This 1812 was No War

I don’t know who was more excited this morning: My five-and-a-half year old grandson or his 59-year old G-Pa. But I do know this: We both had the time of our lives.

I’ve had the pleasure of running with Krischan pretty much since the day he learned to walk. The boy loves to run, and I couldn’t be happier. Or prouder, seeing as he ‘wants to run just like G-Pa.’ In fact Krischan reminds me of my son/his Uncle Josh when he first started running a couple of decades ago. It’s been quite a spell between generations, but after today I can honestly say it’s been worth the wait.

You see, this morning Krischan ran his first official race and I had the pleasure of being there with him, every hop, step and detour-to-pick-up-miscellaneous-odds- and-ends (baseball, pine cone, dead cicada) along the shady, hilly one-mile route near Spalding Regional Hospital in Griffin, Georgia.

After a busy afternoon and evening yesterday hunting invisible space alien babies in the woods behind the house, finding a jawbone that instantly transformed us into ‘scientists’ (the ‘fossil’ was later identified by a Facebook friend as that of a deer) and baking our requisite Friday night batch of peanut butter cookies, I woke up this morning at 3:45 to get in my 10-mile run with my friend Al…while Krischan slept in until 7:30 (our race was at 9:00). Of course no five-and-a-half year old boy ‘sleeps in’ until 7:30; rather he was woken up early on this Saturday morning by his Yia-Yia (my wife Cindy) to get ready for his racing debut. As you can imagine it wasn’t pretty, but after he put on his shorts, shirt and ‘running shoes’ he couldn’t wait to get to the starting line.

‘How much further?’ I heard more than once as we made the 30-minute drive to Griffin. When we pulled into the parking lot his eyes were as wide as the finishing medal he hoped to have draped around his neck once he crossed his first finish line. I didn’t have the heart to tell him there probably wouldn’t be a medal for the race (there was an accompanying 5K race—the ‘big event;’ the one-mile was merely the accompanying ‘fun run’) but if there wasn’t he could choose one of mine when we got back to the house. (He’s always admired my medal collection, and one day it is certain to be his.)

We picked up Krischan’s race packet and he instantly asked me to pin his race number to the front of his shirt. The number almost covered his entire stomach but that didn’t matter to him: He was now an ‘official runner.’ We walked back to the car to drop off his packet and although I had asked him several times just moments earlier if he needed to use the restroom while we were near the hospital and he said ‘no’ every time, once we were in the parking lot—with neither a rest room nor porta-pottie anywhere in site—he had to go. ‘Now!’ He ran to a tree, dropped his shorts to his ankles and let it fly. It was hard to believe this was the same little boy whom I implored to ‘water a tree’ last summer in a similar emergency situation and he absolutely refused (I ended up pounding on the door of a local restaurant in Senoia—about two hours before they were open for business and they generously allowed Krischan to use the restroom. His comment as we left: ‘This restaurant must not be any good because there aren’t any customers.’).

All I can figure is it must have been the pressure of running his first race. I asked him as we headed to the starting line what made him so bold; he didn’t have an explanation, but as we got close to the gathering of runners he asked me if we could ‘stop talking about this now?’ After all, it was time to get down to business. Besides, it wasn’t a good idea for G-Pa’s to embarrass their grandsons when they were about to compete in an athletic competition for the first time.

As we waited at the back of a pack of 100 or so runners (the 5K and the one-mile started simultaneously, but the two races took different routes) I told Krischan not to start out too fast because, after all, a mile is a really long way. Over the years Krischan has covered as many as three miles with me, but as you might imagine not all of it was running: There was always a good amount of walking, talking to neighbors and petting every dog that crossed our path. But today would be different: Today was all about running.

As the Race Director was going over the instructions for the races, Krischan asked if we could hold hands while we ran. ‘You know, so you can keep up with me, G-Pa.’ I told him he would need to have his hands free so his arms could pump as he ran, but I would do my absolute best to keep up with him.

Krischan started off exactly as I asked: Conservative pace, arms-a-pumping and cheeks turning bright red as he crested the first of several hills on one of the more challenging ‘fun run’ courses I’ve ever seen. Let me be the first to say the experience was wonderful: He smiled the entire time, slowed down only for a couple of steps because his ‘stomach hurt’ and even managed to squeeze in a little exploration and housekeeping along the way. Krischan waved to everyone along the course and got excited every time someone shouted him encouragement (‘Do they know me, G-Pa? They must because they’re cheering for me!’).

We played leapfrog with several other runners for most of the race. As you probably already guessed I took my fair share of photos along the way so I could have a record of this special morning. As we neared the finish line, by my calculation we were in the middle of a pack of about 25 runners, walkers, moms, dads and one lone G-Pa. I told Krischan he should cross the finish line in front of me because I wasn’t wearing a number, but he would have none of it: We would be crossing the finish line together. I think what he said was ‘Catch up to me, G-Pa; I’ll slow down so you can’ which was his subtle way of reminding me I’m not as young as him (he thinks I’m 25, by the way).

We ran the final 10 or so glorious steps together and crossed Krischan’s first finish line in an official time of eighteen minutes and twelve seconds. 18:12, a time that is now part of my vernacular along with 76:36 (a 10-mile race Josh ran when he was nine years old), 3:18:15 (Cindy’s first half-marathon) and 36:14 (my 10K best). I imagine when my memory starts failing me—I’m guessing around the time I’m running my great-grandchild’s first race with him or her—the time I’ll still remember will be 18:12.

While Krischan may not remember his finishing time, I have high hopes that he’ll always remember the day he ran just like his G-Pa.

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Finally making the Pages of Sports Illustrated

I’ve been reading Sports Illustrated (SI) for over 40 years; in fact it’s probably closer to 50 because I remember reading about the Red Sox when Carl Yastrzemski, Tony Conigliaro and Rico Petrocelli were at the heart of the batting order.  We were living in Rhode Island at the time and the Red Sox were considered to be our ‘home team.’  While I never made the trip to Fenway Park (that would come 40 years later), SI’s photographs of the Green Monster in left field were larger than life almost as good as being there in person for one particular wide-eyed 12-year old sporting a buzz cut and a few extra pounds of baby fat.

For well over 2,500 issues I’ve read every story about baseball, football, basketball, golf, tennis and running that’s been featured in the pages of SI.  (You may have noticed I didn’t mention hockey, automobile racing, hunting, boxing or any of the other sports I don’t give a rat’s a** about—no disrespect to SI because I’m sure they do a good job of covering them, but they’re just not my cup of tea.  Once in a while the weekly issue of SI will feature articles about three or four of the sports I just mentioned; I call these issues ‘fast forward issues’ because it takes me about three minutes to get from cover to cover.)  I enjoy all of the regular weekly features the most: Leading Off, Scorecard, Go Figure, Faces in the Crowd and Point After, the article on the back page—especially the ones written a few years back by Rick Reilly before he sold out and left to write for the vastly inferior ESPN The Magazine.  While it’s no secret to the people who know me that Lewis Grizzard is my favorite author, few of them know Rick Reilly runs a close second.

The other regular weekly feature I enjoy reading is Inbox, featuring letters from the readers.  I’ll be the first to admit: Some of the letters are written so well that if I didn’t know better would have thought had been penned by the likes of Frank Deford, Curry Kirkpatrick, Rick Reilly or any of the other prominent and uber successful writers on the SI staff. 

So as an aspiring writer since as far back as I can remember, I’ve always dreamed of the day I too would have a letter published in the pages of SI.  I wrote my first letter to SI when I was 15 years old after reading the cover story of ‘America’s Distance Prodigy,’ University of Oregon runner Steve Prefontaine.  (At the time I had no idea how important running would be to me one day, but I do know that Pre had a lot to do with my approach to the sport.  By the way: The reason I got to visit Fenway Park many years later is because I was in Boston to run a little 26.2-mile race.)  I remember how eagerly I waited for the next several issues to be delivered by the mailman, hoping and praying I would see my name printed for the world to see in the pages of the finest sports magazine in the world.  Even though my first submission to SI fell on deaf ears (Blind eyes?  Uncaring minds?), that didn’t stop me from writing again and again through the years.

In 1980 I wrote to SI following the U.S. hockey team’s ‘Miracle on Ice.’ I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder to be an American as I was the day the men’s hockey team took the gold medal in the Winter Olympics.  At the time I thought my letter contained the most eloquent, from-the-heart words I’d ever written in my life.  SI apparently thought otherwise: My letter wasn’t printed.  Disappointed, I sent my letter to the local newspaper, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution only to be rejected yet again.  (I have to believe if the letter were submitted to the AJC today it would see the light of day.  The newspaper has turned into a farce.  The newspaper proudly yet erroneously boasts ‘Credible, Compelling, Complete’ on its front page daily.  The morning after this year’s college football National Championship game between Florida State and Auburn the front page printed the score after three quarters: Auburn - 21, Florida State - 13.  Florida State ultimately won the game and the National Championship on a touchdown pass with 13 seconds left in the game.  Credible? Questionable.  Complete?  Hardly.  Come on, say it with me: ‘Dewey defeats Truman.’)      

Through the years I’ve written to SI whenever I felt inspired, and believe me when I say there were many, many times.  Letters about the undefeated 1972 Miami Dolphins; Nolan Ryan’s seventh no-hitter at the age of 44 in 1991; Tiger Woods (before he became a punch line) completing his ‘Tiger Slam’ in 2000; the various magic acts of Michael Jordan; and virtually every rendition of ‘March Madness,’ the greatest sporting event on earth.  There have been others, but after so many rejections a person tends to lost track.  I’d guess about three or four dozen would be a pretty good estimate, though.

So when I wrote a letter to SI about an article the published featuring my beloved Florida Gators (‘Life After 4-8’) and their chances for recovery following their worst football season in many, many years, I wasn’t expecting anything in return.  A couple weeks later I was reading the September 1^st issue and read a letter to the editor and absent mindedly thought ‘Gee, this sounds a lot like the letter I wrote to SI’ because quite honestly after I submitted it I never gave it another thought (That’s what rejection does to a person, people!).  Imagine my surprise (and delight) when I read the author of the letter was one Scott Ludwig of Senoia, Georgia (that would be ME for those of you keeping score at home)!  If you don’t happen to have a copy of the issue handy, fear not: Here is my letter in its (albeit edited) entirety:

Florida is the only team scheduled to play both Florida State and Alabama this year—on the road, no less.  Here’s hoping there really IS life after such a dismal season.

I know the team is placing a lot of faith in Florida’s new offensive coordinator, Kurt Roper to help turn the program around.  For the past six years Roper has been the offensive coordinator at Duke and managed to establish a resume that the AJC would be proud of (credible, compelling and complete).  While it’s too soon to judge if Florida’s new hire is paying off, I do know this:

The last time Florida hired an offensive coordinator (he was also their Head Coach) from Duke it turned out pretty well.

His name is Steve Spurrier.  You may have heard of him.    

A Healthy Addiction?

I may have an addiction to running.  I run every day; every day since November 30, 1978, to be exact. I’ve begun the last 13,000 or so days of my life by lacing up a pair of running shoes.  I’ve run when the temperature is above 100 degrees and when the temperature is below zero; when I’m feeling on top of the world and when I feel like I’m six feet under; when I’ve had a good night’s sleep and when I’ve still got beer from last night sloshing around inside my stomach (translation: six feet under).  So as I stated earlier: Yes, I may in fact have an addiction to running.

To explore this matter further I decided to take a survey I discovered on Facebook titled ‘How much does running rule your life?’  I substituted the words ‘alcohol’ and ‘drugs’ with ‘running’ and came to the conclusion the survey was intended to determine whether or not a person had an addiction to running.  With that in mind, here’s how I did.

There were 50 statements and I was asked to ‘check all that apply.’  I checked 48 of them.  It might be easiest to highlight the two I didn’t check:

·       Felt a deep sense of shame after skipping a run.

·       Successfully snot-rocketed during a run and felt a strange sense of pride.

For that first one, I honestly have no idea.  My favorite question when someone finds out about my running streak is ‘don’t you feel better after you take a day off?’  As I said earlier, I wouldn’t know.   

As for the second one let me assure you: You will never see a snot rocket launched from this nose of mine.  I will also never blow my nose at the dinner table and spit in your path if you are running next to me.  I may one day live in a barn but I sure as hell wasn’t raised in one. 

As for the 48 items I checked, here’s what the survey had to say about me:

Wow.  You have a problem.  Running completely controls your life.  I guess in the grand scheme of things, being addicted to running is a good problem to have, but dang.  You’re probably reading this on a treadmill right now, you psychopath.

First let me say I have a problem with being told I have a problem, particularly by anyone making the assumption that I was on a treadmill while I took the survey.  You wouldn’t catch me on a treadmill if every road, sidewalk, path or trail on the planet were covered in six inches of poo and all I had to wear was a brand new $100 pair of running shoes.  (By the way, one of the statements was ‘spent over $100 on running shoes’ which was immediately followed by ‘spent a significant amount of money on running accessories.’  No one ever said running was cheap. But if you’re ever looking to spend your entire inheritance on a pointless sport, try golf.)

Other statements that received my seal of approval (with additional comments added in italics) were:

·       Woken up at an ungodly hour to squeeze in a run.  I set the alarm for 3 a.m. weekdays, 4 a.m. Saturdays and I sleep in on Sundays.  (4:30 if you really have to know.  I do my long run on Sundays.)  I no longer have a grasp on ‘ungodly hours.’ 

·       Ran in the rain…snow…blistering cold.  Actually these were three separate statements in the survey.  Of course any runner worth his or her salt has done all three.  Other conditions that could have been added and still been checked off include hurricanes, tornados, hailstorms and thunderstorms---complete with lightning, of course.  And gale force winds.

·       (Actually five separate statements, but could have been combined into one.)  Ran a 5K road race…ran a 10K road race…ran a half marathon…ran a marathon…ran an ultramarathon.  Does a bear run in the woods?  

·       Ran twice in one day.  There have been days that I’ve run three times.  Sometimes four.  Before breakfast. 

·       Ran past midnight.  There isn’t a minute in a 24-hour day I haven’t been running at some point in my life.  Besides, 8 a.m., 12 noon and 4 p.m. are technically all ‘after midnight’ thus making the statement ‘ran past midnight’ as the dumbest of the 50 on the survey.  Except for the one about ‘snot rockets.’ 

·       Ran while injured even though you knew you should have been resting.  ‘While hung over, while nursing a stress fracture, while suffering from extreme vertigo and while suffering from beer-sloshing syndrome‘ could have all been added to the statement and I still would have checked it off. 

·       Had to trick yourself to go for a run by promising yourself a reward, like an entire pizza, once you’ve finished.  Not necessarily a pizza, but most certainly a half-gallon of vanilla ice cream.  More than once, I might add.  Once in one day, in fact. 

·       Had patronizing thoughts towards people who drive cars while running like, ‘Look at this guy, driving his car like a frickin’ car driver.’  When I’m running early in the morning I believe I own the road and am only willing to defer to a car if it’s being driven by someone already finished with their run for the day.  Since that happens about…oh, NEVER I’ll leave my ‘patronizing thoughts’ to your imagination.  You may want to dial your imagination setting to ‘wildest.’

·       Unintentionally donated a toenail to the running gods.  About every six months I make the ultimate sacrifice.  I’m convinced my two big toes have an agreement based on ‘this town ain’t big enough for the both of us’ because I never seem to have both toenails at one time.  P.S. I just checked.  The right one is missing.    

·       Been so sore after a long run it was hard to lower yourself onto the toilet.  Or bend over to take off my running shoes.  Or pour myself a glass of water.  Or towel off after a shower.  Or brush my teeth.  Or lie down.  If dictionaries had pictures, right beneath the word ‘sore’ would be a picture of, well, probably someone who was very sore (I bet you thought I was going to say ‘me,’ didn’t you?  Sorry; my picture is going to be found beneath the word ‘psychopath.’  Continue.).   

·       Crushed a personal record only to be let down when your friends and family didn’t throw an entire party in your honor.  I thought reaching 100,000 lifetime miles might do the trick.  Or running my 200^th marathon.  But no, they throw me a party because I had a stupid birthday.  Hell, most everyone I know has a birthday.  And probably both of their big toenails. 

·       Been walking down the street and thought, ‘I wish it were socially acceptable to run places instead of walk because this is taking FOREVER.’  I’ve heard a person burns as many calories walking a mile as they do running a mile.  I call ‘bullsh*t’ because there’s no way I burn 100 calories walking a mile.  I’m also a little suspicious of the idea of burning 60 calories an hour while I’m asleep because if it were true I wouldn’t wake up feeling like a cement mixer was lodged in my stomach after drinking three beers the night before because those calories would theoretically be gone instead of inside said cement mixer.  I think biology hates me.            

·       Ducked behind a bush or building to relieve yourself during a long run and felt absolutely zero shame.  Since I do most of my running in the dark, ducking behind ANYTHING is a foreign concept to me.  Relieving myself, however?  I could write a book.  Also, it’s crossed my mind that I may have in fact been raised in a barn after all.