Taking Care of Business

In the fall of 1993 Al, Val and I were running 20 miles religiously every Sunday.  There were exceptions, of course.  Three if you’re counting: Running a marathon, running an ultra or death.  Other than that we all knew the drill, a drill we would continue well into the next century.  

Val and I ran the 1993 Atlanta Marathon together stride for stride and fast enough for her to qualify for her first Boston Marathon.  Al met us at the finish line and the two of them agreed they would be in Beantown the following April and wanted me to be there as well.  There was only one problem: I did not have a Boston qualifying time and up until that moment was perfectly content with my one Boston Marathon—a PR, by the way so why jeopardize that kind of karma? — back in 1987.

But they insisted on me being with them for Val’s first—and Al’s third Boston Marathon.  They immediately began looking at race calendars to find a possible marathon for me to run a qualifying time.  It wasn’t long before all of us were signed up for the 1994 Tallahassee Marathon: Our first ‘business trip marathon.’

The ideal business trip marathon is completed within 24 hours.  Here’s how Tallahassee played out:

·      Pack a bag with running gear and place in trunk of car on Friday morning.  (This is considered prep time; at this point the 24-hour clock hasn’t started.) 

·      Friday, 6:00 p.m. - Leave for marathon destination after end of work day. (24-hour clock begins.) 

·      Friday, 11:00 p.m. - Check into hotel; spend the night.

·      Saturday, 5:30 a.m. - Wake up.  Eat breakfast at hotel (optional, and only if complementary). 

·      Saturday, 7:00 a.m. - Run marathon.

·      Saturday, 11:00 a.m. - Return to hotel.  Shower (ask hotel staff for late checkout if needed).

·      Saturday, 12:00 p.m. - Drive home.

·      Saturday, 5:00 p.m. – Arrive home.  (Mission accomplished; elapsed time of 23 hours.)

I would be remiss in telling about our first official business trip marathon if I failed to mention our hotel accommodations.  I won’t mention the hotel by name but I will tell you (a) it was not part of a chain, (b) there was a life-size white ceramic Brahman bull in front of the hotel and (c) the towels in the rooms were so old and worn you could (literally) see through them.  Anyway, Al and I shared a room and Val had a room to herself.  The hotel manager agreed to let us have a late checkout, but only in one of the rooms.  After the marathon Al and I quickly grabbed our bags and a couple of towels from our room as the three of us had decided to take turns showering in Val’s room; the one with the late checkout.  When we went into the lobby to pay the hotel manager tried to charge Al and I for two towels as the maid had already reported them missing from our room.  

Getting back to the story…

Two months later the three of us made the trip to Boston and would go on to run many more marathons in the years ahead, most of them of the business trip variety.

This past weekend was the first time Al and I ever took a Business Trip 5K. But this was no regular 5K: This was the 37^th running of the Kiwanis Melon Run 5K in Monticello, Florida.  Al just so happened to be the Race Director the first year the race was held back in 1979.  But this particular edition of the event had a special affinity for Al: It was the first race he could run as a 70-year old.  As for me, it was sort of a cosmic calling to return to the area where we ran our first business trip marathon over 20 years ago (Monticello is about 30 miles from Tallahassee).  Contrary to what some people might think, the fact I was now a 60-year old and in a new age group as well had nothing to do with my decision to tag along.  (In other news, I’m prone to lie to embellish a story.)

Here’s how our first official Business Trip 5K turned out:

·      Friday, 5:30 p.m. - Leave for Monticello after end of workday. (24-hour clock begins.) 

·      Friday, 11:00 p.m. - Check into hotel.  Turn on air conditioner in room because it’s easily 120 degrees in a room that’s been baking in the 100-degree sun all day long.  

·      Saturday, 5:15 a.m. - Wake up.  Take quick showers after six hours of sleeping in a sauna.  Eat complementary breakfast in hotel lobby approximately the size of a walk-in closet (the lobby, not the breakfast) under the watchful eye of the front desk clerk who makes sure none of the guests take more than one muffin or yogurt cup.  (I took one of each; I was asked never to return.)    

·      Saturday, 7:00 a.m. – Arrive at race site; pick up race number.  Run the course as a warm up; make mental note that this could possibly turn out to be the toughest 3.1-mile route I’ve ever run. 

·      Saturday, 8:00 a.m. – Find unattended restroom; make mental note what a stroke of luck the restroom remained unattended the entire time I was inside.  (*TMI?  Perhaps.)

*Too much information

·      Saturday, 8:15 a.m. – Race begins.  Course takes a 90-degree right hand turn after only 80 meters; I note two runners—a husband and wife—who are both pushing baby strollers are ahead of me.  I curse silently to myself. 

·      Saturday, 8:22:15 a.m. – One mile down.  Just like that--BOOM!  I am now in front of the baby stroller being pushed by the dad.  Mom will be next.  I haven’t seen Al since the race began; I wonder how he’s doing. 

·      Saturday, 8:30:20 – Two miles down.  The course is beautiful; I already look like crap (the race photos I receive later will prove me correct).   Mom with baby stroller is nowhere in sight.  I look back over my shoulder and notice the same thing about Al.

·      Saturday, 8:something (*TNI) – I have 400 meters to the finish line: Every one of them is STRAIGHT UP A HILL!  I doubt my ability to continue running to the finish line and wonder if this will be the first 5K I fail to run the entire way.

*Time Not Important

·      Saturday, 8:something – I cross the finish line, proud of myself for running the entire way but disappointed with my finishing time.  However, the relief of finishing the most difficult 5K course I’ve ever run overshadows the aforementioned disappointment. 

·      Saturday, 8:something but pretty darn close to 9:00 a.m. – Al is navigating his way up the 400-meters to the finish.  I can only imagine what his race photos will look like, but it’s a pretty safe bet he won’t want to see them.   (Later I am again proven correct.)

·      Saturday, 10:30 a.m. – Awards ceremony.  All age group winners receive a medal and a watermelon; second and third place in each five-year age group receive a medal.  I won third place in my age group and receive a medal for my 20-something minutes (again, TNI) of work; Al finishes fourth in his age group and his former dentist who is volunteering at the race gives him a Monticello Watermelon Festival baseball cap.  I’d much rather have the baseball cap than the medal. 

·      Saturday, 11:00 a.m. – Towel dry, change clothes and head home.

·      Saturday, 3:45 p.m. – Arrive home.  (Mission accomplished; elapsed time of 22 hours and 15 minutes.)

Now that the dust has settled and I look back on our first Business Trip 5K, it made me think back to the times when we were traveling to run races that took more than one day to complete.  That was followed by a subsequent step down to traveling only to races we could finish in the same day they began. 

This weekend we traveled to a race we could finish in the same hour it began.  

Even if it was only by the skin of Al’s teeth…

All in Mi Familia

Last night I may or may not have had the worst meal at a Tex-Mex restaurant in my entire life.  Then again, seeing as I never actually 'had' the meal it's difficult to really say.  Of course the entire experience could have simply been a dream.  A long, horrible dream...so it's best I tell you about it from a hypothetical perspective. Just in case it never really happened.  One can never be too sure about these things.  That, and the fact that lawsuits can be a real pain in the ass and all.

Hypothetically our group of eight (five adults and three children, the oldest being five) chose to dine at Mi Familia on a Saturday night in Roanoke, Texas over several other restaurants within a one-block radius in the center of town.  Another couple in our group had dined there previously and had a good dining experience and they wanted to share their 'find' with us.  As we drove into town I noticed lines outside ALL of the dining establishments in town.  All of them with the exception of Mi Familia.  'This doesn't look good,' I thought to myself.  Later I would be thinking: 'Self, you should have gone with your first instinct.'  Not to mention: 'Self, you have no one to blame but yourself.'

We were immediately seated--outside and adjacent to a side road leading into town; a road that apparently every man in Texas with a truck with those really big tires has to drive on to retain their Man Card because I can't recall a 30-second window in the entire two-and-a-half hours we were seated that one of them didn't drive by and rev their engines at 4,500 RPM's while idling at the stop sign about 30 yards from where we sat.

Once our waitress arrived (Translation: After 20 or more trucks passed by) we finally placed our drink order.  Ten trucks later the drinks arrived, and seven of us actually got what we ordered.  Seven out of eight; not a bad batting average if you played for the Texas Rangers.  Four bowls of chips and salsa appeared and after another 30 or more trucks passed by we placed our dinner order.  Here's where the fun began.

•   30 trucks later and the three children had their meals.  By the time another 15 or so trucks passed by they were all finished.  They immediately began throwing the balled-up wrappers from their straws at one another and when that got tiresome considered throwing the rice and beans they didn't eat at one another.  

•   20 trucks later two of the adults had their meal in front of them.  I don't think another half-dozen trucks passed by before one of the adults had inhaled his entire plate.  I wasn't impressed because I've seen that act before; the adult was my older son Justin.  I'm pretty certain he doesn't chew when he eats.  

•   25 trucks later another adult meal is served.  I look around the table and notice that all three children and one adult were finished with their meals, two adults were in the early stages of eating theirs and two adults still hadn't received their meals: Cindy and I.  Cindy calls the waitress over and asks about our meals.  The waitress apologizes and says the cooks in the back 'hate her' and appear to be doing their absolute best to make her look like a fool. ' They're doing a pretty good job', I think to myself. 

•   10 more trucks and the only other customers dining ‘outside’—a couple in their early 60’s, I’m guessing—get up from their table to leave.  They’re either finished with their meal, tired of inhaling the fumes of the passing trucks or afraid one of the random forks or knives flying out of the rolled up napkins the children are swinging like ninja swords will pierce their eyeballs. 

•   Cindy complains to the waitress about how long it's taking to get our meals.  'How long can it take to serve a bowl of guacamole?'I think to myself.  

•   30 more trucks and Cindy and I have our dinners.  Cindy notices that my meal is actually the meal Justin ordered.  Too late for us to simply swap plates, seeing as Justin had devoured MY dinner well over 30 minutes ago.  The waitress takes my plate and returns to the kitchen.  In no time (10 trucks) she returns with my dinner, the correct one this time but this time the beans are cold and the enchiladas are burnt on the end (how does THIS happen?).  Cindy takes one bite of my beans and DEMANDS a hot plate of food for me (I'm pretty passive about everything at this point because I had already eaten about 200 or more tortilla chips).  Cindy explains that she is 'sick and tired' of poor customer service (See what owning two stores has done to her?  I'm liking this!) and being taken advantage of.

•   I thank Cindy for taking up for me and tell her the cook will probably spit in my food.  

•   Cindy takes a bite of her guacamole.  When I see her reaction all I can think is 'Holy guacamole, I can't wait until the waitress returns!'

•   20 more trucks and I have a hot plate in front of me with the correct food on it this time.  The waitress tells us again how much the cooks hate her and that no one spit in my food because she watched them while they prepared it.  This makes me wonder why she would say such a thing, because she was long gone when I mentioned 'spitting in my food' 'to Cindy.  I eat none of it and let Justin pour it into a to-go box I mentioned to him earlier he might want to ask for; just in case.  Cindy, however bends the ear of our waitress about the 'slimy guacamole' and the fact it's 'inedible.'

•   One of the adults who had previously dined at Mi Familia asked to see 'Walter,' the owner.  'Walter' came out and after he heard of our experience he said something half-assed about 'winning some and losing some' and 'not always having their 'A' game.'  I DO know he said absolutely nothing about: (a) Being sorry, or (b) that he would make a concession for our horrible dining-or-lack-thereof experience.  

•   The waitress returned--WITH OUR BILL--and believe me I SO just wanted to walk out without paying the bill but I thought (a) I'm from out of town and I don't want to spend the night in some jail in the middle of where-the-hell-am-I, Texas and (b) going to jail would send a bad message to the children.  So I give the waitress my credit card and when the bill comes back I write on the 'tip' line in the smallest handwriting I could muster: 'Get it from the owner.'  I hated stiffing the waitress--seeing as everyone working at the restaurant hated her and all--but I thought on a higher level that if she got a tip it would encourage her to keep working for a man who didn't give a rat's ass about his customers and in the long run I was doing it in her best interest.

The next morning I entered 'Mi Familia Roanoke' for a Google search.  I found a Yelp listing of the restaurant and after looking at the various comments made by past patrons, I discovered a host of others who had similar experiences.  Apparently others in Roanoke, Texas looking for a dining option last night had consulted Yelp before selecting their restaurant.  If only I had been one of them.    

Maybe last night wasn't a dream after all.  Before you choose to dine at Mi Familiar in Roanoke, Texas, you may want to reread this.  Only this time, skip over the word 'hypothetically.'  

The Next Big Thing

‘You wouldn’t understand.’

That’s the only words that came to mind when my wife asked me why…probably because I wasn’t sure I understood it myself.  She asked again.  This time I upgraded my answer to ‘I just have to.’

Cindy has known me since I was 18 years old.  By now she knows me well enough to know that sometimes ‘I just have to’ is the only explanation I have to offer. 

I’ve been a runner for a long time.  Certainly long enough to know when it’s time to take a step back from anything that could have adverse effects on my health and safety, such as:

·      Running across Death Valley in the hottest part of the summer. 

·      Or running 280 miles across the width of Georgia. 

·      Or celebrating my 60^th birthday by running 60 miles, then shortly afterwards running 60 kilometers as a cool down. 

·      Or running a marathon not long after running what I said would be my last one, which was then followed by the one after that and the one after that. 

·      The same thing happened after running what I said would be my last ultramarathon.  It wasn’t.  I ran another, then one more after that. 

Those days have come and gone.  Almost.

Thinking back over anything and everything I’ve ever tried in my running career, they all have one thing in common: I did them because I had it in my mind that I just had to.  Meanwhile Cindy was always nervously anticipating my ‘next big thing’ and knowing that—whatever it was—she didn’t have a prayer of talking me out of it. 

But now I’m at the point where I realize that continuing doing things of this nature just doesn’t make any sense.    

Which is precisely the reason I came up with this: The Last Big Thing. 

This is the one that I know in my heart will be the last one.  This Next Big Thing will certainly be my last.  I’ve been thinking about this one ever since the idea came to me, and I’ve totally convinced myself this will turn out to be ‘the one.’  After this I won’t have a reason to try anything else, if for no other reason than this one is going to get everything I’ve got.  After this—if all goes as planned—there won’t be anything left for me to give.

I’m calling it the Senoia 60 and this is how it works: I want to run as far as I can in the 60 hours between 6 a.m. Friday, October 23 and 6 p.m. Sunday, October 25.  The eight-mile route will start and finish in Haralson, Georgia but the majority of the loop that will be used for the event is actually in neighboring Senoia.  There will be one central aid station (which will also be used for parking) close to the spot where (SPOILER ALERT) Daryl Dixon killed his brother-turned-zombie Merle on The Walking Dead.  

Now for the really fun part: The event is open to the public!  The more the merrier.  After all, misery loves company and if things go as planned I can be assured of my fair share.  The slogan for the weekend is ‘Run to the Edge’ and was chosen with one thought in mind: I’ve been running and pushing myself to the edge of exhaustion for as long as I care to remember.  This is my chance to do the very thing I’ve always professed to be doing all along.  I simply want to discover what my breaking point is…the exact moment when I’ve literally fallen over the edge into true, unadulterated exhaustion.  I just hope I’m coherent enough to recognize it when it happens; if not I’m hoping the other runners (Remember: Misery loves company.  Lots of it.) will be able to assist. 

I don’t know what those 60 hours have in store for me but this I can be sure of: Win, lose or crawl it will certainly be my Last Big Thing.

In all honesty it is the one remaining thing I need to do before I will be free of having to do anything else simply because ‘I just have to.’

If none of this makes any sense to you, then you simply wouldn’t understand.   

Visit the website at: Senoia60.darksiderunningclub.com

(logo and website designed by Adamy Damaris Diaz)