least the next 2-3 months.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I worked, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>wrote, and puttered for the next few hours, and resisted the temptation to take my second nap of the day (hey, it works for infants).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, once the kids were safely home, I went and laid down for another hour, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>although the noise of cats and phone calls made it impossible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Upon rising, I serviced the cats (food, water, litter box) and then thought about what to cook for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much to Tito’s delight, I made Domino’s Pizza.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has gluten and dairy allergies, so his diet is very limited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And while Kacey compensates for this by working hard to come up with delicious alternative recipes for him, my skill is limited to cooking hamburgers patties to different temperatures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I placed our order, and Tito’s small, gluten-free, cheese-less, and 4 topping pizza came in at 14 bucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The deep dish two-topping medium that Bitsy and I shared was 6 bucks cheaper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I briefly considered asking Tito to eliminate a couple of the toppings he selected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then, I thought, this kid always gets the short end of the stick when it comes to food, and when the kids go to bed tonight I’ll probably crack open a $10 bottle of wine to accompany my writing, so just shut up and buy him the $14 pizza.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, two of his toppings seemed like vegetables, quite possibly the only input from that food group he will receive this week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After dinner, we played a family game, and I sent the kids off to bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The good news is they brushed their teeth; the bad news is their melons are still not washed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After writing for a couple hours, and generally feeling very antsy (pretty sure I am missing my wife) I hit the hay earlier than normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cats must also going through Kacey-withdrawal as they were making all sorts of clatter in our room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While one part of me just wanted to invite them on to the bed, roll over on top of them and just stay there this time, I instead just went and slept in the guest room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kicked out of my bed…by cats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-44088679385870503892012-11-09T09:13:00.002-08:002012-11-09T09:13:56.559-08:00The Norwegian Widower - Day 3<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today…was pretty easy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My alarm went off as planned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon arising, I replenished the cat’s food and water and cleaned out their litter box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The litter box is huge (Kacey uses one of those 20 gallon storage tubs), so I bet it would be good even if I didn’t clean it out the rest of the time Kacey is gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I made my boy just 3 eggs this morning, and he scarfed them all down, after which I made him brush his teeth for the first time in his mom’s absence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He even made in to the bus without needing to run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of Bitsy’s friends came over at 7:30, and she volunteered for the job of waking up her friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, she even coached Bitsy during her eight minute segment of consuming her ADD meds, and stood over her as Bitsy brushed her teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We may need to have her come over more often.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I dropped the two girls off at school, and promptly returned home for sacred nap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was disappointing to have to cut my nap short, but I had a consulting meet to attend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Five hours of sleep plus a one hour nap certainly is not sufficient, so I am pretty sure I drank the office out of coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After a long meeting, I joined 250 other former co-workers from the defunct firm of Arthur Andersen for a happy hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result, Big Daddy once again assumed the role of child pickup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just two blocks before arriving at the Casa de Big Daddy, my Chevy Impala ran out of gas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I was able to coast all the way into his driveway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, it was largely a charmed day altogether.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I was running late (go figure) to get Bitsy to her school’s DJ dance party, Big Daddy just told me to take one of his cars and I could come back with gas for my car in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing that he would check the oil in my car, I hurriedly ran to my car and, in the dark, dumped a quart of oil in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am pretty sure I got more oil on the engine than actually in the oil spout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But sure enough, Big Daddy came out the door just as I was slamming the hood and said, “What’s up under the hood?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Nothing,” I lied, as if it is common for people to look under the hoods of their car in the dark when they are running late to get their kids to an event.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I dropped off Bitsy at her party at 7:45, and a kind neighbor lady let me know she’d drive her home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was relieved, as this meant I could sink into my easy chair for the long hall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tito did his short homework assignment, bathed, managed to forget to brush his teeth, and went to bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I tucked him in, I asked, “Do you wash your hair?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He replied, “No, but I did get it wet.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the things on Kacey’s list was an every-other-day hair washing for Tito.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps we will just wash it five times on the last day and call it even?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bitsy, primed for her first student cousin meetings at 7:30AM, also hit the hay early.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also did not take a bath, and I have to imagine she didn’t brush her teeth either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I returned to my easy chair, I began to feel like the cats were avoiding me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then, I realized they weren’t avoiding me, as they just never hang around me anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really the only time they hang around me is when I hang around Kacey. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wrote until 1AM and then called it a night. </span></div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-43479669171214402862012-11-08T05:59:00.002-08:002012-11-11T15:25:24.557-08:00The Norwegian Widower - Day 2<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Get up!” said Tito loudly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My eyes popped wide open, and I noticed that it was light outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quickly turned to my nightstand, saw that is was a few minutes after seven, just 15 minutes until he needed to leave for the school bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I discovered why my alarm clock has failed me - I had set it for 6:45PM.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hustled downstairs and began the process of scrambling some eggs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made four of them, and I’m not sure why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had no chance at eating that many, when also including two pieces of toast, but I was pretty zoned out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I was relieved to see that he had clothes on, I paid no attention to whether they matched at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I set the eggs in front of him, I asked him what kind of sandwich he wanted for lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as he replied “ham and cheese” I remembered that I failed to pick up the Mayo my wife had suggested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Further, he has dairy allergies and I could not find his diary-free cheese, and as a piece of ham on dry gluten-free bread sounded less than appetizing, I suggested peanut butter and honey instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He agreed, and seemed only mildly annoyed when he had to remind me yet again that he prefers creamy peanut butter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Normally Kacey would have given him a Zyrtec allergy pill at this time, but of course those pills were also waiting for me at the store, presumably right next to the Mayo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, Tito made it to the bus with two minutes to spare, and I felt like a champion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Having just worked intensely for 20 minutes, I plopped into my easy chair as a reward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t dare start up the coffee pot yet, as I had no interest in staying awake once I delivered Bitsy to school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At about ten to eight, I gently woke her up and took her breakfast order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A waffle with jam, please.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bitsy was lucky that Kacey left some waffle batter in the fridge, otherwise there is no telling how a Boz-concocted waffle would have turned out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She sat at the counter and played on my laptop while nibbling ever so slightly on her waffle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And now, it was time for her dreaded ADD meds. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She takes 40mg of some drug (maybe Ritalin) and as she can’t swallow pills, Kacey and I pursue various tactics to make her ingest the poison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, I tried the approach of opening the pills, dumping the contents into a small dish, and having her dip her licked finger into the dish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She used some sort of boxed juice as a chaser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I then got what was easily my best idea of the day, and will likely be my best idea of this whole adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pulled up a countdown timer on my cell phone, set it for eight minutes, and told her either the medicine would be all gone or she wouldn’t be able to use the computer for the rest of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eight minutes later, the timer went off, and the medicine was gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Note that I sat somewhat close such that I’m pretty sure she didn’t feed it to any of our cats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While Kacey usually leaves the house at 8:25, ten minutes later seemed more my style.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This presumably wouldn’t have been a problem, except that when we pulled into the school’s parking lot, Bitsy exclaimed, “We left my planner and homework at home!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of stopping at the curve to drop her off, we thus just kept driving, fortunate that our house was only a mile away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time we pulled back in to the school, I was the only parent dropping off their kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew she was close to being late, and think I’ve heard it mentioned that parents must check in kids that are late, but I just dropped her off and feigned ignorance as I drove away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I arrived home, ate Bitsy’s remaining waffle for my own breakfast and did some work for a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before long, my eyes became heavy and I sacked out hard for a good couple hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon arising, I actually did some laundry and cleaning, at which time I discovered Tito’s math book and homework sitting on the counter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too late to get that to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also vacuumed over the dried up cat vomit, and while some of it is still meshed into the carpet, most of it now appears gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tito got home a bit after three, and the first thing I noticed was that Kacey’s instruction of “comb the kids’ hair” was only met with a 50% success rate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s okay, I hadn’t combed mine yet either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We had to leave at 5:30 for youth group at church (I volunteer and Tito attends), and as usual, I was running late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thus asked Tito to make himself another peanut butter sandwich for dinner and was relieved that he complied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Bitsy</span> was going to a church event with the neighbors and I am pretty sure they fed her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After returning from church, Tito and I wrapped up his homework by 9ish, but Bitsy stayed up doing hers until nearly 11.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was writing a story about cats, kangaroos, and hedgehogs, and fully expects that I will use my pull as a budding author to ensure her story ends up on the New York Times best seller list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, let’s see, I woke up late, got one kid to school late and didn’t pack the other’s homework, didn’t give my son his medicine or comb his hair, made him eat two peanut butter sandwiches, didn’t change the cat litter or check their food/water, didn’t clean up the cat barf, didn’t make sure Tito’s hair was combed, and let Bitsy stay up until 11PM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, and the kids didn’t take baths and I again have no idea if they brushed their teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But all fives creatures under my control are still breathing, I got in a nice two-hour nap, and neither the Humane Society nor Child Services paid me a visit. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All in all, I’d say it was a successful day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I finally crashed about one thirty, and no cats came to join me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think they like me.</span></div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-37589405263737594492012-11-07T07:41:00.002-08:002012-11-07T07:41:49.880-08:00The Norwegian Widower – Day 1<br />
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At twenty
past one yesterday afternoon, I kissed Kacey goodbye at the Minneapolis
airport. She is spending the next nine
days in Norway on an outreach mission through our church. Kacey did not take our two children with her,
nor did she take our three cats. One
person she did take was my mom, the generous lady who normally saves me in these
situations. As a result, I am left to
my own devices to ensure that these five living creatures are still breathing and
healthy when my wife returns next Thursday.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Except for
balancing the checkbook and helping the kids with their math homework, my wife does
most everything to keep our household running: cooking, cleaning, shopping, and
a bunch of other stuff I am probably going to find out about at inopportune
times. At my request, at least she left
me a somewhat detailed list of responsibilities I needed to attend to that I
may not otherwise have thought of: feed the children, make sure they take
baths, make sure their hair is combed before school, feed the cats, and empty
litter boxes. She even took a picture of
my son’s full lunchbox to show me what it should look like before I stuff it in
his backpack.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Facing the
week ahead, I know the toughest tasks will be to provide the kids with someone
healthy meals and to keep the cats alive and in one piece. I also have a huge goal to teach my daughter
how to swallow a pill. She has a
prescription drug for her ADD, and each morning’s attempt to get her to take
her medicine is full of screaming, kicking, and tears… and that is just Kacey.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The primary characters
I expect to be involved in this saga are as follows: Tito, age 11, Bitsy, age 9, Dolly Mama (age
unknown) and her two one-year old boys (Scarf and Scamp), and Big Daddy (aka,
my dad).<o:p></o:p></div>
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If you wish,
tune in each morning to see how the previous day fared. These will be fairly quick hitters, as I am
focusing my writing these days on my book.
Onto Day 1…<o:p></o:p></div>
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As I had a
consulting meeting to attend, my first job as a Norwegian Widower was to ask
Big Daddy if he could pick up Bitsy after school. Whether he knows it or not, Big Daddy will be
my right hand man during these nine days.
After successfully retrieving her, he took the kids out for an early
dinner of burgers and fries (for Tito) and pizza (for Bitsy). My dinner consisted of their cold leftovers,
as I imagine will be the case more than a few times over these nine days.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I brought
the kids home from Big Daddy’s house, I immediately allowed them to have an
hour on the computer instead of jumping right into their homework. I was exhausted, after all, and justifiably
so. My trip to the airport eliminated
the usual late morning nap that has become a part of my sabbatical.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Upon
arriving home, Tito proclaimed that one of the cats had barfed on the stairs. My wife and I have a deal: I allow our family
to have cats, but she takes care of them.
I asked Tito how much I would have to pay him to clean up the cat barf
(note: normally we do not pay our kids when asking them to do things, but this
seemed extraordinary). He started the
bidding with $5; I countered with $1.
Neither of us budged and the cat barf continued to sit there – perhaps it
is easier to clean up when it dries, I don’t know but I guess I will find out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I successfully
moderated the kids’ homework and sent them to bed. Tito is our early bird, so he tired before I
could help him study for his science test, but we agreed to do so in the morning. I know that neither child took a bath, and
I’m not sure if either brushed their teeth.
There is always tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I tucked
Tito into bed, the two boy cats were with him.
Normally, only the smaller of the two, Scamp, hangs out in his room, but
his larger brother Scarf must have noticed something awry in the house. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As I tucked Tito
into bed, I asked him what I need to do in the morning, “Just make you some breakfast
and pack your lunch, right?” He assured
me that was it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When I asked
him what he would like for breakfast, he replied that eggs would be good. “What kind?” I inquired, and then quickly
realized that my limited skills in the kitchen could offer him a choice of
either scrambled or raw (a la Rocky Balboa).
“Scrambled okay for you, buddy? I
inquired. He said that sounded good, and
I let him drift off to sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
After
tucking Bitsy, I assumed my usual position on a recliner in front of the
fire. The cats must not have stayed long
with Tito, as before long I heard a battle royal going on in the next room,
with the two brothers presumably attacking the Dolly Mama. Having become one with my chair, I waited out
the storm and was relieved to see each of the three beasts walk past me over
the next few minutes without dripping blood.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Knowing that
I had to arise at some dastardly early hour, taking a nap after getting the
kids off to school was a forgone conclusion.
Thus, I saw no problem with staying up writing until one in the
morning. When I finally made my way
upstairs, I noticed that some of the cat barf was missing. Knowing there was pretty much no chance my
kids had cleaned it up, it dawned on me that one of the cats must have “cleaned”
it up for me. As Bill Cosby would say
about men, “We are dumb, but we are not so dumb.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Fifteen
minutes later, after listening to the boy cats dash and crash all over our
bedroom, presumably from neglect, I fell asleep on Kacey’s side of the bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-44982992056649281562012-10-07T23:57:00.001-07:002012-10-08T19:44:54.115-07:002012 Twin Cities Marathon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZneQqpbGMYD8r36my3ZKW3-jveuSMHr9QGRPdMQz4pXcQ1NIyGZIuKo2ck1GgtNGsiH1Z1dw-RKppEPol5_YQVFQ2CzVAlTILMVrSnCEjbRRoAdUiTAkimtG-uB4nENvQy4stCqjKSBCV/s1600/00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZneQqpbGMYD8r36my3ZKW3-jveuSMHr9QGRPdMQz4pXcQ1NIyGZIuKo2ck1GgtNGsiH1Z1dw-RKppEPol5_YQVFQ2CzVAlTILMVrSnCEjbRRoAdUiTAkimtG-uB4nENvQy4stCqjKSBCV/s640/00.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">An introduction<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
If you have been following my blog, you know by now that I
am kind of obsessed with spectating running events.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I could find a way to make a living being
a professional marathon spectator, I just may consider it.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It all started back in 2003 when I ran the Twin Cities
marathon, my first ever 26.2 mile experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although I trained hard for the race, I wasn’t prepared for the mental
and physical challenge of pulling my then 235 pound body around the course for five
hours and twelve minutes<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I lost
to half of the women over the age of 70 that day – only two entered, but one
beat me, and quite soundly I should add.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
What sticks with me about that day is that I was amazed by
the energy and inspiration that the spectators provided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although many had left the course before I finished
(and who could blame them), I really appreciated those that stayed out and
cheered me on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
In 2004, I ran the last ten miles of the marathon with my
friend Trent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran the marathon again
in 2005 and 2006.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite being in
considerably better shape than I was in 2003, temperatures in the 80’s slowed
me down and caused me to still finish over 5 hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was discouraging that time after time I
would run, but never really improve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially
in 2006, all I wanted to do was quit, but the energy of the crowd kept me
going.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
In 2007, Trent and his wife Tracy ran the Twin Cities 10
mile race, which always precedes the marathon, and I joined them for the final
few miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the race, we found a
patch of grass on <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Summit Avenue</st1:address></st1:street>
and took our turn cheering on the full marathon runners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Two things happened that day that stuck in my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, runners frequently celebrate the
completion of a race by hoisting a glass of beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus, we enjoyed a couple of cold ones as we
sat in the grass and cheered on the marathoners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Periodically a runner would smile at us and
we would yell back, “Just a couple more miles and this will be you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then, a runner asked me if he could have
my beer. I was a bit surprised but certainly in no position to deny him, so I
handed him my can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took a big gulp,
handed it back to me, and went on his way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A bit unsure of what to do with my beer, I just kind of held onto it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When another runner came by and asked for a
drink, I handed him the can, he took a swing, and went on his way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess these marathoners were Catholic and just
looking at the beer can as their shared communion cup.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The second thing I distinctly recall from that day was that
so many runners thanked us for being out there supporting them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When probably 90% of the runners had passed
us by, we decided to pack up and leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But then another runner trotted past and said, “Thanks so much for still
being out here, it means so much.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A comment
like that made us stick around for another few minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just when we were about to leave again, another
runner said something similar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We knew
we were stuck, and stayed until the course officials came through at the six
hour mark, signifying the end of the race.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I took a break from spectating in 2008 as I ran the marathon
one final time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every year since, I have
signed up for the 10 mile race and then gone back to sit in that same grassy
spot, mile 23.9, and watch the marathon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We always stay until the race is over, and each year we try to enhance the
runners’ experience even more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We bring some beer
specifically for runners, so they don’t ask us for any of ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We bring jolly ranchers and tootsie rolls,
two popular treats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year, cheese
sticks and my wife’s monster cookies were also a big hit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Runners love music, so in 2009 and 2010 we brought
a “boom-box” with tunes – since that time we have upgraded to one of the
loudest PA systems on the course (as the lady in the house across the street
pointed out),<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this year, my friend
Jimmy came out and took nearly 500 pictures.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It is without question one of my favorite days of the
year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The 2012 race<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
While the accompanying slide show and pictures tell most of
the story, here are a few other highlights:<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span>I had to pull out of the ten mile race this year due to
a hip flexor injury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave away my
entry to the sold out race to my brother’s co-worker Zach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I awoke a bit before nine o’clock on
race morning, I was greeted by the following text from an unfamiliar phone
number: “I think I got a good time for ya!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sure enough, Zach finished the race in a pace of 7 minutes and 12
seconds per mile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as he was racing
under my number, it will go down in the books as a personal best for yours
truly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span>I arrived at mile 23.9 and setup all the equipment,
only to find out that I had left my rented generator at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, my brother was in route and able
to make a detour to pick it up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
didn’t stop me from standing and talking into a dead microphone, periodically
asking other spectators if the noise was too loud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People would look at me kind of oddly and one
guy even said, “I don’t think it is working.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span>The winner came flying by around 10AM in a pace of 5
minute miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my prime, I could have
stuck with him for about 500 yards.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span>One of my former students came by in tenth place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lack of a functioning PA system did not
stop me from loudly announcing to anyone within earshot that I knew him and
taught him everything he knows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span>Shortly after the lead runners began striding by, my
brother showed up with the generator, and we cranked up the tunes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within five minutes, the lady who lived
across the street came over and said, “You know, people actually live here,
could you turn it down?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess she doesn’t
like <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">AC </st1:city><st1:state w:st="on">DC</st1:state></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I angled the speakers away from her home and
turned the sound down a bit - the music was now only audible for a couple
blocks, as opposed to a couple miles. She gave the thumbs up, and the party was
on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span>Near the very end, an athlete came into sight wearing
full army gear and flying a very large American flag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was walking and appeared completely spent,
but when we blasted Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country>”, he began jogging again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shortly after arriving, Jimmy’s girlfriend said, “Boz, why
are we here?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before the day was over, I
think she understood why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Enjoy the
pictures and slide show, and perhaps we will see you on the course next year!<o:p></o:p></div>
<o:p> </o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The fun stuff<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I believe you would not regret spending 5 minutes of your life
watching this video.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if you like the
Black Eyed Peas, all the better.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/-MkUNhEVjZQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Running a marathon in a costume is NOT on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i> bucket list, but these folks sure do
make it more entertaining for everyone else.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdcYW39EgwgWsmW-NEW6gGni2aD0KqzMq8jZWOI13aKAeAce8Vxppo6tzETZFogSn9i9vIuAef3Zws-gncr1SX57V70Ck_lt_umZsFlo0q33aAyJ3-3-o3lpd442ewGgBkGSuYX7dRUPA/s1600/2012TC-Marathon091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdcYW39EgwgWsmW-NEW6gGni2aD0KqzMq8jZWOI13aKAeAce8Vxppo6tzETZFogSn9i9vIuAef3Zws-gncr1SX57V70Ck_lt_umZsFlo0q33aAyJ3-3-o3lpd442ewGgBkGSuYX7dRUPA/s640/2012TC-Marathon091.jpg" width="426" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzA6ns93nnT6p52VWtN6BodUTjqc6S4ubjRAuWm06IjPWGLgnHbguAn84j4xNQVjL-G3BIhdrc9dn0N_P-Fy7jQ4DCJ6aGddzrYhKOLAPd7iytJKA41-__v6wrPXQn8QBgbIjNoKyIX2CQ/s1600/2012TC-Marathon218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzA6ns93nnT6p52VWtN6BodUTjqc6S4ubjRAuWm06IjPWGLgnHbguAn84j4xNQVjL-G3BIhdrc9dn0N_P-Fy7jQ4DCJ6aGddzrYhKOLAPd7iytJKA41-__v6wrPXQn8QBgbIjNoKyIX2CQ/s640/2012TC-Marathon218.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSgLgBJ94z15UozmyWOP9eOIvhb8apZThzBtvJwif_HJg1iPccpca4C7sRCLS4UWOl1B8sUHVq-iNZW6gCNJtklCtLA1Wozd7VaAgV6PToNJeba6cHz1E4DelSNbD0vjqLHn7JP2HYUjr/s1600/2012TC-Marathon419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSgLgBJ94z15UozmyWOP9eOIvhb8apZThzBtvJwif_HJg1iPccpca4C7sRCLS4UWOl1B8sUHVq-iNZW6gCNJtklCtLA1Wozd7VaAgV6PToNJeba6cHz1E4DelSNbD0vjqLHn7JP2HYUjr/s640/2012TC-Marathon419.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This man’s child will never walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that will not stop his child from
crossing the finish line of a marathon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3aaYTIRviXIdVylVhWYJaCEBv0ezxZ1qGEs4B8-Ilo-xa-hYW9GE5U0QOJ5pVjBRLvHO2V327IdN4ArP0vbFaaNqNFkCYXbHbBI04dredolRr0mY4iGrrS4mN2VWuUMwv2ujQK5oiyX10/s1600/2012TC-Marathon098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3aaYTIRviXIdVylVhWYJaCEBv0ezxZ1qGEs4B8-Ilo-xa-hYW9GE5U0QOJ5pVjBRLvHO2V327IdN4ArP0vbFaaNqNFkCYXbHbBI04dredolRr0mY4iGrrS4mN2VWuUMwv2ujQK5oiyX10/s640/2012TC-Marathon098.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Interaction from runners is what makes it all worthwhile.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DB7Ck-9bGLuSuV0DNf8M-pZ6xkwmeEw4QrwQhWyuJMRoCuAvhKPBMdiHfd9kFDpOEneoZO3QdYO1d7FOmSCFiHoJRyAKC3EXNPgIleuSx8gFtKyvfjt6FF4hQMZC3ts_klVrHxLGj08R/s1600/2012TC-Marathon110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DB7Ck-9bGLuSuV0DNf8M-pZ6xkwmeEw4QrwQhWyuJMRoCuAvhKPBMdiHfd9kFDpOEneoZO3QdYO1d7FOmSCFiHoJRyAKC3EXNPgIleuSx8gFtKyvfjt6FF4hQMZC3ts_klVrHxLGj08R/s640/2012TC-Marathon110.jpg" width="426" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoAiPWrqwLNZST7gpV03x0hM1qIpgSqZ9GquutrNYo5qgJHQGNAfUQ5yBjLF4mArH-8-LirVzk-P0AL-s-Dxi6iJ2XsWlkHXoV145L6N5FZrOc12HB7drmuz3rhPgJVP-Yxi2axtgX1ZZx/s1600/2012TC-Marathon242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoAiPWrqwLNZST7gpV03x0hM1qIpgSqZ9GquutrNYo5qgJHQGNAfUQ5yBjLF4mArH-8-LirVzk-P0AL-s-Dxi6iJ2XsWlkHXoV145L6N5FZrOc12HB7drmuz3rhPgJVP-Yxi2axtgX1ZZx/s640/2012TC-Marathon242.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBGMmEel46ckb7gH7yDD0hehcHuReTPfBfDbRaViBqChSrpN35WV8VhUlNZU6-49tXhdE9gtabliHm6OgQzB3R5ced6nSAytDWwegJKHC_fZzt87KBNjvEOXz_2xZmFZ0ngIR6ibbtQ00/s1600/2012TC-Marathon406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBGMmEel46ckb7gH7yDD0hehcHuReTPfBfDbRaViBqChSrpN35WV8VhUlNZU6-49tXhdE9gtabliHm6OgQzB3R5ced6nSAytDWwegJKHC_fZzt87KBNjvEOXz_2xZmFZ0ngIR6ibbtQ00/s640/2012TC-Marathon406.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It was a fairly chilly day with temperatures in the low 30’s
at the beginning, so some folks went to unusual measures to stay warm.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CL2Ogbw1XOxlzVSUrbWZniEjGNYvDsQnVBIK-A87OAFbq5jMI9Sh1gy8ISxlERaNhPR5Lfxro-bUGIeuvU3Dcl01bk8fhsfPngf_FSUKNs_cmd1_gE0DOXs8OpWCKWQkk9o_qRty2LrQ/s1600/2012TC-Marathon115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CL2Ogbw1XOxlzVSUrbWZniEjGNYvDsQnVBIK-A87OAFbq5jMI9Sh1gy8ISxlERaNhPR5Lfxro-bUGIeuvU3Dcl01bk8fhsfPngf_FSUKNs_cmd1_gE0DOXs8OpWCKWQkk9o_qRty2LrQ/s640/2012TC-Marathon115.jpg" width="426" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A couple members of our group had a longer than necessary discussion
on how much time this guy loses due to the drag of his hair.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJzbDgQVszeEv3eZENO3LFxXNUWz1GXFTLBBywygj3bF80IRMkBl3w04rHlHD2As-8m659uz4fyIWn0jMGszoxiLpKYZw_Jjx1K-_4KAr57jhwqMJFsLUWdUNvvou5bR_mITPaD9ev4Tt/s1600/2012TC-Marathon142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJzbDgQVszeEv3eZENO3LFxXNUWz1GXFTLBBywygj3bF80IRMkBl3w04rHlHD2As-8m659uz4fyIWn0jMGszoxiLpKYZw_Jjx1K-_4KAr57jhwqMJFsLUWdUNvvou5bR_mITPaD9ev4Tt/s640/2012TC-Marathon142.jpg" width="426" /></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The runner holding the balloons in the middle of this pack
is leading what is called a “pace group.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He likely has completed many marathons at a much faster pace, but today
is basically telling people to stick by his side if they want to finish in 3
hours and 45 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only time I
ran in a pace group was when I ran the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">San
Francisco</st1:place></st1:city> marathon in 2008.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The runner leading that group was an
ultra-marathoner, meaning that he runs races of 50 miles or longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember him telling us that day that after
he got us to the finish line, he was going to turn around and run the course
backwards.<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmqhyphenhyphenVVK70SXJDI0cwhqxF-lFL_-bURRr-fMsnOPl0tr_Un_Oi63B-JQanhvG_8usu1MjQCuN1qU6rj4Op0rUAwvReY1DFWFcWdGwleN_nHCDbPAZYWZRHkpKI3iY18wYH0g7KKZ563krd/s1600/2012TC-Marathon167.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmqhyphenhyphenVVK70SXJDI0cwhqxF-lFL_-bURRr-fMsnOPl0tr_Un_Oi63B-JQanhvG_8usu1MjQCuN1qU6rj4Op0rUAwvReY1DFWFcWdGwleN_nHCDbPAZYWZRHkpKI3iY18wYH0g7KKZ563krd/s640/2012TC-Marathon167.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
As Tracy and her dad provide refreshments to the runners,
you can see me in the background talking with Forrest Gump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turned out that Forrest was one of my
former accounting students at <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Saint John’s - he </st1:place></st1:city>graduated a year ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Run, Andre,
run!<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhBL6-BeSzJ3n0dql9fanSrYBZwIK98sAoy2NcErTnvPW62XQsSymirINAOJSF60ZJ5kniHBkbGDX8rK6LL6IvPxJf7bvFefXXwx5YpB-pcM_ME2JWsE7Skkv5DmNf1VBQ9s67MDdbfSzj/s1600/2012TC-Marathon189.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhBL6-BeSzJ3n0dql9fanSrYBZwIK98sAoy2NcErTnvPW62XQsSymirINAOJSF60ZJ5kniHBkbGDX8rK6LL6IvPxJf7bvFefXXwx5YpB-pcM_ME2JWsE7Skkv5DmNf1VBQ9s67MDdbfSzj/s640/2012TC-Marathon189.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Boz told me he would bring two microphones this year but if
he never shuts up I will never get a chance to talk.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCcOw9iB40TkZftvMBO8vr9WMffnseTc5dHkYtjRKOrVbGrFy9nQYFlQn3AuoG7rgjOxFCdSgk4tzP_MnhRh3azmgVzT8KtzatB8GAGSVTJfbDJegXV0XxU1syFmm4ArXaNXIrWfQzEZe/s1600/2012TC-Marathon215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCcOw9iB40TkZftvMBO8vr9WMffnseTc5dHkYtjRKOrVbGrFy9nQYFlQn3AuoG7rgjOxFCdSgk4tzP_MnhRh3azmgVzT8KtzatB8GAGSVTJfbDJegXV0XxU1syFmm4ArXaNXIrWfQzEZe/s640/2012TC-Marathon215.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
You see a lot of marathoners wearing their names on their
shirts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When someone yells, “Go Noelle!”
every few seconds, it really inspires you to continue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially if your name is Noelle.<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDSdsXm9OMIU72MFvPOEzMWDlO67sKVs-K73BRuoO8fZnXDpT_3G60ao65kowRTO7ZyJbcNRmAWYzzayp20-2S4r82SZHyaLDLvJZU2jszDg5ad4soNSo-_TvyTS__APQ25QLFw-iJrudv/s1600/2012TC-Marathon264.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDSdsXm9OMIU72MFvPOEzMWDlO67sKVs-K73BRuoO8fZnXDpT_3G60ao65kowRTO7ZyJbcNRmAWYzzayp20-2S4r82SZHyaLDLvJZU2jszDg5ad4soNSo-_TvyTS__APQ25QLFw-iJrudv/s640/2012TC-Marathon264.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I did not see any Obama or Romney t-shirts among the 10,000
runners, but some folks did make their feelings known on a very contentious political
issue.<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbLz-mI0MvhId40RE8rUrhUJjlDSlbqxiSR2-aaBgoqEwfR3EmUagxg68J1rJWvr4oA2euNIwGbC8r1yCvYDEs4ZT4hBp3SuMOlWOoCMRXRPubOFJxOBFoLIm8SxDZU5vp36OYv5s9eM9/s1600/2012TC-Marathon292.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbLz-mI0MvhId40RE8rUrhUJjlDSlbqxiSR2-aaBgoqEwfR3EmUagxg68J1rJWvr4oA2euNIwGbC8r1yCvYDEs4ZT4hBp3SuMOlWOoCMRXRPubOFJxOBFoLIm8SxDZU5vp36OYv5s9eM9/s640/2012TC-Marathon292.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rEktvO4xZsSoFJYdBkrufeDtYV8RBJYumD3m7ow2OkEtBCJqxilMGUxqEXk6uB4m-h1fXjPFsck6vPvxYXJ2Sgco4QG6IGxld1S1GmzFXoQ458DArIZaedbIBKlw-Hw15YT3nHTjiRIJ/s1600/2012TC-Marathon410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rEktvO4xZsSoFJYdBkrufeDtYV8RBJYumD3m7ow2OkEtBCJqxilMGUxqEXk6uB4m-h1fXjPFsck6vPvxYXJ2Sgco4QG6IGxld1S1GmzFXoQ458DArIZaedbIBKlw-Hw15YT3nHTjiRIJ/s640/2012TC-Marathon410.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br />
That is my brother holding up a monster cookie while two
runners look to see what else we have to offer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWezCEzRNjsnxlJ3QKTpZ6EYoJLLT7NzZ6O9_xzTTV1w8tnTEhCvhJO9Qmqfy0oPorFVyS_GrlYpLSnPnaqSN1KVizkIGSUytJKSiew_SdWs8Ursko14lkhuhJMzzGd3yIcoBZMmOLjpyK/s1600/2012TC-Marathon317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWezCEzRNjsnxlJ3QKTpZ6EYoJLLT7NzZ6O9_xzTTV1w8tnTEhCvhJO9Qmqfy0oPorFVyS_GrlYpLSnPnaqSN1KVizkIGSUytJKSiew_SdWs8Ursko14lkhuhJMzzGd3yIcoBZMmOLjpyK/s640/2012TC-Marathon317.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Last spring, one of my students and his friend Mike took me for a run on campus and they both ran the marathon. I missed seeing my student but was delighted to see Mike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t
care if he was all sweaty, I was going to hug him anyway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9sUJggnMWj7SnW9XwaG1tpTeegOZ8pvPb6RBvamMDbz_MyBE9KMGDgsFODH_BkaXb99xga77OsQt8CxE3o6zE66ET79b-BWnOlua2NQPu5LDiQF7-_ihQT3tR3hEuFGkJtz0IjFFPlMgA/s1600/2012TC-Marathon328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9sUJggnMWj7SnW9XwaG1tpTeegOZ8pvPb6RBvamMDbz_MyBE9KMGDgsFODH_BkaXb99xga77OsQt8CxE3o6zE66ET79b-BWnOlua2NQPu5LDiQF7-_ihQT3tR3hEuFGkJtz0IjFFPlMgA/s640/2012TC-Marathon328.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The first hour was fairly quiet as the runners barely paid
any attention to us or our refreshments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As time wore on and the runners became less serious, that all started to
change.<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj07IAC3cVF_A9PYSraKIpm4npilgaLWIdU3qqb-Ym73NvZGWXI9Q9lQ7z-DduMBlw73T3LKuktVmfjeA-HquvycrScgf54X2VWsGNeCneZQUkqKoxTACdqnu41zccan6s5NT9B-7jtgkf/s1600/2012TC-Marathon359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj07IAC3cVF_A9PYSraKIpm4npilgaLWIdU3qqb-Ym73NvZGWXI9Q9lQ7z-DduMBlw73T3LKuktVmfjeA-HquvycrScgf54X2VWsGNeCneZQUkqKoxTACdqnu41zccan6s5NT9B-7jtgkf/s640/2012TC-Marathon359.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p></o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQm_L4J0KQaR6ioxyC9TE2Lo1zEPSu0h85hl8tTr_GQTf-xZL4bWlBqzNkvLPVAEHhk7C50LaTOcI36l-ivf9uJD-O-I_CuQM1bRGSwnXnZX_RidHGBw4m3Sx6x6PdgGPceSvYJktj2aDU/s1600/2012TC-Marathon360.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQm_L4J0KQaR6ioxyC9TE2Lo1zEPSu0h85hl8tTr_GQTf-xZL4bWlBqzNkvLPVAEHhk7C50LaTOcI36l-ivf9uJD-O-I_CuQM1bRGSwnXnZX_RidHGBw4m3Sx6x6PdgGPceSvYJktj2aDU/s640/2012TC-Marathon360.jpg" width="426" /></a></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Jared Allen went for a run before his 3 o’clock tilt against
the Tennessee Titans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite running
26.2 miles as a pre-game warm-up, Jared notched yet another sack in the Vikings
30-7 victory.<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht85YqN37SEHRvV8vZVwSDauTR6btZgK-Z9NskeGhjcJRyv61jXlRKs-hS-Qlt9j4c0TFmmVVrnauKa5ey0Vo-PYasWDIeDR2FfxCDwGegAjocKrtfozbTcH2ZTh9FtqCOKArzXFBK5ol0/s1600/2012TC-Marathon385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht85YqN37SEHRvV8vZVwSDauTR6btZgK-Z9NskeGhjcJRyv61jXlRKs-hS-Qlt9j4c0TFmmVVrnauKa5ey0Vo-PYasWDIeDR2FfxCDwGegAjocKrtfozbTcH2ZTh9FtqCOKArzXFBK5ol0/s640/2012TC-Marathon385.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I don’t fully understand why they have multiple names on
their shirts, but I am guessing they are related to each other.<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB6s5WFH2jsMYM6e4Bo8CODjb_TOwlwNbLb-NFsq9P26vGAyZ9QJn8P9Rs66q1oSuY1tHrAW6tueMTT57mtHD_0sm7HIoOZftOfOQC22JyBsCr_q45oMeNtdj9tjcoW6I9dQv7AaFGFF5F/s1600/2012TC-Marathon386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB6s5WFH2jsMYM6e4Bo8CODjb_TOwlwNbLb-NFsq9P26vGAyZ9QJn8P9Rs66q1oSuY1tHrAW6tueMTT57mtHD_0sm7HIoOZftOfOQC22JyBsCr_q45oMeNtdj9tjcoW6I9dQv7AaFGFF5F/s640/2012TC-Marathon386.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This lady started busting a move to the Pit Bull.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trust me when I say that at least one other
runner must have wanted to punch her for having so much energy this late in the
race.<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYqw9DJBrGGqTKWhWWeWtVWBp9ejUC1_x_Y3zj7Puvh3OXLo0Fk1ihz3xPXYDnC56F0QqukhpBUcWunZrYBtXuIfaL6SuCUX7NADMajVli-q_JVC3Ubanbl9el8-2iFYG71oBmbFJG2u7I/s1600/2012TC-Marathon397.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYqw9DJBrGGqTKWhWWeWtVWBp9ejUC1_x_Y3zj7Puvh3OXLo0Fk1ihz3xPXYDnC56F0QqukhpBUcWunZrYBtXuIfaL6SuCUX7NADMajVli-q_JVC3Ubanbl9el8-2iFYG71oBmbFJG2u7I/s640/2012TC-Marathon397.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I don’t know this guy, but he is a Johnnie, and therefore he
is quite cool.<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthyphenhyphenp1EVDFM7rJAEsfZgxJgwMHyJECQNxS_TSmaegLs3yyx91B0QFkHzqmCq8r72CdolUfh0Cea-PyYwgYoohnPyV39-n62EFXavefdeq49yW0-F6rd2X7vMXF5NOECw6fl4ULFowMWTJg/s1600/2012TC-Marathon455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthyphenhyphenp1EVDFM7rJAEsfZgxJgwMHyJECQNxS_TSmaegLs3yyx91B0QFkHzqmCq8r72CdolUfh0Cea-PyYwgYoohnPyV39-n62EFXavefdeq49yW0-F6rd2X7vMXF5NOECw6fl4ULFowMWTJg/s640/2012TC-Marathon455.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Notice the yellow medal around this lady’s neck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>10 miles wasn’t enough for her, so she had to
come out and jog a bit of the marathon with a friend.<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNblG0kHoM1h30Zy9E32S-cmijlku43YBtbHXG50x_Uefw7rbsSB37ZB7jopXjEKhck0MgiEcv3Wdfhp_kf3tTjj_X7sP3YV7cHuT3YaOAJfr3zmAWKI6N7o9j54_xMYDfZyxtCcEr-1JK/s1600/2012TC-Marathon468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNblG0kHoM1h30Zy9E32S-cmijlku43YBtbHXG50x_Uefw7rbsSB37ZB7jopXjEKhck0MgiEcv3Wdfhp_kf3tTjj_X7sP3YV7cHuT3YaOAJfr3zmAWKI6N7o9j54_xMYDfZyxtCcEr-1JK/s640/2012TC-Marathon468.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
KARE 11 (local TV station for my non-Minnesota followers) weatherman Sven Sundgaard stops by the Rejuvenation Station to quench his thirst.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBObsBtQJu_mdX6ZKylU2oNNUJjeX7Tt0_1eLgTEJDIEuFfkqRrrfi249ZlYdfX7eg4ZW-16daDyhpf3O1EUK4UVvvZ3_TJx-9NzV0PTYtlVHG4QB9az6StZrXispt7eIC_L0V48ZS332U/s1600/176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBObsBtQJu_mdX6ZKylU2oNNUJjeX7Tt0_1eLgTEJDIEuFfkqRrrfi249ZlYdfX7eg4ZW-16daDyhpf3O1EUK4UVvvZ3_TJx-9NzV0PTYtlVHG4QB9az6StZrXispt7eIC_L0V48ZS332U/s640/176.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Pure determination - a man with no legs digging hard in the wheelchair marathon.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcpO_qRSUgFjCYvKxdZ0DjDFu7c9Sue0OeEy3YgDcXo318qYao3xSf87dyGDyBzv-v_3Jz6w145unqY6V_pFLJEmRna3DLq-xQgGjW_m0O4WWkOZsZXB-tjuP8jPtU1IS4jIrT_aGVCnjo/s1600/140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcpO_qRSUgFjCYvKxdZ0DjDFu7c9Sue0OeEy3YgDcXo318qYao3xSf87dyGDyBzv-v_3Jz6w145unqY6V_pFLJEmRna3DLq-xQgGjW_m0O4WWkOZsZXB-tjuP8jPtU1IS4jIrT_aGVCnjo/s640/140.jpg" width="426" /></a><br />
<br />
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Trent and I, and one of the youngest members of Rejuvenation
Station.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9BCMpEMHlZwxJsZlHXsmPKGQ3Vh5_6-ivnvCgRpvyOK3P5n83XFTOpLEm6Rs2l6S2fPLyykUjzNQYkzmQTOJqaUbnBxlIEkUY1l0N6xqHtI5mCfXAOXd4ozhnD0Rrj7BsNMcgc_Cys-g/s1600/2012TC-Marathon428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9BCMpEMHlZwxJsZlHXsmPKGQ3Vh5_6-ivnvCgRpvyOK3P5n83XFTOpLEm6Rs2l6S2fPLyykUjzNQYkzmQTOJqaUbnBxlIEkUY1l0N6xqHtI5mCfXAOXd4ozhnD0Rrj7BsNMcgc_Cys-g/s640/2012TC-Marathon428.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_Q3fi9dvEbw1SkIosgXTbgezMD-lGq-BGwGjxX1EC6maMfQKQZT4Z0gHb8jvDJEE4xGsOlNI3LAn31b2kbw8ocnPThckn5BXzyEyesnh48UtnT_k3_r5fS05MfqcepO7PO1Y2yO02A78/s1600/2012TC-Marathon092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_Q3fi9dvEbw1SkIosgXTbgezMD-lGq-BGwGjxX1EC6maMfQKQZT4Z0gHb8jvDJEE4xGsOlNI3LAn31b2kbw8ocnPThckn5BXzyEyesnh48UtnT_k3_r5fS05MfqcepO7PO1Y2yO02A78/s640/2012TC-Marathon092.jpg" width="426" /></a>ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-47790652780604284372012-09-15T08:23:00.001-07:002012-09-15T08:23:18.841-07:00Five Seconds of Fame<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I first met John in 1990.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, it was only after I returned to my alma mater 14 years later
that I began to chat with him on a regular basis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent a good portion of many mornings in
his office discussing pretty much everything except football and marveling at
the things I observed or heard from him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I shared many of these stories with my Dad, who then began to pester me
to get a photo with John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s a
legend,” my dad would say, “and you need to get a signed picture with him
before it is too late.”</span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For a couple years, I ignored my Dad’s repeated requests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose I was embarrassed to ask someone I
now considered a friend if he would sign a picture of the two of us together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But eventually, I relented and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>took a picture with John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enlarged it to an 8x10 and he signed it, “Warren,
you were one of the great ones, on and off the field.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What my Dad didn’t know was that the main reason I went through with it
was so that I could have John sign a second copy of the picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That copy ended up as a gift to my Dad on
father’s day a few years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mort,
thanks for sending Warren to Saint John’s.”</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pleased at how my Dad enjoyed receiving his copy of the picture, I
figured I was now done with this autograph-seeking nonsense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But little did I know, my Dad was on to
something.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fast forwarding to this past spring, I was one of 63 students who
enrolled in John’s Theory of Football course, the most popular course on campus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the close of the second-to-last class period,
I told the students that I would bring a nice camera to the final class and snap
an individual picture of them with John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The excitement level in the room immediately escalated.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I followed this up by telling the class that I’d have John sign the
pictures with a personal note.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’d
think I had just told the students that I was going to take them to Disneyland,
and it was fun to watch one student pump his first and whisper, “Yes.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also took the opportunity to remind the
students (well, the male students) that this meant they may want to wear clean
clothes and run a comb their hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Forty-eight hours later, the clock on the wall showed ten past two,
signifying the end of the course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no
one left; they all waited to take their individual pictures with John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And just prior to taking these individual
pictures, I gathered everyone for a class picture.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am pretty sure John developed arthritis in his right hand signing all
those pictures, but eventually he made it through each and every one of
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the week that followed, the students
came to my office to pick up their souvenirs from the class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what John didn’t know was this - while
the students were picking up their pictures, they were also signing the class
picture with their own personal note to John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The class picture was a gift to John, and it is now prominently
displayed in his office.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s a lot more to this story, but as those details could very
easily make their way into my book, I am going to wrap-up with a final story about that class picture.</span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the major television news stations in town, KARE 11, was at
Saint John’s earlier this week interviewing John - below is a link to the
resulting video. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you skip to the one
minute mark, you will see John proudly point out the class picture and read one
of the comments that was written.</span></div>
<br />
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<a href="http://www.kare11.com/news/article/991066/24/Gagliardi-to-coach-600th-game-on-Saturday"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">http://www.kare11.com/news/article/991066/24/Gagliardi-to-coach-600th-game-on-Saturday</span></a></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Had my Dad not kept on me about getting a signed picture with John, I
likely wouldn’t have come up with the idea to do the same for his students.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I likely wouldn’t have taken the class
picture either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And KARE 11 would have
needed to find something else to fill those five seconds of their news clip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Part of me feels guilty in taking pride knowing that something I was
responsible for ended up on the news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But, John seems proud of the picture and comments, so maybe that's okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I suppose I could mention that the comment John read from the picture
during the newscast was written by a student who took an accounting class from
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I could also mention that the
KARE 11 camera focused longer on the class picture than it did on a signed
football from the President of the United States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But who’s counting?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I guess I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Well, </span>today is John’s 600<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> game as
the coach of Saint John’s, so maybe that's okay, too.</span></div>
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ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-28076738432205932272012-09-03T13:43:00.003-07:002012-09-03T18:22:42.186-07:00A great day to be a bean counterWith just over five minutes remaining in the opening game of the 2012
season, Ben jogged onto the field. Once
the huddle broke, it was somewhat unusual to see him running out to the flanker
position. For his entire life, Ben had
been a quarterback, even seeing significant playing time at that position for
the Johnnies last year. But, when the
team decided to go with a different quarterback this time around, Ben was moved
to a different position. Taking the snap
was Nick, a freshman and the third string quarterback. Nick was about to experience his first ever
play under center as a Johnnie.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
The ball was snapped and Nick dropped back in the pocket. The offensive line’s protection was solid, allowing
Nick plenty of time to setup and step into his pass. He threw a long, high, and beautiful spiral
toward a receiver streaking down the home team’s sideline. Initially, Ben appeared covered by two
defenders, but he kept running, and the ball kept floating through the air.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
At the last moment, one defender leaped to tip away the pass, but the
ball sailed just out of his reach.
Without breaking stride, Ben caught the ball over his shoulder. With two defenders giving chase, Ben kept
running and running, all the way to the end zone - and all the way into the
Saint John’s record books.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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In the storied history of Saint John’s football, which began in the
year 1900, the Johnnies have played 835 games.
At a conservative estimate of 50 offensive plays per team per game, the
Johnnies have run over 40,000 plays.
During this time, St. John’s has scored 20,670 points, including more
than 3,000 touchdowns. <br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
But, the Johnnies never had an offensive touchdown, or even an offensive
play, that covered more than 93 yards…until this past Saturday afternoon.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Nick’s pass to Ben resulted in a 95 yard touchdown. Welcome to the history books, boys. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Yes, the record will be broken someday.
And yes, at St. John’s individual records pale in comparison to team
accomplishments - the announcers didn’t even mention the record and Ben did
not find out until I checked the record books and sent him an e-mail about an
hour after the game. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
However, setting records is still fun.
And watching from the grandstands, I found this record particularly
satisfying. You see, Ben is an
accounting major and I had him in class last year - he was a delightful
student. He sat in the front row, showed
up every day, and was very respectful.
He was one of the top students in the class. When I let him know he set the record, I was touched when he replied "Boz, I couldn't have done it without you teaching me about budgets and standard costs." Okay, maybe I made that last part up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
But it wasn’t just Ben who made me proud that day. Another accounting student is a pre-season
All-American cornerback. He deflected
the only two passes that were thrown his way, effectively taking away half of
the field from the opposing quarterback.
It was amusing, however, when I was visiting with him after the game, and
one of his much younger cousins scolded him, “Why did you drop those two
passes?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Yet another accounting major is the kicker, who booted a 49 yard field
goal, sent all of his 7 kickoffs into or out of the end zone for touchbacks,
and converted all 7 of his extra points, one of which hit the camera stand
above the end-zone bleachers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Two more accounting students were starters on the line.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
As for Nick, the freshman quarterback who threw the record setting
pass? He is in his first semester at St.
John’s, and as I am on sabbatical, I have not yet met him. But sure enough, I found out that he is
currently taking an accounting course, as it is as a prerequisite for his
global business leadership major. I just
may have to try to convert him to an accounting major. After all, the beautiful thing is, athletes at St. Ben’s and St. John’s
are also great students, and this is especially true with accounting
majors. On the 2011 CPA exam, our
students scored 8 percentage points high than the state average and 15
percentage points higher than the national average.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
It was a great day for the Johnnies, but I must admit…it was a great
day for the bean-counters as well.<o:p></o:p></div>
ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-8954336742887405232012-08-26T15:41:00.001-07:002012-08-26T15:43:55.755-07:00And so it begins<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This Wednesday at nine o’clock in the morning, the bells will ring at St.
Ben’s and St. John’s to welcome the class of 2016 and usher in another school
year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first time since 2003, I
will not be there to walk in late, loudly greet my fellow faculty members, complain
that the coffee pot is empty, play country music too loudly, and strum
incorrect notes on my guitar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I
will be on sabbatical, initially nestled away in the Bighorn Mountains of
Wyoming.</span></div>
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Spending the last several months with John has been an amazing
experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But last week, I visited him
for the final time (until the season is over), as we needed to go our separate
ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the 70<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> straight
year, the last 60 at Saint John’s, John will be consumed with coaching football.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And for the first time ever, after a year of
anticipation, I will be consumed with writing a book.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before heading to Wyoming, I packed-up two laptops, five previous books
about John and St. John’s football, six notebooks full of scribbles, ten hours
of videotape, 75 hours of audio recordings, and over 200 notes and letters from
alumni.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My charge is to sift through this
information and turn it into a couple hundred page book which describes how
John has created such a powerful legacy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While the reasons for his sustained success are clear in my mind, the challenge
which will cause me to re-write the book several times, will be to write in a
manner which will be interesting and inspiring to others.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had been especially anxious over the past couple of months, as I was constantly
worried about how to spend my final time with John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now that we have said goodbye, I find
myself surprisingly relaxed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is refreshing to know that while I may
never have all the information I need, I now have all of the information I am
going to get - and my job is to do the best I can with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In essence, practice is over, and now it is
game day.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Am I nervous?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But more than anything, I am confident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have listened to John preach about the
importance of confidence for quite some time, and he has created a monster.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, I am going to wrap-it up now; I’ve got something a bit more
important to write about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll end by
answering the question that many of you have asked me, “Where do you begin?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My answer is that I’m not stressing about how
or why to start; I am just kind of diving in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As John would say, “Just do it, damnit.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The view from my rocking chair.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmOrEsXuoPeK1cTb9f0BNYYAb-YnXqRXumt_ukuQ299YtVOTg7HpeSDP0ExurZRg0cls7vhy8hafaS6W4G380c9Hpy5smtwewczcn7yAeL70wOFB8KbPfwZskQVTQSyIENHbriPN4apbk/s1600/IMG_0068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmOrEsXuoPeK1cTb9f0BNYYAb-YnXqRXumt_ukuQ299YtVOTg7HpeSDP0ExurZRg0cls7vhy8hafaS6W4G380c9Hpy5smtwewczcn7yAeL70wOFB8KbPfwZskQVTQSyIENHbriPN4apbk/s640/IMG_0068.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The view from the Bighorn Mountains.</span></div>
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ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-73541230008670441292012-08-15T09:19:00.000-07:002012-08-15T09:20:25.326-07:0070.3 - Part VII<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: “Home stretch…wow…he is awesome” came the
reply when I let Jodi know that Nick had only two miles to go. I drove to the park with my windows down and
the Rocky music blaring, hopefully inspiring, and not deafening, any runner
within earshot. When I arrived at the
finishing area, I saw a much more joyous sight.
There were massage tables, as well as loud music, beer, and a gigantic
ice bath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After
failing to locate Nick’s family, I found a spot at the bottom of a hill near
the beach, looking back at the homestretch of the run. Yes, I said “at the bottom of a hill,” as the
sadistic race organizers made the athletes run up a steep and winding hill at
the end of their intense journey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
stood at the bottom of that hill and waited...and waited…and waited some more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
At this point on the course, we were back in the city and in a
residential area. I started walking on the sidewalk under the cover of the
trees as much as I could. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I don’t remember seeing the mile 12
marker, but I passed some people who said that I was close to finishing. I
asked how much further, and they replied “less than a mile!” I gave the obligatory last mile effort, but
didn’t make it more than a couple minutes before I realized I still had a ways
to go.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I came around a corner that I recognized
from when the run had just begun, and I decided that there couldn’t be more
than a half mile left. The switch
flipped and I went for it. I attempted
an 8:00 pace, but quickly found out that wasn’t happening. My calves weren’t
working anymore, and I was feeling a twinge in my left knee similar to when I
slightly tore cartilage a few years ago.
So, I took it easy and tried to minimize my feet clapping on the
pavement the best I could. Eventually, I saw the finishing banners across a
little bay of the lake, so I knew I was so close. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: Every time another runner round the bend, I
hoped that it was Nick. And each time I
saw someone else, I felt a bit deflated.
I knew what misery he was experiencing in these final miles and just
wanted him to be done with it. Plus, I
needed him to finish <i>before</i> he died,
because then, I wouldn’t have to be the one who informed his wife. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
I turned a final corner and passed the point at which I saw my cheering
section when I started the run. The street was now filled with athletes walking
their bikes back to their cars, their medals lightly swaying around their
necks. I noticed that many had their shoes off and were walking barefoot in the
grass. My feet felt really, really hot
at that moment. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I made the last turn into the park
between the blaze orange tape ropes and was met with a steep downhill that I
totally forgot about. I then ran past the beach where I started this thing
nearly 6 hours ago.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: Eventually, Nick came into view and I
breathed a huge sigh of relief; he was going to make it. He smiled at me at the bottom of the hill,
and this time, solely due to the winding nature of this final stretch, I beat
him to the top. When I arrived at the
finish area, I ran into his family and we cheered him through his final
steps. Five hours and 49 minutes after
he began, Nick crossed the finish line.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
I took a quick left up a big, big hill.
My cheering section was on the right side of the trail as I neared the
finish line. I tried to force another smile, but as trail began to go uphill, I
needed to focus on not tripping over myself. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After a hairpin right turn, I was in the
short finishing chute. I didn’t attempt to sprint, and as my family shifted up
the hill to the gate on the right side, I reached out and smacked a high five
to my 6-year-old son. I crossed the line
and was smiling. I felt my smile and it
was so big, and it wasn’t even forced. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: “Daddy!” his two boys called out as they ran
to him. His two year old daughter,
however, was more cautious, seemingly not agreeing with Nick’s assessment that
he had stopped sweating. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After
I let his family greet him, I asked if it was easier or tougher than he
expected. “About the same.” came his
reply. “That was the best I have ever
felt on the bike. I have never ridden
that fast for that long. I didn’t cramp,
and just my knee is stiff. I probably
pushed too hard. But, I don’t care, I
had fun.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
I walked right past the volunteer handing out medals, as I didn’t see
her at first. I quickly realized I
walked right past everyone, so I had to go back in the finishing chute, remove
my timing chip, and receive my medal. There was no way I was going home without
that!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After walking out of the finish chute
for the second time, I strolled over to the hill where I had put my wetsuit on
that morning and looked out over the lake. I actually got a little choked up
for a second. I was so happy to have finished this thing. I was hurting, I was
tired, but I felt so amazing. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I caught my breath right away and turned
around to find my cheering section. They hadn’t seen me sneak out of the chute
and were still looking for me. I hollered, and they came over. My 6-year-old
came in for a hug, but backed off at the last minute when he realized I was
soaked from head to toe. Instead, I gave high fives to everyone else except my
20-month old daughter, who smiled but shrugged away when I reached for her, way
too smart for her own good. We lined up for a few pictures and then started
talking food. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: After a few family pictures, Nick’s family
discussed where to go for some post-race grub.
“McDonald’s!” called out his eldest.
“After 5 gels, 7 shot blocks, and a bunch of Gatorade, I don’t know if
my stomach is up for that, buddy.” Nick replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">His
family walked to their car while I hung out with Nick as he packed up his
belongings. When we were leaving the
grounds, volunteers were pouring free beer for the athletes. “I’m not a triathlete,” I inquired, “but can
a freelance reporter get a glass?” The
kind lady simply nodded, smiled, and handed me a glass. After several hours of chasing Nick around
the course, it was a very satisfying end to the closest I will ever come to
being a half Ironman triathlete. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
we reached his car, I asked Nick the obligatory question of whether he would do
this race again. “We’ll see. I have a year to decide. I won’t do more than one per year
though. This kills you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
After making my family wait much longer than I expected, I urged them to
go ahead and get out of the park, telling them I’d meet them as quickly as
possible. They didn’t push back, so I started to walk back to my transition
spot with Boz.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The race director was already handing
out the hardware to the age group winners when we passed the post-race
festivities. There was a modest spread of food and pastries, as well as a beer
trailer with free beer for the athletes
Boz pulled out his “I’m a journalist” card with the beer ladies and
without saying it directly they said, “Yeah right, buddy, but here you go
anyway,” and gave us both a beer. I took a sip but didn’t trust my stomach
quite yet. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We packed up my stuff, and Boz
graciously walked me back to my car with a bag or two over his shoulder. As we
said goodbye, I gave him the remainder of my beer in what seemed like a gesture
of thanks, but it was really more of a “get this thing out of my sight, because
I’m sick of carrying it, and it really doesn’t taste good at the moment.” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: I bid Nick goodbye and walked back to the
Rocky-mobile. For the first time in
quite a while, I looked at my phone and saw that I had received four
anxiety-filled texts from Jodi. “Sorry
for the delay, all is great, he finished.” I replied. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Jodi
simply replied with the universal symbol of happiness: a smiley face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
I met my family at a café and ordered eggs and hash browns. They sounded
amazing, but I couldn’t eat very much. My stomach was a mess and all I really
wanted was water. I drank 4 glasses of ice water at the restaurant and both of
my sons’ leftover apple juice. I finished the eggs, but only about a third of
the rest of my meal, so I packed it up for later. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: Exhausted, I went home and took a two-hour
nap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
We ordered pizza that night and I was able to eat two pieces, but I was
still feeling a bit off. I had one beer with dinner, but that only made things
worse, so I just stuck to water the rest of the night. If you’ve made it this
far in the report, it will probably be hard to give out too much information,
so I’ll tell you that I didn’t urinate until just before bed at 11:00 pm. That
means that I went from mile 4.5 of the run at about 11:15 am until 11:00 pm
without urinating, despite drinking well over a gallon of liquids over that
time.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I stretched a few times and actually
wrestled around and gave the boys “airplane rides” on the floor that night. I
had to keep moving because I knew once I stopped, I was going to be down for
the count, and I was right. Once the kids were in bed, I iced my knees, popped
some Aleve, and passed out. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Epilogue</span></i></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: People look at me like I am kind of unusual
when I tell them I am heading out to spectate an endurance event. Truth be told, I wasn’t always of fan of
racing. I played football while growing
up, and when it came time for track and field, I threw the shot put. To say I thought distance runners were a bit
odd would be a fair statement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">However,
back in 2001, I found myself unable to control my weight, and my wife suggested
that I take up running. Later than year,
I entered a 5 mile cross country race through an apple orchard, and I was
hooked. I then ran my first marathon in
2003 and was amazed at how powerful of an impact the spectators had on me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
2004, I attended my first marathon as a spectator, and have been hooked on
attending endurance events ever since.
Over the past several years, I have spectated many marathons and a few
Susan G. Komen 60 mile walks. Watching
people push themselves, simply to see if they can accomplish a goal, is an
amazing experience. And I understand that
whether or not I know the participants, they love to hear my cheers. So, as soon as Nick told me he was planning
to participate in this half ironman, I wrote it in pen on my calendar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
I actually had to work the following morning, but was in no rush to get
up early. I woke up quite refreshed and surprisingly not very stiff at all. My
legs were tired, but my knee felt fine and the rest of my body just needed a
good stretch. I drove into work for a couple hours, came home early for lunch,
and then caught a plane to Chicago for a business trip. I brought my workout
clothes “just in case” and actually ended up going for a short swim at the Ohio
Street Beach in downtown Chicago, just to loosen up. The next day I went for a
nice 3 mile run on Lakeshore Drive, and it felt great. I didn’t push a pace and
just went to sort my body out a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I had really intense craving for salty
snacks and foods, but my appetite didn’t get better until about Tuesday…at
which point I at an entire full size order of pad thai and pot stickers by
myself. And then it wasn’t until
Thursday that I actually felt hydrated and balanced out again. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The half ironman distance triathlon is
everything I imagined it would be: exciting, painful, tiring, mentally
exhausting, rewarding, and exhilarating. The atmosphere of a triathlon was very
similar to a marathon in that people were everywhere cheering for athletes that
they only knew by the number on their bib.
Athletes joked with each other on the beach to calm each other’s nerves,
and then continually urged each other on during the run. Volunteers gave you
high fives as you passed through the water stations.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The cliché “It’s not the destination;
it’s the journey” is the best way for me to describe this experience. I trained
with the mentality that my goal was not to finish a half ironman race, but
rather to learn how to incorporate distance and intensive training into my
daily life<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I made training for this race a part of
my regular life without making it my <u>entire</u> life. I incorporated rest
time into my weekly plans and kept those plans very flexible. Having children,
a home, a full-time career, and a healthy relationship with my wife took
priority over playing on my bicycle and running in circles around my
neighborhood. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I learned how to make time to train
without sacrificing any of those other things. In fact, I think it taught me
how to make more time for my family and focus harder on them. My wife is also
getting back into running so it taught us to communicate better to take turns
training - granted, we had to learn the hard way through a miscommunication or
three here and there, but we learned!. I’ve also learned to eat better and
actually now crave vegetables, a food group which I’ve neglected my entire
life.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Will I do another half iron? Now that
it’s sunk in for a week or two, I definitely think I will. How will my approach differ? Race wise, I need to cool it on the bike. I
burned all of my matches on the wheels without remembering that I needed to run
a half marathon afterward.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If I were asked which part of my
training paid off the most, it was definitely my swimming. My swim was the most
comfortable I’ve ever felt in the water. In the future I’d like to get faster
(like anyone does), but I don’t think I could ever feel better during the
event. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m truly disappointed in my run time
because I know I trained well enough to do better than I did. That’s just a
result of my lack of discipline on the bike though, which I learned the hard
way this first time around. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Will I bump up to the full Ironman
distance? I’m not sure yet. I rushed into distance running when I first started
in college, got burned out, and I don’t want to see the same results with
triathlons. Could I double the distance and essentially double the training?
Unless I get even more efficient with my time, it’d be very hard to do without
sacrificing time in other parts of my life. I’d like to be able to finish a
half ironman more comfortably before I decide to double the effort on race day.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But I have plenty of time to think about
the future. For now, all I can say is
this: I did 70.3!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: Thanks to Nick for letting me stalk him for
the day, and thanks to all of you who followed our report. Perhaps this is the last you’ll read of Nick
and me together. But then again, maybe
Nick will decide to run a full triathlon, and I’ll tag along to tell you all
about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">At first glance, it looks like a hot tub. But those are ice cubes in there with the runners!</span></div>
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A few pictures from athletes digging deep over the final 100 yards.<br />
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I don't know exactly what this guy did for the other parts of the triathlon, but all I can say is, "Wow!"<br />
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Nick, within smelling distance of the finish, and unfortunately, my shirt.<br />
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That's Nick's mom in the foreground capturing her son in the finishing chute.<br />
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Good work, buddy!<br />
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"So, dad, you trained all these months and swam, biked, and ran all day, and all you got was this medal?"<br />
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Family pics.<br />
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<br />
The athlete and the author.<br />
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ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-56452594385701588342012-08-13T08:37:00.000-07:002012-08-15T11:34:05.918-07:0070.3 - Part VI<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Boz: Frustrated with myself for missing Nick at the transition area, I hustled back to my car and started driving along the running course, trying to spot him among the throng of runners. While I didn’t immediately find him, I did spot a number of interesting things. I saw runners “investigating” the pine trees that lined the course. I saw several runners battling with leg cramps and couldn’t imagine the torture they would be facing over the final 10 miles. I also saw large chairs for sale in someone’s front yard, and thought that they could have made a nice profit if they instead offered to rent them out for five minutes at a time. Finally, I saw the leader making his way back on the out-and-back course to finish in a time of just over 4 hours – I personally think out-and-back courses are kind of cruel that way as some runners were barely beginning a half marathon while watching someone else finish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">At this point, I began to get a little annoyed with Nick and blame him for not being more visible. Why couldn’t he wear a nice bright pink shirt, instead of a black sleeveless shirt like 50% of the other runners? Well, at least, I remember him telling me that he had switched to running with a forefront strike, so I figured I could just look for a black-shirted guy doing that. But, I quickly realized I have no clue what a forefront strike is. So, I decided to simply proceed to the mile 5 water stop and just wait for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">While hanging out near the volunteers, I noticed that a young boy was obsessed with spraying runners with a garden hose. He called out to me and said, “Mister, may I spray you?” I would have loved a cool down on this 85 degree day and the water would have nicely disguised my sweat. However, , I envisioned how my wife would react if told her that her camera was ruined because I was hot. So, I politely declined his good offer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">This water stop was on the narrow shoulder of a two lane road, and as mentioned previously, this was an out and back race, meaning runners were coming from both directions. I was just waiting for two runners to collide and fall into oncoming traffic as they were grabbing a cup of water. My wife’s camera and I were ready were ready to capture the upcoming tragedy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My gaze shifted from the transition area just in time to see Nick come into view.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Nick: My first mile was painful. As planned, I walked through the water station at mile 1 and added ice and water to my bottle. My feet were still numb and the sun had come out. I had a running hat on but it was simply trapping heat against my head, so I took it off and shoved it in the back of my shirt. I doused my head with ice water, which helped, and took off again. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Although I felt like I was crawling, I was surprisingly holding about an 8:00 pace. When I reached the 2<sup>nd</sup> mile marker, I saw the first runner on his way back to the finish. He was cruising, and actually smiling huge. There were no other runners in sight so he won by a long shot at what I estimated as a sub-4 hour time. That gave me a little boost of motivation so I pushed on with my pace…for about a half mile, when I had to again stop to walk. I was about 21 minutes into the run and I felt miserable. I checked my watch, and my heart rate had spiked up to 180 beats per minute. That’s my peak rate, and I can’t sustain that effort for more than a mile on my normal training runs. I instantly decided that any time goals were out of the question and I just had to try to finish the thing.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I was sweating bullets and craving food, so I ate another gel from my belt pocket and walked for about 4 minutes. It was oddly refreshing to get that junk in my stomach and my heart rate dropped back down to a more comfortable level, so I tried to run again. Within a minute, it was back up to 170. I held the pace for about another half mile then walked again. I was toast. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Boz: Nick ran into the mile 5 water stop, and I quickly rushed up to ask him how he was doing. Given that he had killed the first two segments, I expected him to flash me a thumbs up sign and dash off. But instead, he seemed content to walk with me for a bit. He eventually replied to my question by saying, “I’m spent. I shouldn’t have gone so fast on the bike. My wind is fine, my legs are fine; it is just that my heart rate skyrockets to 180 every time I start running.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He pulled a hat out of his the back of his shorts and asked if I would take it. I felt honored, kind of like when Mean Joe Greene tossed his sweaty jersey to a kid in the famous 1979 Coca-Cola commercial. The hat was fully soaked, kind of like my t-shirt by this point. Before he began running again, Nick showing surprising interest in me by asking, “So how are you doing? You have been all over the place today!” I assured him that I was doing just fine, figuring it was taboo to bring up how badly my inner thighs were chafing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Nick: I walked through another water stop at mile 3.5 and took off again, with the goal of making it to the mile 5 water stop. I made it to about mile 4.5 and then had the sudden feeling that my bladder was about to explode. I could see the mile 5 water station in the distance but imagined a big line at the porta potty. I found a nice tree down in the ditch and hopped down there the best I could to make a urea donation. The good news was that I appeared to be well hydrated. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I trudged back up on the road and ran to the mile 5 mile water station where I found Boz on the side of the road waiting for me, tape recorder in hand. I answered his questions, engaged in small talk and non-verbally invited him for a walk with me well after the water station. Before taking off, I asked him a favor. I can only imagine what he was thinking as I reached back and started to reach into my clothes. I handed him my sweaty hat and ask if he’ll carry it the rest of the way for me. He gladly accepted my sweaty souvenir and we parted ways. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Boz: “Wow, I’m sure,” replied Jodi, when I texted her that Nick was feeling pretty rough at Mile 5. “I’m hoping to get some Johnnie Bread on your campus.” I imagine Nick would have also liked about 2 loaves of the stuff at this point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I drove up to the mile 7.3 water stop and waited for Nick. It was kind of fun to watch people approach the water stop and treat it like a fast food restaurant, calling out as they approached “Two waters!” “Gatorade!” “Ice!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When Nick arrived and slowed to walk with me again for a bit, the first question I asked him was, “So, you have about 6 miles to go. How does this compare to the same point in marathon?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Mentally, this is tougher because it is longer, and physically I am spent, completely empty. But at least I don’t hurt the way I do at the end of a marathon.” He told me how he had kept up an 8 minute per mile pace since he last saw me and then again expressed surprising interest in me while in the middle of his race by asking “How is the book coming along?” What dawned on me at this time is that while athletes usually don’t like to talk or answer questions near the end of a long event, they are happy to hear someone else chatter away – anything to take their mind off the effort required to take another step. So, I rambled about my book for a bit until he was ready to run again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Nick: I’m not sure how far we walked together but it greatly helped my mood and spirits, and my heart rate was down in the 120’s. I took off again and held a good comfortable pace for about 2.5 miles. I walked briefly through the 6.25 mile water stop, which also doubled as the 7.5 mile water stop on the way back. I saw Boz’s car on the other side of the road as I went through it the first time and refilled my water bottle with ice and water. Then on the second time through I stopped to walk with him a bit. I felt decent during that last stretch but now that I was walking again it felt so, so good to just keep walking. Boz and I finished our conversation and I attempted to run. I couldn’t have made it another quarter mile or so before I was walking again. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Boz: “The Abbey bells are ringing for him!” Jodi replied when I texted her to say that Nick was looking better with 6 miles to go. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the bells ring every 15 minutes, even when Nick is not running triathlons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I drove up mile10.7, which was also mile 2.4 for those on the “out” portion of the run. It really was a tale of two races at this point, with those at 10.7 smelling the finish and those at 2.4 dreading what was to come. To give the runners a boost, I blared Rocky music out of the trunk of my Chevy Impala. If you want to feel valuable, head out to a race with “Gonna Fly Now” and “Eye of Tiger” on your I-pod. Everyone will love you and you may even get a comment like I did from one runner, “I just want to shake the hand and say thank you to the man who saved my life.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I was checking my watch and observed that Nick’s pace seems to have slowed considerably. I was worried. And as each minute passed and it seemed impossible that he would be taking this long, I worried even more. Perhaps he took a short cut? No he wouldn’t do that. Maybe he collapsed, and I will be the one in charge of telling his wife and three young children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Finally, I saw Nick coming in the distance and he raised his hands above his head when he heard the music. I asked him if he had any final comments before I saw him at the finish line, “This sucks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I asked him if he wanted me to jog with him to the curb, not wanting to slow him down, and he laughed heartily and somewhat eerily, almost as if I had just asked him if I could eat his first born<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I said, “Okay. I guess you are good walking for a bit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Nick replied, “Now it hurts. Now it is marathon pain. All I can think now is that I need to focus. I think I quit sweating.” I wanted to offer him some of my sweat, as I had more than enough for both of us, but decided against it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Yeah, not too much left now, though” I said, and then realized that I spoke too soon. Relief doesn’t really come until you have less than one mile to go. The next mile and a half were going to be very, very tough on Nick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As he soldiered onward, I called out, “See you at the finish buddy!” even though it may have been more appropriate to phrase it as a question instead of a statement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Nick: The sun was now directly overhead and shining down on my back. It was just plain hot, and I could feel the heat radiating from the blacktop onto my cheeks. I doused my head with ice water and could feel it heat up as it streamed down my back. I walked for a bit over a mile, and then tried to run again. I got through another mile at about a 9:30 pace. I slowed to walk yet again and ate my last gel. At this point a few other guys and I start to leap frog each other, alternating turns walking and running. We’re all doing the same thing: running for a couple minutes, walking for a few minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I spotted Boz’s car again just around the street corner ahead. As his windows rolled down, I could hear the Rocky music loud and strong. I attempted to mimic Rocky and run towards him with my hands in the air, but didn’t make it very far. He met me and I gladly walked again. I now told him that this was as close as I can remember to the feeling of mile 23 of a marathon. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But the difference that I couldn’t express at the time was that I was actually more tired than sore. I still hurt, but it was mainly my knees and feet. During a marathon, my whole body would hurt. My back, my shoulders, my neck. Everything. The pounding of the marathon definitely hurt worse.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I was also overheating and couldn’t drink enough water. I brought a 750 mL water bottle with me on the run, and I’d refilled it 4 times already. I was occasionally squirting water over my head and back, but over half of it was definitely entering my body. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We walked together for about a block before we parted ways. But this time, I didn’t even pretend to try to and start running again. A few moments later, Boz buzzed by with Rocky still blaring. I gave a fist pump and just kept walking, hoping I had enough left to make it the final 2.4 miles.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Next Up: The Finish?</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Part VII may be found here: <a href="http://professorboz.blogspot.com/2012/08/703-part-vii.html">http://professorboz.blogspot.com/2012/08/703-part-vii.html</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The chairs that should have been advertised for rent instead of for sale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj646120nQW_a9eLQR9JEDou7Bv35otFf4LVX-C5EmkDkroqSrBqYWNkfBujnfDCHROYo7QPWB-pgF25TNw9Jvq3axTmKsI0HPBwX4OuZMDPb5zSCW2vqbS_W0aEMa1ukdJiaHKm9JPIxnK/s1600/IMG_0078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj646120nQW_a9eLQR9JEDou7Bv35otFf4LVX-C5EmkDkroqSrBqYWNkfBujnfDCHROYo7QPWB-pgF25TNw9Jvq3axTmKsI0HPBwX4OuZMDPb5zSCW2vqbS_W0aEMa1ukdJiaHKm9JPIxnK/s640/IMG_0078.JPG" width="640" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I am sure there is a reason for this type of apparel, I just don’t know what it is. I also wonder how much time he lost due to the drag of his beard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEk00wpBBX-suYCX2SbYC4iD7WfZiAV36PdyAoT5cxhqoopT2KpBwAu83k0gde9WP6W6ryzTkCBAwMUWHCVmOav7Z6-3vRxX9WNkH4x5t7Qn-psLY1VPmdDmYy3dJgXi82hRCo8VReaAd/s1600/IMG_0086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEk00wpBBX-suYCX2SbYC4iD7WfZiAV36PdyAoT5cxhqoopT2KpBwAu83k0gde9WP6W6ryzTkCBAwMUWHCVmOav7Z6-3vRxX9WNkH4x5t7Qn-psLY1VPmdDmYy3dJgXi82hRCo8VReaAd/s640/IMG_0086.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I never thought I would refer to Nick as a sight for sore eyes, but after not seeing him for an hour, this was good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeF-HkG0lnjLeIxYkkhUrz3KuAcL9_7p-JmCiICYk1iZ65WNAMgzOht3VJP6jhMstxHer7SE0Mbx2bqJtpSNodqtxsHNKgMo04nF0fuD1YzVCkfLpAwLkiizPIpEJkb_GiCckGt9XQu-Hi/s1600/IMG_0088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeF-HkG0lnjLeIxYkkhUrz3KuAcL9_7p-JmCiICYk1iZ65WNAMgzOht3VJP6jhMstxHer7SE0Mbx2bqJtpSNodqtxsHNKgMo04nF0fuD1YzVCkfLpAwLkiizPIpEJkb_GiCckGt9XQu-Hi/s640/IMG_0088.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As my wife can attest to, I have trouble drinking water without spilling when I am just sitting in a chair. Here we see Nick carrying 2 glasses of water and dumping them into his water bottle, while running.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIhminKNB6i4N7hLxN7RzA5Zq2IZ3qIy1vxPpTllS5pUuGuWcD5qfEnrj15-t9-aTh7OqBrSF0t9RqmP9BSRsoWnQMI_e7Q3BFFhG_Sb6mlc1HZEZ8b-PhyiBvBc-MImtz6C6APC08JHD/s1600/IMG_0089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIhminKNB6i4N7hLxN7RzA5Zq2IZ3qIy1vxPpTllS5pUuGuWcD5qfEnrj15-t9-aTh7OqBrSF0t9RqmP9BSRsoWnQMI_e7Q3BFFhG_Sb6mlc1HZEZ8b-PhyiBvBc-MImtz6C6APC08JHD/s640/IMG_0089.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2P95xQkN4ph4rkxh1iILFj03TKOqKIpl1syf5kZIQtofHJCqePFkJQ0jCGvwhfAKvHAEFilkn7JGKpcUsklmqKrPhP1suZgb97qn5xWhDRKGsa04TUM4aN0Nz8ULmoLVMXsLBSHY6imX_/s1600/IMG_0091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2P95xQkN4ph4rkxh1iILFj03TKOqKIpl1syf5kZIQtofHJCqePFkJQ0jCGvwhfAKvHAEFilkn7JGKpcUsklmqKrPhP1suZgb97qn5xWhDRKGsa04TUM4aN0Nz8ULmoLVMXsLBSHY6imX_/s640/IMG_0091.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Feeling the pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaHD6Bug9pJS25qN39OrjfSqEbDoy3j9ae5jMR2G5TudxkOv9Z0tXjPbyaW2TNCIlVK0Ui47PEiy7EqeuI7O_Qm6IIRW_w5_npljOpcWchyFE2IBlgAX7qPzMNn7LMmPJN9MBQgSPRr4i/s1600/IMG_0093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaHD6Bug9pJS25qN39OrjfSqEbDoy3j9ae5jMR2G5TudxkOv9Z0tXjPbyaW2TNCIlVK0Ui47PEiy7EqeuI7O_Qm6IIRW_w5_npljOpcWchyFE2IBlgAX7qPzMNn7LMmPJN9MBQgSPRr4i/s640/IMG_0093.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Back up the hill, where you can see the out-and-back effect and how people had to jog into the road as a result.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZk5k1Eq1HC62bzYk3wcz7LO8lGUAlqbROEtbHM1Mk6w6J_TYRUV2T5Gs_0WtDkOnwixmsEP8RMNBCURwcvlGinUT9zYJ20MK51SUcEw1ER7Li7X2N4xd6rP3SQgi61jK9S5g1CURXsbx/s1600/IMG_0095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZk5k1Eq1HC62bzYk3wcz7LO8lGUAlqbROEtbHM1Mk6w6J_TYRUV2T5Gs_0WtDkOnwixmsEP8RMNBCURwcvlGinUT9zYJ20MK51SUcEw1ER7Li7X2N4xd6rP3SQgi61jK9S5g1CURXsbx/s640/IMG_0095.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">This guy ran with an unusual open hat so that he could have a bag of ice directly on his head! I mentally referred to him as Ice Hat Dude whenever I saw him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEW6j6C9FLGTyDtqrSokHFV-vNNWbG9whEkosAF45n9gPJCFcwGXQtk19cMziMauEqyMryls1Ck8OEgLDQWLRLfEg5ZsB5LkNM3QuxpFrNQwHruf0Qn6NsYhx83FAoz26Pu4p4hkAktT1y/s1600/IMG_0098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEW6j6C9FLGTyDtqrSokHFV-vNNWbG9whEkosAF45n9gPJCFcwGXQtk19cMziMauEqyMryls1Ck8OEgLDQWLRLfEg5ZsB5LkNM3QuxpFrNQwHruf0Qn6NsYhx83FAoz26Pu4p4hkAktT1y/s640/IMG_0098.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Everyone play follow the leader now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyTmVWCEKrEFkhO_814Kuzf67nfWyC-nZA8SLtSg88jhq1t2NcdaJSWox3UTwHGVrsZV-sqYWs-9m6-QNUP-58xw5aVZf8boDy0wbkayrlzmpa3i-NSJaCEjKXz150XiRIdafHj6aJYQ6C/s1600/IMG_0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyTmVWCEKrEFkhO_814Kuzf67nfWyC-nZA8SLtSg88jhq1t2NcdaJSWox3UTwHGVrsZV-sqYWs-9m6-QNUP-58xw5aVZf8boDy0wbkayrlzmpa3i-NSJaCEjKXz150XiRIdafHj6aJYQ6C/s640/IMG_0111.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I love the intensity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1n_6xJ5o3XgXZFyAj_b3wbj5q_FKQsUw74wQLVcDcbN41lNnRdI3h8kFk7eCiFycGuQ5HDPm_g-E-wBtaQoMchKsvYY1r_gJ3FFLOF6MVRddwYYUGUqm8wSoFiYANkGBpS0oxQ8Xxs3oL/s1600/IMG_0113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1n_6xJ5o3XgXZFyAj_b3wbj5q_FKQsUw74wQLVcDcbN41lNnRdI3h8kFk7eCiFycGuQ5HDPm_g-E-wBtaQoMchKsvYY1r_gJ3FFLOF6MVRddwYYUGUqm8wSoFiYANkGBpS0oxQ8Xxs3oL/s640/IMG_0113.JPG" width="640" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Goodbye until I see you again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPJcbtYAIvpojLzSJUE-TqnpL3WtJIEej2OM6Q6qwN98zAAVLgy3S2HlOcx7tFLcSiMYHxCkslDOTguO63eU8nphxHjoBfnWC_o53dyypYNRHEnjonoU4wem1ncuxf2qs2gN9dEJSGvmW/s1600/IMG_0116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPJcbtYAIvpojLzSJUE-TqnpL3WtJIEej2OM6Q6qwN98zAAVLgy3S2HlOcx7tFLcSiMYHxCkslDOTguO63eU8nphxHjoBfnWC_o53dyypYNRHEnjonoU4wem1ncuxf2qs2gN9dEJSGvmW/s640/IMG_0116.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A few pics while blaring the Rocky music and waiting for Nick at the 10.7 mile mark.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-hqmx-ujzAlTawQE9nHyJ9HldCgAhWaMwwAeqtvgt5H2ulqfjfFsl1dsUV84Xk9oE4cqN43GD1JURyqZW0n5COyfkBUjy9-4giR-HO_Z_ErlLgOlzLL-KQAPp3ISUVa3LnMVTv6PTEemd/s1600/IMG_0131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-hqmx-ujzAlTawQE9nHyJ9HldCgAhWaMwwAeqtvgt5H2ulqfjfFsl1dsUV84Xk9oE4cqN43GD1JURyqZW0n5COyfkBUjy9-4giR-HO_Z_ErlLgOlzLL-KQAPp3ISUVa3LnMVTv6PTEemd/s640/IMG_0131.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwaQEEOPyUqZN3xCD4vqbh5INTG1uQM9vIFzkWSv5ogix7Xqw7z8758WndWi9KjtwYMn1oiBl-6oOUTTdduD38jnAOJWmRjtIqs_cI5CDBtt-cPMnh3tiFg44iP3-pPkea4nwT_M6ixkJV/s1600/IMG_0179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwaQEEOPyUqZN3xCD4vqbh5INTG1uQM9vIFzkWSv5ogix7Xqw7z8758WndWi9KjtwYMn1oiBl-6oOUTTdduD38jnAOJWmRjtIqs_cI5CDBtt-cPMnh3tiFg44iP3-pPkea4nwT_M6ixkJV/s640/IMG_0179.JPG" width="640" /></a> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdOHAGv898mBc4vHh0BFpi-hp6g6K6SVARl1WrjIT2RtT0iGYy-dpQf25CpdfPAAml4MzcuZJwJ3eAbRWDxLkgmWyLcTXT6dLHq-jLbewbsMNYxILVnjzZoofnZJgweQ6WRyMU78Qr4N5/s1600/IMG_0184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdOHAGv898mBc4vHh0BFpi-hp6g6K6SVARl1WrjIT2RtT0iGYy-dpQf25CpdfPAAml4MzcuZJwJ3eAbRWDxLkgmWyLcTXT6dLHq-jLbewbsMNYxILVnjzZoofnZJgweQ6WRyMU78Qr4N5/s640/IMG_0184.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyr7zBozoKYQq9oqh7kbymHf0GZbUkJ7CwM7wYrQ5hraRxZVYjEbeEB2EuOMnt9-jI3rrHGS0l9ZPN4XucTpwzIAulMCzyJ4ZakF1QufJIs6arJTW83EPrGwvCouufQUc_JadLNkaLDqt/s1600/IMG_0190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyr7zBozoKYQq9oqh7kbymHf0GZbUkJ7CwM7wYrQ5hraRxZVYjEbeEB2EuOMnt9-jI3rrHGS0l9ZPN4XucTpwzIAulMCzyJ4ZakF1QufJIs6arJTW83EPrGwvCouufQUc_JadLNkaLDqt/s640/IMG_0190.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnvXRv_XN0y5UJwKOwd_y-zogCuw8qRalMurvMAeVCKUNTmxTh5PX_d3Ev2-10EB_781Wyr6JjBhR_TIZupacW3MzqbZKlDG4qIyUQxuhyphenhyphenwCf5IEZPNiXEPRNPMd083FWHVWFS0ffLU-h/s1600/IMG_0200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnvXRv_XN0y5UJwKOwd_y-zogCuw8qRalMurvMAeVCKUNTmxTh5PX_d3Ev2-10EB_781Wyr6JjBhR_TIZupacW3MzqbZKlDG4qIyUQxuhyphenhyphenwCf5IEZPNiXEPRNPMd083FWHVWFS0ffLU-h/s640/IMG_0200.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHZYPqtzuxJyOu1hcert5hYemjob_E4OdaXFBPukOIntJWSEaqLtGmX1hiEZG6ODZq3XXlMnWHyX3Wgc1NtnpGnCnLZ34lfcxJaP1b8esI75IjB7Xly1u9Ik0X154bhrCeFFYaOqFX3z9d/s1600/IMG_0220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHZYPqtzuxJyOu1hcert5hYemjob_E4OdaXFBPukOIntJWSEaqLtGmX1hiEZG6ODZq3XXlMnWHyX3Wgc1NtnpGnCnLZ34lfcxJaP1b8esI75IjB7Xly1u9Ik0X154bhrCeFFYaOqFX3z9d/s640/IMG_0220.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5f0wTtbKg4YLS2LJDfr8Mb9fUFFiF6nILGbVV3gRBCBXtMI_nJ5f5DdkOzoexJLbrSfWgKMO9DYYPlkYb35OKOqxXjtOOLkh_Vzxs0H6sWdzd2IbiJIHBDIwYPXjYEg73gUB5mqE6avc/s1600/IMG_0222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5f0wTtbKg4YLS2LJDfr8Mb9fUFFiF6nILGbVV3gRBCBXtMI_nJ5f5DdkOzoexJLbrSfWgKMO9DYYPlkYb35OKOqxXjtOOLkh_Vzxs0H6sWdzd2IbiJIHBDIwYPXjYEg73gUB5mqE6avc/s640/IMG_0222.JPG" width="426" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">At long last, he arrives, looking much better than he feels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-92210026389245382032012-08-12T17:17:00.002-07:002012-08-13T09:28:12.888-07:0070.3 - Part V<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: After Nick passed me at mile 52, I texted his
aunt-in-law Jodi to let her know that he was still doing well. She replied with, “He is almost there. Just like the Popeye shirt he was wearing
yesterday - strong to the finish!” I
wanted to ask her <i>why</i> Nick has a
Popeye shirt, but decided to table the question for another time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
I leisurely made my way back to my car, I did some quick math in my head. So, he’s at mile 52 meaning that he has 4
miles to go, and he is biking about 20 miles per hour meaning that he covers a
mile in 3 minutes, meaning that…he will be in the transition area only twelve
minutes from when I saw him!!! I quickly
drove back but had to park three blocks from the transition area. I was pretty sure I had made it in less than
12 minutes, so I just waited for him at the spot where he would dismount his
bike, instead of waiting for him at the transition area. I wanted to snap a picture of him coming in
from the bike and then run to the transition area with him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At
one point, I snapped a picture of a guy who I thought was Nick, but after
running with him for a few strides, I realized that I was following the wrong
athlete. I can only imagine what he felt
as a big, random, sweaty guy was chasing him.
Several minutes more passed and I still had not seen him. I figured that one of two things had
happened: he had either made great time and beat me there, or he was dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
As we reached the outer part of the city, people were starting to sit up
on their bikes and slow their pace. I kept my pace until about mile 55 where I
passed the 1-mile sign. At this point we wound through town a bit so it was
good to sit up and take the turns easy. We came back onto the narrow bike path
and it felt like the Tour de France with people lining the trail. We all had to
ride single file through the swarm of people. I heard “Go daddy!” from what
sounded like my 6-year-old and I gave a wave to the crowd hoping he’d see it.
Sure enough, just a few feet farther up were my wife, kids, and mother on the
right side next to the rope, cheering and taking pictures. I thought about
putting my hand out for a high five but didn’t trust that I could do it without
crashing magnificently in the middle of the crowd. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I finished back through the now very
trampled and muddy grass corner and rode up to the dismount area. The officials
had now tripled in number and were screaming at people left and right to get
off their bikes sooner. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: I hustled to the transition area, but a fence
kept me from going to his exact spot, where the presence (or not) of his bike
would tell me his fate. From my distance
of 20 feet, it looked like his bike was not there, although it was tough to see
with so many bikes packed in so closely.
I texted Jodi to say, “Can’t find him.
His is either already running or he is dead.” I am sure she appreciated that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
sprint triathlete who had already finished walked by and I asked him to check
for Nick’s bike, number 239. He walked
to Nick’s spot and poked around for about ten seconds, seemingly not finding
anything. Oh no, Nick <i>is</i> dead.
Just then, the triathlete peaked up, smiled, and said, “239,” as he
pointed toward Nick’s bike. I let Jodi
know that Nick was indeed alive and she said, “Okay, that’s good.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
I dismounted and started to jog my bike up to my transition spot, but my
legs were like rocks. I walked a few feet with my bike on my left side and then
tried to jog again, but I was just dead weight. I walked gently up to my spot,
hung my bike on the rack, and took off my helmet calmly, seemingly realizing
that I was probably not going to win the race. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I took my time as I bent over to change
my socks and shoes. As I’m tying them I realized my toes and the whole outer
sides of my feet were numb. Tingling numb. I strapped on my race bib, grabbed
my water bottle, and started to jog out of the transition area. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But, no matter how hard I tried, I
couldn’t push off my numb feet with more normal stride, so I started to slog
through my gait and plop down on my heels with every step. I wound out of the park and back through the
crowd onto the road. My cheering section moved out from the bike trail to the
running path and greeting with a roar. I
waved, forced a smile, and gave a “Whoo!” as I passed. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I didn’t see a yellow shirt with them,
so perhaps Boz sweat so much that the shirt became a brownish/orange with salt stains. Either that, or he was one of the cars that
was being scolded by the cops for driving on the course, while claiming he was
a member of the Associated Press. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Next Up:
The Run<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b>Part VI is at:</b> <a href="http://professorboz.blogspot.com/2012/08/part-vi.html">http://professorboz.blogspot.com/2012/08/part-vi.html</a>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">This is the guy who looked like Nick from a distance - and thus whom I stalked for a bit (that is the correct usage of who vs. whom; I looked it up).</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQuy948lVa6CzzPePRJs139B7j_opGOlsnXbGEgXhUjXTckL8Y10Gw-_mVmFVP-IHjRFxfGg7VudbVGA_GZw0jj5qhOFwMc-RzMmQ1DIwkDCCZ8doCVjQGYex1tNAVpdIc6087kjlJ0cSy/s1600/IMG_0072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQuy948lVa6CzzPePRJs139B7j_opGOlsnXbGEgXhUjXTckL8Y10Gw-_mVmFVP-IHjRFxfGg7VudbVGA_GZw0jj5qhOFwMc-RzMmQ1DIwkDCCZ8doCVjQGYex1tNAVpdIc6087kjlJ0cSy/s640/IMG_0072.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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<br />
This is actually Nick coming into the transition area (picture courtesy of his wife).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBymMn6FVfy8vK9WuoTSeGCPE8qoAaDcZmhaXKqlsPGbn7-N-rJtxebFtU3KaiIsTkK_TrWLdffi7ZjcwWBvm2W0y1MtK2UhcvGTLjp4IUin_TgvLALAZUu38fPLpLhO7jF8F89w-nzhuh/s1600/524201_748651220725_1768001383_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBymMn6FVfy8vK9WuoTSeGCPE8qoAaDcZmhaXKqlsPGbn7-N-rJtxebFtU3KaiIsTkK_TrWLdffi7ZjcwWBvm2W0y1MtK2UhcvGTLjp4IUin_TgvLALAZUu38fPLpLhO7jF8F89w-nzhuh/s640/524201_748651220725_1768001383_n.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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<br />
Nick just starting his run and presumably about to blow by another runner (picture courtesy of his wife).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94jg-n8TAluj-FeP1Y2BZW5yqi47Fu79Gm38P4D5ZnSozCiMBFS_X_PSv75GQUnnzJ1NoMjIqkTwWpjKfME0SAlvydmixJzDg2a0HcmMlmhzyrDdGTMaE6_6OcQw0mLTXbtACdg3GlRMk/s1600/581028_748651235695_2060769789_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94jg-n8TAluj-FeP1Y2BZW5yqi47Fu79Gm38P4D5ZnSozCiMBFS_X_PSv75GQUnnzJ1NoMjIqkTwWpjKfME0SAlvydmixJzDg2a0HcmMlmhzyrDdGTMaE6_6OcQw0mLTXbtACdg3GlRMk/s640/581028_748651235695_2060769789_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878163814028173808.post-10275841121808759302012-08-10T09:39:00.003-07:002012-08-13T09:27:22.474-07:0070.3 - Part IV<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: With a belly full of McDonald’s grease and
the help of the course map and my I-Phone, I drove to the first bottle
exchange, just before mile twenty of the bike course. It was here that volunteers would hand the
cyclists bottles of water and Gatorade, as well a packet of energy gel, a
favorite snack among endurance athletes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
noticed that wise bikers would slow considerably to ensure they would receive a
fresh bottle of liquid energy. On the
other hand, some cyclists would pedal though this bottle exchange at full speed
and seemingly be stunned when they fumbled the hand off. I recall one gentleman yelling out in disgust
upon leaving the bottle exchange empty handed.
All I could think was that he was so concerned about not costing himself
five seconds by slowing down, when he likely cost himself much more time in the
end when he became dehydrated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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A bit less than an hour after I had last seen him, Nick came cruising by. He didn’t stop to refresh his drinks and just
gave me a smile as he flew by. I said
goodbye to the volunteers at the bottle exchange and had enjoyed watching the
process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
Coming out of the transition area on the bike, we had to ride on a short
bike trail that went through a tunnel under the town’s main highway. To get on
this bike trail, we had to ride on grass for about 30 yards. It is funny watching people ride $3,000+
skinny triathlon bikes through bumpy, wet and, by this point slightly muddy
grass and swearing. A few people even dismounted and walked through it instead.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The first 17 or so miles of the bike
course was shared with the sprint triathletes, so there was a good amount of
bike traffic on the roads. As expected, there were a many people out there who
were not used to riding in groups, and thus there was a lot of highway-like
road rage – generally by people with big egos yelling at slow-movers on the
left side of the lane. There are quite a few people that put bells on their fancy
bikes just for this reason, but they’re usually the people with good senses of
humor who really don’t get worked up anyway. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I began my feeding at about mile five
when I ate my first gel pack; one with a little caffeine in it that I could
actually feel after awhile. We came to a
T-intersection at just under an hour. At
this point, the spring triathletes split off and suddenly the hammer dropped on
the half-iron course. The serious guys got into their tight aerodynamic tucks
and started to cruise. There was a lot of passing and being passed as the field
sorted itself out. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At about mile 19, I came up on two
cyclists off their bikes and on the shoulder of the road. As I got closer, I noticed one was bleeding
from his hand and the other was taking off his shoe. I slowed and asked if all
was alright. They didn’t give me a verbal response but they both waved me on. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As we approached the first water
exchange, I peeked down at my two bottles - one water and one home-mixed
Gatorade. They were both still over half full, so I moved to the left and
skipped the exchange. I told the volunteers
that some people were down on the course a mile back. One said, “I know” quite
hastily, so I think they already knew about the incident. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Shortly after the bottle exchange, I saw
Boz snapping photos. I waved, said
something that I’m sure was unintelligible, and kept on cruising. We agreed
beforehand that I wouldn’t stop or spend much time interviewing while on the
bike, unless of course I needed to stop to barf at that exact point, so no
feelings were hurt that I know.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: I next drove to mile 39, a quiet stretch of a
two-lane road. I parked my car on the
shoulder and took pictures of the cyclists to kill the time. It was also at this time, with my arms
somewhat elevated to hold my camera, when I noticed I must not have used enough
anti-perspirant deodorant. I think it is
safe to say that I will never be the Old Spice poster boy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
saw Nick pedaling hard in the distance, still maintaining his admirable pace of
over twenty miles per hour. I called out
to ask him how he was doing. He yelled
back, “Awesome” and was gone before I knew it.
Around this time, I crossed “Watch the Tour de France” off my
bucket-list, but not because I had accomplished it. Watching a bike race is about as interesting
as sitting in Ben Stein’s economics class in the movie <i>Ferris Bueller’s Day Off</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
After the first bottle exchange, everyone seemed to have found their
pace and we all settled down. Around mile 22, an ambulance flew by us in the
opposite direction, and I assumed they were heading to the downed cyclists I
had passed just 10 minutes ago.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We had one or two nice long hills on the
back side of the course as we headed toward the second bottle exchange. While I
didn’t completely drop the hammer up the hills, I stood and spun a bit to get
the blood flowing back into my groin and to stretch my back.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was fairly uneventful leading into
the second bottle exchange at mile 32. I ditched my bottle in the designated
dumping area of a ditch and took another bottle from the volunteers. I still
had about half of my Gatorade bottle remaining and made a mental note to drink
that before getting back into my water.
I also snagged another gel from the volunteers and ate that right away. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was starting to feel a little burn in
my legs and clicked through my cycle computer to determine my speed for the first
half. I noted that I was above 21 miles
per hour, faster than I had trained for.
But, I decided that since I was still feeling great overall, it would be
okay for me to keep churning at a decent pace. After all, it was race day and I
couldn’t leave anything on the course and all that. So I continued to drop the
hammer.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I flew by Boz around mile 39 and again
tried to yell something which I imagine was incomprehensive into his voice
recorder. I am sure it was one of the most boring interviews ever, but I would
like to think it was 20 times more colorful than anything Minnesota Twins star Joe Mauer has
ever said into a microphone. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Boz: After my stimulating two-second encounter
with Nick at mile 39, I decided to try and find him one more time on the
course, hopefully at the top of a hill this time so that I could see the
cyclists in a bit of pain. I followed
the course map to what I thought was mile 50, at which time my I-phone told me
I was in the middle of a large lake. No
wonder I couldn’t see any bikers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Once
I emerged from the lake, I found my way to mile 52, which was on a slight
uphill. I again snapped pictures of
random cyclists to kill time until Nick came into view. Still cruising and looking great, he paid
homage to Johnny Cash by yelling out “Burnin’, burnin’ burnin’” as he cruised
by. At this point, I was convinced he
would medal in the triathlon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Watching
Nick and the other cyclists keep up such a fast pace for the entire 56 miles
caused me to reflect back on the longest cycling venture of my life. In junior high, I participated in a
bike-a-thon to raise money for a Christian camp associated with our
church. We rode 150 miles over 2
days. I am pretty sure that we stopped
for breaks every ten miles or so, had lunch in the middle, and finished in a pace
of less then 10 miles per hour. I don’t
believe I wore a helmet and went shirtless on the 2<sup>nd</sup> day. I ended the day so sunburned that my back was
blistering. Times have changed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nick:
As I headed back toward the city, I saw some dark clouds to the south.
This was great because it actually became overcast for a while, meaning that we
didn’t have to battle the heat. I found myself sticking around the same few
guys for a few miles and we all pretended like we were drafting off each other
for a while.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I passed Boz again at some point; I’m
not really sure at which mile, but I was feeling my efforts at this point. I
checked my bike computer again and my average pace was still at about 20.8
miles per hour. For some reason I had
this notion in my head to try to keep my pace as close to 21 miles per hour the
whole way, completely ignoring the fact that my longest training ride was about
58 miles at a pace of 17 miles per hour. Undeterred, I ate another gel and guzzled more water to wash it down.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I hadn’t really processed how this best
bike ride of my life might impact me in the upcoming half-marathon. It wouldn’t hurt me that much, would it?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Next Up:
Transition 2<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<br />
<b>Part V is at:</b> <a href="http://professorboz.blogspot.com/2012/08/703-part-v.html">http://professorboz.blogspot.com/2012/08/703-part-v.html</a>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">An
exchange about to take place…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqcziaCRtCqjVUero5K9oRJVp8g0mhppD-0SS3rwuaq4IvuPvt0jE6rljBvBYVqRuaKAnGqlZRJ6AzUEOqb1yMc101Fw3UT-qT571NsbTaIuvWgSXysJGOdrJ7EG6ILXewcBp2uq-AxQw/s1600/IMG_9930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqcziaCRtCqjVUero5K9oRJVp8g0mhppD-0SS3rwuaq4IvuPvt0jE6rljBvBYVqRuaKAnGqlZRJ6AzUEOqb1yMc101Fw3UT-qT571NsbTaIuvWgSXysJGOdrJ7EG6ILXewcBp2uq-AxQw/s640/IMG_9930.JPG" width="640" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">…and
it’s a success!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK03nBfnbpOdVZbY0IupXuWWeg23Deoe_3lAYbO5wFOcaIwNd5jj_9pff13WoLAhlV2MuDjBxLX5m_m2S-tZCNU9l23uVVXrtthYRcbtt4rBMVj7Aj3C7iCtBQ9k287KYWiKopZAfjtirI/s1600/IMG_9931.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK03nBfnbpOdVZbY0IupXuWWeg23Deoe_3lAYbO5wFOcaIwNd5jj_9pff13WoLAhlV2MuDjBxLX5m_m2S-tZCNU9l23uVVXrtthYRcbtt4rBMVj7Aj3C7iCtBQ9k287KYWiKopZAfjtirI/s640/IMG_9931.JPG" width="640" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
would also be my preferred style of biking for 56 miles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohdWrNlcMuoAvi_vPyYsNe9klzalIuJceqgP3KgOT_v8bvthKap4VGjSS3ZtOcII5jWLwopcAivk8R96K12xkru0hWDNta9llc7tR_vHCqKNRLxN6sNDdRew6gZcaqU1IeIaQQDeaTxTg/s1600/IMG_9967.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohdWrNlcMuoAvi_vPyYsNe9klzalIuJceqgP3KgOT_v8bvthKap4VGjSS3ZtOcII5jWLwopcAivk8R96K12xkru0hWDNta9llc7tR_vHCqKNRLxN6sNDdRew6gZcaqU1IeIaQQDeaTxTg/s640/IMG_9967.JPG" width="426" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Oh
water bottle, how I love you so."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIIgbOGdufoHcabXoMoPh5mIKFpFPahSt9L-c4pTNFzYxDpu8fYriscFE2D2Sair2a9r90LmOIqpIPeQXtrqP1TWDi-zT0pH6Bxnw64KBJYFvdtxiwcrluLL5QVJbgVKexMxJ_fEI43sT/s1600/IMG_9978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIIgbOGdufoHcabXoMoPh5mIKFpFPahSt9L-c4pTNFzYxDpu8fYriscFE2D2Sair2a9r90LmOIqpIPeQXtrqP1TWDi-zT0pH6Bxnw64KBJYFvdtxiwcrluLL5QVJbgVKexMxJ_fEI43sT/s640/IMG_9978.JPG" width="426" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Our
hero pedals by - looking great, Nick!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPHVecHlzhkqvEvym_Qu1mfNGmJuSdA4gxMMoqM5wUlHHmWfdf3OEh3OToBXqabgyh-EQdROEcqrPXgd6tnecMxzp3gfIVBql_n0owC-TGA3wkdyiepzZCRbb6-RZsdI9uVz-f6vQQOu66/s1600/IMG_9982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPHVecHlzhkqvEvym_Qu1mfNGmJuSdA4gxMMoqM5wUlHHmWfdf3OEh3OToBXqabgyh-EQdROEcqrPXgd6tnecMxzp3gfIVBql_n0owC-TGA3wkdyiepzZCRbb6-RZsdI9uVz-f6vQQOu66/s640/IMG_9982.JPG" width="426" /></a>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_nmmw2yhFpsqTGu5mOnVfrGXpYbFnLyKnL2mLjL0zB69I4w2_eCUuXCyEBmPkgKTRzW5m8iO66iVJOIKeSHjmd57NZ2_IjYi7QWFuKX4tEQ_UG_p-CrbrFeQXVsVIaFbKMOE6zwBo8pET/s1600/IMG_9983.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_nmmw2yhFpsqTGu5mOnVfrGXpYbFnLyKnL2mLjL0zB69I4w2_eCUuXCyEBmPkgKTRzW5m8iO66iVJOIKeSHjmd57NZ2_IjYi7QWFuKX4tEQ_UG_p-CrbrFeQXVsVIaFbKMOE6zwBo8pET/s640/IMG_9983.JPG" width="426" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Cyclists
generally prefer a diversion like seeing a camera<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEHj2SwkTGSxBnHyvrImLskMGV7QoPmYrG6MUL5QftbimgQ-SOHQEN05jse3ykmwNjEuExrSELim_hmqqMslDjBfhFZPc9ADBJE0ftSSXRvpi6aVBBeMP67chsUg2hw0gbton7eF6-nJL/s1600/IMG_9988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEHj2SwkTGSxBnHyvrImLskMGV7QoPmYrG6MUL5QftbimgQ-SOHQEN05jse3ykmwNjEuExrSELim_hmqqMslDjBfhFZPc9ADBJE0ftSSXRvpi6aVBBeMP67chsUg2hw0gbton7eF6-nJL/s640/IMG_9988.JPG" width="426" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Apparently
this is the universal way for cyclists to acknowledge people<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZaco7wCblC62twPexvmR-7V74eTrwJsN2echoKpg-pZqOlXt_jiYF02jiNl5xlXpX7ChcseMW0oAqyceO1evYrhOaz-NGD7I2H6ITP3T0_vHA35XXFnqr8lLuPvMZj0HRiPiRobaia9zB/s1600/IMG_0054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZaco7wCblC62twPexvmR-7V74eTrwJsN2echoKpg-pZqOlXt_jiYF02jiNl5xlXpX7ChcseMW0oAqyceO1evYrhOaz-NGD7I2H6ITP3T0_vHA35XXFnqr8lLuPvMZj0HRiPiRobaia9zB/s640/IMG_0054.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Such
nice smiles after so long in the saddle!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiclIe5OlE5B1jKGDN-DkH3-xZEszUiDAhLQ4tXHNZovK-wC6btAlboZnwles8oCv_Iyy5qfXOEWqAxq4yeThoqMRprNn4I-bpZN1x-gL3aQag9wJvkYsw822ssap4TPEKPqHJFUNKPKC_y/s1600/IMG_0009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiclIe5OlE5B1jKGDN-DkH3-xZEszUiDAhLQ4tXHNZovK-wC6btAlboZnwles8oCv_Iyy5qfXOEWqAxq4yeThoqMRprNn4I-bpZN1x-gL3aQag9wJvkYsw822ssap4TPEKPqHJFUNKPKC_y/s640/IMG_0009.JPG" width="426" /></a>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilvTS3f2bcgBZA0IQrfNypFsl_EOGKbbx1_fl4n7iRIP75AMyMr8juYzNgiZAdqpH4EDM2IXMNo7oekxAneALkLNfZVmkLQINi71aW2nVlL9Z2SU-L7d1g1YcSEP9VEjrtygSen4qg_eq-/s1600/IMG_0023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilvTS3f2bcgBZA0IQrfNypFsl_EOGKbbx1_fl4n7iRIP75AMyMr8juYzNgiZAdqpH4EDM2IXMNo7oekxAneALkLNfZVmkLQINi71aW2nVlL9Z2SU-L7d1g1YcSEP9VEjrtygSen4qg_eq-/s640/IMG_0023.JPG" width="426" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
then there are some goofballs. Hey,
that’s Nick!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3_qrod19O9J1Wgzo7O2pc2w1FhcfVN41st6ttEl987M9XViS-apJZk_bgo8kYDXw6bYLswSY3T_A23NlizNjTfuDj7WJ5olxZzXNJCacJ-ewDnwVeMykawnIEU1nuwgVVfglX9LODqRN/s1600/IMG_0035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3_qrod19O9J1Wgzo7O2pc2w1FhcfVN41st6ttEl987M9XViS-apJZk_bgo8kYDXw6bYLswSY3T_A23NlizNjTfuDj7WJ5olxZzXNJCacJ-ewDnwVeMykawnIEU1nuwgVVfglX9LODqRN/s640/IMG_0035.JPG" width="640" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dig
hard up that hill<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKYcbowDKaIfmXm71RwUx3O5JCqA-V5dengFilKdITmkuh5ySBPvyYFog_adURvk32qftjJ6a_HKkhyphenhyphensqUipzgmAYpfDww9qYXUT0H6OxxFjSZR7Smt-fG2zjZAhYHHOYAhGPZIKWFe_o/s1600/IMG_0019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKYcbowDKaIfmXm71RwUx3O5JCqA-V5dengFilKdITmkuh5ySBPvyYFog_adURvk32qftjJ6a_HKkhyphenhyphensqUipzgmAYpfDww9qYXUT0H6OxxFjSZR7Smt-fG2zjZAhYHHOYAhGPZIKWFe_o/s640/IMG_0019.JPG" width="426" /></a>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64FHZ35cqJAmKoWMwpk7QBXQ5DZhcqsXvwS8rRybL6g0qSkUPm7QqbhlFNwMerVIiO0MQNeTxX6lpeuU4xxS7py9fztZ6KhCNUH6ICjZEFH0wFPfyF-8idU-ZZwZXpdzupL-Edu56TP5W/s1600/IMG_9991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64FHZ35cqJAmKoWMwpk7QBXQ5DZhcqsXvwS8rRybL6g0qSkUPm7QqbhlFNwMerVIiO0MQNeTxX6lpeuU4xxS7py9fztZ6KhCNUH6ICjZEFH0wFPfyF-8idU-ZZwZXpdzupL-Edu56TP5W/s640/IMG_9991.JPG" width="640" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
have several pictures of this guy. I am
pretty sure he is the one who yelled out in disgust when he dropped the water
bottle at the first bottle exchange. I am also pretty sure he thinks
I am stalking him by this point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj01_E-8_CSSR4jBv1AQy7x82N4D_JJfhq7rgIB1toSLxJQ4yo7R1x1ggyih3ZdL6c1DEWEWK94lpIp_X7PbSijy8MWO04xiiW9j9CqrIMtchztcmJloXWIy6MFTwJlK_BROxAMHgM1acnb/s1600/IMG_0053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj01_E-8_CSSR4jBv1AQy7x82N4D_JJfhq7rgIB1toSLxJQ4yo7R1x1ggyih3ZdL6c1DEWEWK94lpIp_X7PbSijy8MWO04xiiW9j9CqrIMtchztcmJloXWIy6MFTwJlK_BROxAMHgM1acnb/s640/IMG_0053.JPG" width="426" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Yes,
Ben Stein, I compared your economics class to a bike race. Deal with it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5_MvgXY4e6iqajJtmf39Kr3akgLiueY_wfBciB2w5Hv8e9XSM6Y2C4hFMCkRFM4MAZzuoBB2IvdWW-aQg9-NOY7bFNWOP9U7HVoyY750cZ3D8GJcZqdWFExr_tUEgvIcmkz3hK5OIIyer/s1600/bueller_stein.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5_MvgXY4e6iqajJtmf39Kr3akgLiueY_wfBciB2w5Hv8e9XSM6Y2C4hFMCkRFM4MAZzuoBB2IvdWW-aQg9-NOY7bFNWOP9U7HVoyY750cZ3D8GJcZqdWFExr_tUEgvIcmkz3hK5OIIyer/s640/bueller_stein.jpg" width="640" /></a>
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ProfessorBozhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14432228452192537230noreply@blogger.com0