Bernice and Garry: Christmas in the Caymans

My original plan was to tell the Bernice and Garry story in simple linear fashion. The end of the story would coincide with my final tribute to Bernice, the running of the New York City Marathon in 2012. I’m driven to deviate from the plan by the reality that this will be my very first Christmas without the love of my life. In order to balance the ache of not having her with me I want to step out of time and return to our first Christmas together.

 

Christmas Eve

When it comes to vacations, all glory goes to Bernice. She conceived, planned and directed them. Not only that, she had to put my life in order to make them happen. In December, 1993 that included getting me in and out of the hospital (hernia repair), and setting up a rehab plan that would make me travel worthy for our first vacation together, a vacation that would have us arriving on Grand Cayman Island on Christmas Eve.  

Conversation on the plane:

Garry: Ok, so we get transportation to our condo. Then what?

Bernice: What what?

Garry: What do we do? Eat, take a walk, do a Christmas party at some resort?

Bernice: I thought we might walk to the beach. If you can handle it.
Garry: I can’t believe you got us a condo right on the beach.
Bernice: We were lucky.
Garry (to himself): I was lucky. You were smart.
Garry (to Bernice): I hope there is some food in the fridge.
Bernice: We are supposed to have food amenities, stove and refrigerator. I don’t know about food. Maybe we should save our peanuts, just in case.

Garry: Well, we can always go buy some food, right.

Bernice: Maybe, but it is Christmas Eve.

Even before the taxi let us out a few feet from our condo, I knew we were in heaven. There was a bone soothing warmth in the air, and the breeze was just strong enough to remind us that we were in the tropics. Walking to our cabin, we could hear the waves rolling restlessly over the shore. We would have to settle for the sounds because the immediate area was pitch black. There may have been lights along the beach but we weren’t positioned to see them.

Inside we postponed our search for food long enough to explore our island home. We liked what we saw. Simple living room with bright pictures of the famous Seven Mile Beach on the walls. Small kitchen with even smaller amenities. A bedroom with a queen sized mattress. A bed cover with tropical flowers inside a red trim. More Island pictures on the wall, these including people and scenes from Island life. Bamboo shading for the bedroom window. And a quaint bathroom with enough knick-knack diversions to hide its true purpose.

Our post tour conversation went something like this:

Garry: There are some candies in this bowel on the living room table. Some pepperminty, Christmasy looking stuff. What’s in the fridge?

Bernice: You don’t want to know. I knew I should have asked the cab driver where we could get some food.

Garry: This is not good. Hey, don’t we have a phone. We can just call around.

Bernice: Here’s the phone and I guess this little notebook looking thing is a phone book.

With raised spirits we combed the notebook for likely food sources.

Bernice: You call, I’ll read you the numbers. 

By the fourth or fifth call our spirits had bottomed out.

Bernice: Looks like everything is closed for Christmas Eve. We can’t even get Chinese. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.

Garry: But you always think of everything.

Bernice: Not always I guess. Not this time anyway.
Garry: So what are we gonna do?
Bernice: How well do you think peppermint candy and airplane peanuts go to together

I don’t know if it was her deadpan delivery or the absurdity of the combination that made me laugh, but my reaction triggered Bernice’s involuntary response system. Her eyes popped wide and a smile lept across her face.

 I’ve seen this look before. She always gets it when she is about to lose control. Fist the look, then a rush of soundless air, and then a laugh way back in her throat, like she is trying to suppress it. We are like two kids in church who know the dire consequences if they don't stop laughing but they just can't. I giggle and Bernice lets her laugh loose. It’s a normal laugh at first but it quickly accelerates into a desparate gasping. She is approaching critical mass. If I don’t stop now, her body will go into convulsions, giving new meaning to the phrase “laugh until you cry”. But the worse she gets the more I laugh.

Desperate for control she lurches at me, grasps my shirtfront with one hand and tries to cover my mouth with the other. As I try to twist away, the hand on the mouth slips into a headlock. I’m thinking she is actually trying to squeeze me into submission. I’m laughing too hard to fight back. I try a knee drop to counter the headlock, but instead of escaping I knock us both off balance. Now she’s on top of me, breathless with tears in her eyes.

“You …have… to …stop…I…can’t …breath.”

“Get off me then. I’ll try. Really. Really I will. You have to get off me.”

 She rolls off me and onto her back. Collects herself. My laugh stops. A long beat of silence. We roll over to look at each other, notice we’re on the floor, and just like the kids in church we’re off again. The stopping and starting goes on until finally we are laughed out and silent. We sit up shaking our heads, almost afraid to look at each other. 

Bernice: Well I guess we might as well go to bed.

Garry: Can we take the peanuts with us?
Bernice: Don’t make me laugh. I could hurt you. 

Going to bed actually proved to be a great solution. We were both wired and had no interest in sleep. We began a conversation that lasted into the wee small hours of the morning. We may have talked of Cabbages and Kings but mostly we talked about our future together.

Christmas day   

Christmas day began like most of our weekends and holidays back home, late. We had perfected the art of postponing the events of the day until every fibre of our bodies demanded release into action. As excited as we were to explore our Island Paradise, we were in no hurry to leave our cocoon. Our only concession was to prop the windows open in order to better hear the waves. We played a game of matching our breathing to the swells of the ocean.

When finally freed from our languor we dressed in haste and set about to scavenge for food. Our game plan was to make house calls on our neighbors in hopes of getting a line on some groceries. The plan fell apart when we found nobody home in the several cabins we approached.

Garry: You think everybody went to the beach?

Bernice: Maybe they went someplace for Christmas.

Garry: They are someplace for Christmas.
Bernice: Yeah, they’re probably all at the beach.
Garry: Should we head for the beach? I mean it would be kind of weird. ‘Excuse me sir, we just arrived from the states and we don’t have any food. Can you help us?

Bernice: I don’t think I would use that approach.

Garry: How far is it to the beach?

Bernice: Not too far. But I remember coming in last night, we turned off a main street. That might be our best bet.

Garry: Right, we could catch someone out for a walk or hail a cabbie.

Bernice: You can hail. I’ll do the talking.

We had barely reached the sidewalk of the main street when we saw a man and woman headed in our direction.

Bernice: Excuse us. We’re staying in a condo down the way and we just got in last night. Can you tell us where to buy some food?

Man: (Sounding American, midwest) It’s Christmas. Everything is closed.

Garry: Everything?
Man: Everything I can think of.
Woman: Well Howard, they could get a meal at any of the hotels.

Bernice: We need more than one meal. We have to get through this afternoon and evening. No grocery stores are open?

Man: No grocery stores, I’m pretty sure. But now that I think of it, there may be a convenience store a ways up.

Garry: Can you tell us how to get there?

Man: Like I said, it’s a ways up. Pretty hard to give directions unless you have a map.
Bernice: I have a map of the Island.
Garry: You have a map?
Bernice: I always have a map. So would we go this way, towards the shopping areas?
Man: No all the shops are closed. Let me look at the map. Ok, we’re right here and the liquor store is way over here.

Woman: Howard, why don’t we just walk them over? (to Bernice) We came down here to get Howard some exercise but it’s like pulling teeth, getting him to move.

Howard proved to be in better shape than his wife had indicated. He practically drug us at least a mile to the store. Then, with a hundred meters to go, he pointed to the store sight, and said. “There you go. Good luck. Hope you find something you like.”

Woman: (heartfelt) Merry Christmas
Bernice and Garry: (In unison) Merry Christmas and thanks

The food pickings were slim, but we got enough cold cuts for a couple of meals. I perked up when the proprietor recommended a bottle of Tortuga Rum. I perked up more when we bought it.

Back at the cabin Bernice got busy making sandwiches and I found an old radio I hadn’t noticed when we did our walk through the night before. I turned it on, expecting to hear either Christmas music or maybe some calypso tunes. Instead it’s a lady, speaking with a distinctive British accent, delivering some sort of address.

I am speaking to you from the Library at Sandringham.

Four generations of my family have enjoyed the solitude of this library.

Four Generations of my family…

Garry: Bernice, I think it’s the bloody Queen of England!

Bernice: It probably is. The Cayman Islands are still British.

Garry: Wow! We’re really in a foreign country. How’s that sandwich coming?
Bernice: The sandwich can wait. I want to listen to the Queen's speech.

And we did. Very uplifting speech. To my delight, Bernice went ahead with the sandwich. She was never happy doing just one thing at a time.

After the speech we hurried off to the beach. When I think of that afternoon, three things come to mind, the beach was pristine white and looked to be every bit of seven miles long. The ocean, the same color blue as the sky, was immense, and Bernice was a knockout in her new bathing suit. She already had a better tan than anybody on the beach.

We didn’t swim or walk much. Partly because I wasn’t one hundred percent, but mostly because we were so drawn to the ocean. We sat as close to the edge of the waves as we could, never minding the warm waters flowing over our legs, occasionally leaping to our feet to avoid being swallowed by a big wave. 

Later we became enthralled with the setting sun.

Bernice: Somebody was telling me that just before the sun disappears, there is a big explosion of color.

Garry: We better stick around for that.

 On this night the sun, after casting a thin orange glow over the horizon, slipped tamely out of site. But there was no disappointment. With the blue-black onset of night, the explosion was in our hearts. It was our world. It was our time.

“Merry Christmas”

“Merry Christmas”

Bernice and Garry: Sweetness and Light

It is easier to remember "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune", the tragedies, the down times. Happiness is generally something one enjoys and moves on, making no attempt to mark its passage. And yet, I will never forget the sweetness of the days following the arrival of Bernice's provocative postcard.  

Every waking moment was filled with anticipation. Anticipation I hadn’t experienced since I was five years old, right after my mother told me that I was going to take a train ride to spend a week with my Dad. At the time Dad worked for the H J Hines (Ketchup) Co in faraway Muscatine, Iowa and didn’t always make it home for weekends. When he did he loved to regale mom and me about the mighty Mississippi River. No kid in my neighbourhood had seen the Mississippi, and no kid in my neighbourhood had ever been for a train ride. As my imagination swept me away the only thing holding me to earth was the conviction that I had to be the luckiest kid in town.

Waiting for Bernice’s return from Phoenix, I thought, “Maybe I’m still the luckiest kid in town.”

My energy level was off the chart. As a runner I had often experienced the vaunted “runners high”. But now my endorphins seemed divinely charged. In a single run I could play out the entire Bernice and Garry story and have time left over for speculation on exciting scenes to come, such as our first kiss. 

Before Bernice, it had been said of me that I did not suffer fools gladly. Since the postcard, I became the most approachable man on the planet. With great eagerness I would enter discourse with friends, shop clerks, strangers in the convenience store, seatmates on the bus, even wrong numbers got a play.

I have little doubt that I was headed for burnout if Bernice stayed away much longer. But return she did, looking vibrant, tanned, bright eyed, and more than a little, mischievous. Like maybe we were sharing a secret or maybe she knew I was dying to be let in on her secret. For my part I was trying hard to not appear like an excited puppy dog. “Keep your tongue in your mouth. Don’t wag your tail. Keep your paws down.”

We wasted little time arranging our first date. Dinner and a movie. Dinner was a medium pepperoni pizza and a couple of beers. The pizzeria itself never became one of our haunts, and I don’t remember its name. But I do remember us. Heads together like teenagers. No social conventions between us. So eager to fill the moment, we were stepping all over each other’s lines with glorious impunity. Looking back, I think we devoured the pizza just to get it out of the way of our conversation. I remember her face, engrossed in the moment, beaming with delight, smiling all the way up from her toes through her twinkling blue eyes. She seemed somehow released and determined to make the most of it.

Then off to the movie theatre, the stately Birmingham Theatre in pricey downtown Birmingham, MI

As we enter the theatre I make an automatic move to the concession counter. True, we had just polished off a medium pizza, but for me popcorn is a conditioned response. In fact, I think it is downright barbaric to be asked to sit through any movie, anywhere without popcorn.

Garry: I’m going to get some popcorn. Would you like something?

Bernice: No thanks. I’m full of pizza. I might nibble on your popcorn.”

Garry: Ok, see that’s why I asked if you wanted something. I have this thing about popcorn. I don’t like to share. For one thing, a full bag is just the right amount of popcorn for me. And for another, I have to pick just the right amount of popcorn to chew without distracting myself from the movie. And the motion from bag to chew has to be smooth. So the bag has to sit at the correct angle and be sufficiently open so that I don’t fumble around. Somebody’s hand in my bag upsets my rhythm.

Mistaking her bemused smile for one of amusement, I lead on to our seats. As we settle in for the previews, we are talking low and intimately. “Do you know anything about this movie,” I ask. “No but my girlfriend says it’s really good.” My popcorn hand is deftly doling out just enough corn to chew imperceptibly. Life is good. But as I turn my attention to the opening credits, my ninja-like reflexes detect movement in the area of my popcorn. I look down and there is Bernice’s hand lazily collecting some kernels from my bag.

"I thought you didn’t want any popcorn.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I can go get you your own bag if you like.”

Pause

Then she lays her hand gently on my arm and fixes me with those baby blues. “Listen Mr. if you want to be with me, you’re going to have to learn to share.” I knew she was talking about more than popcorn. However grudgingly, I capitulated. For the rest of the movie we cohabited the bag, snickering when our hands would collide going in or coming out.

Her friend was right, the movie, Prince of Tides with Barbra Streisand and Nick Nolte was engrossing and emotionally charged. We laughed in all the same places; Bernice cried a few more times than I did. But most telling of all, to this day I can't abide the thought of having a whole bag of popcorn to myself.

Progress Report: Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner

My training schedule for this Saturday called for a ten miler at South Mountain, but as indicated in last Notes on grieving, I opted for the Sally’s Run 5K in honor of Sally Meyerhoff and her family. My coach, Jeff Hall, was understanding if not pleased with my decision. Not only am I training for the New York City Marathon, I have the IMS Half-marathon coming up in February. In discussing ways to make up the mileage and keep to schedule, we agreed that I could do an additional seven miles on Sunday. 

Sally’s run turned out to be a fabulous success. Right at 1,000 runners showed up for this inaugural race. The weather was near perfect and the course, Kiwanis Park in Tempe, was great for wimps like me. It was touching to see and hear from people from all stages of Sally’s life, from pre-high school up to her short career at Duke University. Ordinarily I leave races as soon as I’m fit to drive home, but I stayed to the end this day and was able to have a few words with Sally’s mother. I would like to become part of the Sally Meyerhoff Foundation but don’t know if it will conflict with my commitment to the Pat Tillman Foundation.

But before I can give you my race evaluation, I have to bore you with an update on my hip/groin condition. I’m still having difficulty walking and the groin pain still wakes me up at night. However, I arrived early at the race-site and warmed up with some slow running and a few run-outs. At the start of the race, I was less cautious than I have been of late and felt like I moved into a nice pace for me. My hip & groin loosened up and I was able to focus on my pace. I know I picked it up on the last mile, but my time did not reflect any of these successes. Slow as it was, I was satisfied with my effort.

The Sunday seven did not go so well. I ran along a wash that extends for miles from the golf course bordering my condo complex. I didn’t warm up so the first mile was torturous, allowing for pity-pat progression. I did ultimately loosen up and achieve a tempo run pace. Unfortunately, I spent the first two hours of post-run-recovery in bed. But I did some yoga stretching, took a shower and went to a movie, My Week With Marilyn. By the time I ate my dinner, pan fried chicken thighs, and watched the latest Boardwalk Empire episode, I was feeling nearly human.

Bernice and Garry: It's All In the Cards

From Love’s Labour’s Lost post:

Then the pause you never want to hear. “I don’t know,” she says, “I’m going to be out of town for two weeks. I’ll be visiting my sister in Phoenix. Maybe when I come back, if you’re still interested.” I suppose it’s open to interpretation, but to me this was her way of telling me the romance ship had sailed…

The holidays are upon us. Ten days of glorious idleness in which to reflect on the successes of the past year with enough time left over to ratchet up for the new year. Out in the world faces are aglow with hope and good cheer. But for me the glow is more pallor than sheen. The streets are bustling with folks with holiday pep in their step.  Me I’m slinking around like a Vegas loser whose winnings were in the stratosphere until lady luck gave him the cold shoulder.

The lone consolation was not having to endure Rose’s pitying headshakes. I’m running and reading in the daytime. Most nights I’m lying on the couch letting the television watch me as I doze intermittingly. One night during doze I was accosted with visions of a chorus of my students looming over me and chanting derisively, “You lost her card. You lost her card. You lost her card.” This vision faded into one of Rose leading my friends in a New Orleans style funeral march around my coffin/couch vamping on theme “You shoulda come clean. You shoulda come clean.” 

Then fade to black with echoes of empty laughter. Slowly a small, out of focus image begins to fill the blackness. It’s Bernice, no it’s Bernice sitting and listening patiently to Margaret read. As the image grows and comes into focus I see her face, patient, encouraging, but with a hint of pity. Margaret fades out, replaced by full-screen close-up of Bernice’s face. She’s looking down at me and I realize the patient, encouraging, hint of pity look is for me. Only the patience has faded into a look of sad reproach. Her slight smile drives the hint of pity like a stake through my heart.

 They say you never die in your dreams but you couldn’t prove it by me. Cut to a tombstone with the etched in stone epitaph,

Garry Cox 1942-1992

He should have come clean.

From a distance I hear my landlord friend Clyde repeating my name. “Garro (pause), Garro (pause), Garro” And then no pause and much louder, “Garro, wake up man. It’s too early to go to bed. Wake up, I’ve got some mail for you.”

I open my eyes, sit up, and sheepishly accept a square envelope that usually indicates a card of some sort. I am eternally grateful for being delivered from my appalling dream but there’s no way I could explain it to Clyde so I lamely remark, “Thanks. I hope it’s not a bill.”

“So, open it already,” says Clyde.

I’m oddly reluctant, although I have no sense the card inside is personal. That is until I look at the return address, Phoenix, Arizona 85032 and feel a spark of expectation. In a sorry attempt at nonchalance I open the card. There are a couple of pictures, which I ignore because nothing will validate my growing excitement but the message. I find it. “Just thought you might want to see how I spend my vacations, Bernice”. Then I look at the pictures; one is a shot of a swimming pool, bordered by a golf course with a Dreamsicle colored building in the background that I assume houses vacation condos. The other picture is  Bernice stretched out on a pool chair wearing a two-piece bathing suit, eyes closed soaking in the sun. “Dam,” I say to myself. “I never realized her legs were that long.” Then I look up at Clyde who is still standing there waiting for a report. “It’s a card from a friend of mine. Lady who does literacy volunteer work at my evening site.”

“What’s she doing in Phoenix?”

“Vacation”

“And she sends you a card?”

“Probably just wants to rub it in because we’re stuck in the frozen Midwest.”

Clyde is either satisfied with my response or has lost interest and leaves the scene.

 Alone now my spirits are rising. Cloud nine won’t be able to hold me. I don’t claim to be wise in affairs of the heart, but we’re not talking rocket science here. A woman sends you an unsolicited card, including pictures? She is thinking about you, dude. You can take that to the bank. Hot Dam! My luck has done a 180; the Romance is on again.

Notes on Grieving: First Timers

One of the hardest things for anyone grieving for a loved one is to face the "first timers":  the first birthday, anniversary, holiday, family gathering, or annual event without your loved one. In Reflections on a Happy Birthday I shared my experience with Bernices first birthday since her passing. I have just experienced my first Thanksgiving without her. For other people many holiday "first timers" are around the corner. These are tough times and I have no advice for anyone facing them.

I would like to share something that has helped me, and that is to focus on other people who are also going through the greiving process. This Thanksgiving was the first time in years that Bernice and I had not spent this holiday with her daughter and grandson. I was invited to her daughter's new home and would have attended if I hadn't committed to Thanksgiving Day in New York with my daughter Brett and her BFF's family. But even amidst the bustle of food, kids, drinks and football, I found myself wondering how all Bernices family-daughters, sisters and grandchildren were coping with her absence on this day. It didn't make me miss her any less, but I think it helped me get out of myself and try to enjoy the day.

I have also been able to focus on other families. The headline in the Sports Page of the Arizona Republic this morning (12/4) read Sunday Showcase: Sally Meyerhoff Remembered. Sally, pegged for greatness as a marathoner and a tirathelete, died on March 8, 2011 after her bike collided with a pick-up truck. Of course I and the entire Arizona running communty were shocked at the news. But shock has a way of wearing off. When I read the tribute today I was drawn to the reactions of her family, especially her parents. As I read thier quotes and statements I found myself thinking between the lines, what it must be like to lose a child so young with so much potential for inspiring others. And also thinking about how many "first-timers" they will face.

Much like the parents of Arizona football great Pat Tillman, Sally's  parents have created the Sally Meyerhoff Foundation to honor Sally and to give back to the community through helping athelets in need. Having already committed myself to raise funds for the Tillman Foundation, I'm thinking perhaps the best way to support the Meyerhoff Foundation is to do the first Sally Meyerhoff 5K Run this coming Saturday (12/10).

Whether it is experiencing the apprehension of "first timers" or just the day to day pain of loss, I believe it is mportant not to feel alone.  Perhaps getting beyond our feelings by honoring our loved ones and supporting others who are doing the same can alleviate this anxiety and sense of aloneness.

RFYL would like to hear your thoughts.

Progress Report: Hudson River Ramble

Admit have not posted for over a week, Admit have not maintained my training regimen over the same week. Admit daughter Brett and I completed a grand New York City adventure the very same week. I'm going to do a general run-down of where I stand in my training for the 2012 New York City Marathon in my next Progress Report blog post. For details on Brett and Garry's excellent adventure, your might have to meet me at the pub (you pick).

November 2011 proved to be a pivotal period. During that time I have become quite the joiner: I joined a new running team, Run 4 It Endurance Training; I am a proud member of the Streakers in Sneakers, an official team entry for the Ragnar Relays; and I have joined the legions of walking wounded, runners who have situational injuries, situation being that they can't train with intensity due to some mysterious malfunction-mine a groin pull that makes it more difficult to walk than to run.

Despite the groin, I have had three good training runs this month. In my last Progress Report I shared my Veterans Day 11K race. The following week I put an eight-miler into my marathon wheelhouse. And I'm thrilled to say that I had my very first NYC run along the Hudson River last Sunday.

As for doing something about the groin pull, I have entered a yoga program and I plan to ask my Doc for a referral to a Sports Medicine program. Anybody have any suggestions about what else I can do to eliminate this pesky condition?

Bernice and Garry: Love's Labour's Lost

Fall is fading, winter is coming on, and students are knuckling down in hopes of passing the GED test before Christmas. Margaret is reading better, but Bernice doesn’t feel as though she reads enough in between their meetings. Me, I’m acting like a squirrel that has scored a ginormous acorn that could last me all the way to spring. The first week after Bernice gave me her card, I must have pulled it out of my wallet a hundred times. I’m not sure if I was trying to savour the moment or just checking to make sure I hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

Whatever, it’s a Thursday night, last class for the week, and as I busy myself with instructions to a small band of students who have registered to begin the GED exam in the morning, I notice Margaret and Bernice packing it in early. I doubt this was Bernice’s idea, but it could be a good sign for me. All I had to do was nail down transportation to the testing center for my brave little band and then I could announce an early break. For some reason, conversations between Bernice and me had lacked the playful intensity I had come to expect. I was loaded up to remedy that big time.

What did I think was going to happen during the break? It was going to make it all about her. I was going to make her feel that she was the epicentre of my universe. I was going to chat her up with such wit and charm that she might openly complain that I hadn’t called her already. And that might embolden me to say, “Let’s just forget the card. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

The Bernice scene was playing out in my head and my communication to students was on autopilot. “So you know what you need. ID, Test Appointment slip, check or money order, and you all know who is riding with me and who is riding with Rose?” Heads nod and eyes roll at my pedantic repetition. Then two things happen simultaneously; I hear a student say, “Can we break now?” and I see Bernice pushing through the back door with her purse hand and making a behind the head wave with the freehand. A wave that said, “I know you’re expecting to talk to me but I’m in no mood for conversation.”

During the now Bernice-less break I ponder two scenarios. Wait for Bernice to come in next Tuesday and request an audience before she can make another unannounced exit, or I can get off my duff and call her, soon, like tomorrow. Standing off from the students, I thumbed through my wallet, idly at first. Then not seeing the card I adjusted my focus for a second go through. No card. The third time through I went back inside and laid everything but my cash on an open table. Rose, the adopted class mother and co-driver to most student-oriented events, was eyeing me suspiciously. I tried to nonchalantly place the items back into the wallet. The damned card was gone.

“Lose something, Mr. Cox.” Rose, who acted more like my supervisor than my aide, said in slight bemusement.

“No, I was just looking for some phone numbers I thought I had.”
“Must have been important phone numbers.”
“Sort of.”
“You’re looking for Miss Wagner’s number aren’t you”?
 “I can’t believe I lost it.”
“You know what that means, don’t you Mr. Cox.”
“Nothing good as far as I can see.”
“Let your fingers do the walking.”

I let my fingers do the walking for the entire weekend. They dialled up every hospital and care facility in the city of Detroit. I began my inquiries politely enough but after three days of  “would you hold please”, “may I ask what the call is about” and “we don’t have a Bernice Wagner anywhere in our system”, I was ending all calls with a strident, “I want to speak to your supervisor.”

Tuesday evening roles around again. Bernice comes into the class area and I can hardly make eye contact with her. A break comes but nothing comes from the break. In hindsight, I should have taken Rose’s advice, “Just tell her the truth. Maybe she’ll understand.”

Now it’s Thursday and I’d like to say I had screwed up my courage to come clean, but I find myself wasting our break time on bad jokes and idle conversation. Bernice has had enough of that. There is a pause and she looks at me with those baby blues, a half smile on her face and says, “You lost my card didn’t you?”

Suddenly I’m also feeling like a schoolboy who hasn’t done his homework. I can either take a scolding or try to talk my way out of it. At least I know Bernice has a sense of humor. So I launch into my frantic, week-end long search for her card, making sure I include the rudest remarks made to me and my most clever come-backs. I get a few laughs and some sympathetic headshakes. But as soon as she sees my story has run its course, she tells me, “I don’t work in Detroit. I told you, I work for a haematology-oncology group in Grosse Point.”

So not only could I not produce my homework, I didn’t even have the assignment right. But the hell with it, I say to myself. This is as good as it’s going to get.

I hear myself saying, “So know that you know I have no future with the Bureau of Missing Persons, you want to catch a movie or something”?

Then the pause you never want to hear. “I don’t know,” she says, “I’m going to be out of town for two weeks. I’ll be visiting my sister in Phoenix. Maybe when I come back, if you’re still interested.”

I suppose it’s open to interpretation, but to me this was her way of telling me the romance ship had sailed and maybe we could still be, if not friends, then at least break buddies.

Progress Report: National Veterans Day Run 11.11.11

The Run 4 It Endurance Training team, coached by Jeff Hall, was well represented at the Phoenix version of the National Veterans Day Run. Jeff, Victoria and your RFYL reporter showed up at Paseo Neighbourhoods Park in Glendale for a 7:11 am race start. I brought along my digital recorder to do a before and after on our race goals, and also for me to see how I sounded at certain points along the race route.

All three of us had the goal of celebrating our veterans by putting some skin in the game, 6.8 miles of skin to be exact. Our personal goals were similar but unique to each of us.

Jeff: Have fun. Support Victoria and Garry. Honor our Veterans

Victoria: Other than surviving it, I’d like to go at a 12 minute pace
Garry: No feet or hip ailments. A few miles in the 11's. Negative splits.

The opening ceremony was Top Drawer. We saluted the flag during an inspiring choral rendition of the National Anthem. This followed by a moment of silence for our fallen heroes. \

The course: goodly number of hills, long stretches of semi-rough canal, asphalt and cement.
The weather: perfect, cloudy, cool, very little wind.

The highlights: For me, there were three;

1) Garry does the King; About two miles into the run, feeling good, chatting up Jeff and Victoria I wanted to take a voice check to make sure I wasn’t working too hard. So I pushed record and burst into a rendition of Elvis Presley’s Blue Suede Shoes. I may have been out of tune but I wasn’t out of breath and I really laid into the final chorus. I got a “Whoop” from Victoria and a long story from Jeff about following two Elvis impersonators pushing a third impersonator in a baby carriage through an entire marathon.

2), Garry eats canal: Literally out of the blue I took a rocky smack-down that bloodied two knees and an elbow while making my hands feel like they had just been peeled by a dull paring knife. Hurt? Would it hurt to get sandwiched between two NFL linebackers? You gotta love the human condition though. I’m too shocked to move, but I’ve got Jeff and Victoria looking down on me like a was a big rag doll that just fell off a shelf.

Victoria: Are you all right? Can you get up?

Jeff: No wait, let me get a picture of this.

Jeff & Victoria: Do you need some help?

Keep in mind, we’re talking about a marine and a fire-fighter here. I know they have handled worse cases than this, but somehow their total lack of technique almost caused them to fall down on top of me. And when they do get me up and going again Jeff is talking about putting the image of my sprawled body all over the Internet. Victoria got a big kick out of my dusty rear end that wouldn’t have been dusty if they hadn’t dropped me while they were getting their rescue act together.

3) Garry receives a random act of kindness: In defence of Jeff and Victoria, I looked a lot worse than I was. It wasn’t long after the spill that I got into a nice pace and soon after that that I remembered about my negative split goal. Enter Sharon Campbell, a lovely lady who had passed me around mile three. Luckily for me, she took a long time putting distance between us. I sort of figured that was my reward for sticking to my pace.

But after another mile I was surprised to look up and see that she was walking. As I passed her I gave here a few words of encouragement and continued on. I couldn’t have gotten more that a quarter mile ahead of her when here she comes again. “I knew it,” I said to myself. “She’s one of those run-walk- run-walkers and she will just leave me in the dust again.”  “Good job,” she said as she eased on by. Only this time she wasn’t putting distance between us. In fact I stayed on her heels, losing ground only when we had a long uphill to negotiate.  And then the nicest thing began to happen. Whenever she would pull a few meters ahead, she would look back to see how I was doing. This happened so often I concluded that somehow we needed each other to meet our race goals. Both of us were outside our comfort zones, yet neither of us wanted to give in.

 Not a word was spoken, not even when we hit the six-mile mark indicating that we had slightly less than a mile to go. Stride for stride we approached the finish area. The crowd, small but mighty was roaring. My whole life I have been a natural sprinter. The horse heading for the barn never had a thing on me. And I sensed something similar in my partner. We are about 400 meters out and I say to her, “Let’s give ‘em a show.” She knew exactly what I meant. Race crowds love nothing more than a dual down the stretch, especially between a man and a woman. So all of a sudden we’re duking it out and people are going wild.

“Come on honey. You can take him”
“Look Look. She’s gonna get him.”
“No, no he’s picking it up. Her’ll nip her. Just watch.”

“Whoohoo, she got ‘im! You go girl.”

I didn’t look but I have a feeling that going through the shoots her smile was as big as mine.

Jeff, Victoria, Garry and our new best friend Sharon Campbell got to hang out for awhile after the race. I told Sharon she was a good runner and she returned the compliment. The coolest part was meeting Sharon’s parents who are both marines and very proud of their daughter.

Turns out Sharon and Victoria are going to do the Tough Mudder in January, one of the most challenging running events in the world. Jeff and I have already agreed to volunteer for the event.

Did we meet our goals?
Jeff: My goal was just to have fun and support Victoria and Garry with thier goals. They were awesome.
Victoria: Well, since my goal was just to survive I guess I made it. I really need a do-nut.
Garry: Thanks to Sharon, I got my negative splits.
Sharon: It was a hard race but I finished it.

Of all of us though, Jeff had the most fun this day. He truly enjoys encouraging his runners and goes out of his way to make their running fun. 

Parting shot:

Victoria: Jeff you really are a strong athletic supporter.

Garry: Hey Jeff, I think Victoria just called you a jock strap.

Ok, one more-I’m trying to interview Jeff and he doesn’t like having my recorder in his face.

Jeff: I’m not going to say any thing until you put your “thingy” down.

Garry: But Jeff, I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep my “thingy” up.

Victoria: You’re a dog, Garry

Bernice and Garry: Glacier Express

It’s October now and what should have become a budding romance has become more like an old-fashioned barnstorming air show. The featured biplane, along with our hearts, soars to the zenith of its vertical capabilities where its engine inexplicably begins to cough and sputter. We gasp in unison when we realize the engine has just died. With our hearts in our throats we gaze at the suspended craft wishing with all our might that the inevitable plunge to a fiery death could somehow be avoided. But down it comes, twisting in vain to catch a miraculous updraft. A spectator calls out hysterically, “My God, I can see the pilot! I see his face.”  

In truth, the face of the intrepid pilot is most likely sporting a smirk as he, for the thousandth time reengages the engine and up throttles the plane just in time to escape the clutches of an unforgiving earth and deny death its victory for yet another day. There is a moment of silence as we all check ourselves for unsolicited wetness and then we joyously applaud the audacity of the stunt.

A famous sage once posited that, rather than art imitating life, “Life should imitate art.” I would take that a step further and say, “Life should imitate show business.” That way, like the intrepid pilot who knows he will live to thrill another crowd, I would have a fail safe to keep our budding romance from crash and burn. True, I had Shakespeare in my back pocket and momentum on my side, but I still needed a venue to ply my romantic whiles.

Enter the greatest invention known to the world of adult education: the time honoured student break.  Students need breaks for all sorts of reasons, a smoke, a snack, a rest room, a chance to gossip, to flirt, to share dreams about their futures. And the beauty of it all is that no one purpose is allowed to take precedent over another.

But students are not the only beneficiaries of these breaks in the action. Teachers can also let their hair down, take a stroll, talk more intimately. It was during these free moments that I learned what I really wanted to know about Bernice. For one, she did not have a disingenuous bone in her body. Case in point, her cultural propensities. When it comes to culture, there are two types of people. One is the, “been there, done that, bought the t-shirt,” type. The other is the true lover of the arts. Bernice never claimed to know anything about theatre. She just had a glow about her when she spoke of driving with her girlfriend up to Stratford on Avon in Canada to catch the Shakespeare festival. She seldom dropped a famous name and yet she was a season ticket holder for the Detroit Symphony Orchestra. And though she had her favorites, she demonstrated her love of opera by ushering for the Detroit Opera House and the renowned Fisher theatre. To her, the fun was just to be there and be a part of it all.

But although she had me at Stratford on Avon, there was even more to this enigmatic beauty. Next to performing arts, I love competitive sports, especially those involving running. Imagine my delight when Bernice revealed with childlike enthusiasm that when she was a youngster, she was the only girl in the neighbourhood ever invited to play baseball with the boys.

But all of this could have come to naught had Bernice not revealed her most endearing trait: her unabashed straightforwardness. We were walking back into the classroom after one of our longer breaks. I think the students themselves may have called time on this one.  I paused to let her precede me through the door when she abruptly turned to me and extended her hand. “Here’s my card. You could call me sometime if you wanted to.”    

The phrase, “You could knock me over with a feather,” comes to mind but I had just been hit in the chest with a nine-pound hammer and I was still standing. This wasn’t a business card. This was a ticket to ride the Glacier Express.  

Upon offering the card, Bernice did not exactly turn on heel but neither did she wait for a response. Just as well because eloquent I ain’t, not when my whole world has just been knocked cockeyed.

Ride a Painted Poney

Prologue: No one has ever asked me why I interview the folks I do, or even where I find them. Suffice it to say I love runners and their stories. In the hierarchy of running lore, my runners may appear ordinary. But I assure you, they appear larger than life to me. Take for example one Frank Nightingale. Mild mannered business man by day, but by night a cohort to painted revellers known to disturb the peaceover hundreds of miles in a single weekend. They call themselves Ragnar.

It was Frank who suggested that our interview be conducted at the Village Tavern in Scottsdale. It was a lovely October afternoon and my arrival was met with a mellow piano riff. Inside some pictures I looked at reminded me of the giant Marine Corpse Marathon poster I had recently seen in Frank’s office. With the luck of the Irish, I was able to activate my digital recorder just as Frank joined me at the bar. 

RFYL: Hi Frank. As I said earlier, I have some standard runners’ questions, but you seem to have so much fun with your running, why don’t you just spread the joy and share some of your stories?  If I think of a question, I’ll throw it in.

Frank: Well, here’s one that I get a kick out of. I run with Phoenix Fit on Tuesday and Thursday nights and there’s a girl in our group and she’s very competitive. And it’s one of those nights when you just don’t have it. We were done with our exercises and our goal was to run to the fish, it’s a landmark in Scottsdale. I think it’s maybe on Goldwater and Indian School. There’s this stupid ass fish on the wall that they spent millions of dollars on. But that’s our turnaround. And we went out really fast. When we turn at the fish I’m totally out of gas. So this girl I’m telling you about, she just takes off ahead of everybody. But then I look down across 60th street and I look down the canal and I see she’s walking, so I think to myself, “I think I can catch her!” So I sprint, which for me is a crawl, and I’m sure she saw me trying to catch her so she takes off again. So another mile goes by, she gets further out and she starts walking again. So I run up to catch her and she takes off again. This happens three or four times. Finally we get down to 56^th  street and Indian school and she’s walking. This time I crawl in and we have maybe a quarter another quarter of a mile to get to where we started. So I’m walking with her and she goes” “Hell of a tough run tonight”, and I’m “Oh yeh, it really was.” Then I realized how close we were to the end. So I took off and I sprinted home ahead of her and I can hear she’s calling me every name in the book. But the funniest part was everybody said, “Frank beat you in? Oh, wow! Are you slow!”  I know I’ll pay for it but that was really fun.  

Frank (Continued): Here’s a scary one. I was doing a long run you know one of your 20’s you do right before a marathon. And you know how on the long guys you get kind of delirious?  So it’s about six thirty on a Sunday night and I’m running up the canal towards the freeway, maybe 17^th Ave and the freeway. And I look up and see I’m about to run through about ten guys in a big circle. The first thing that comes to my mind is there is some kind of drug deal going on. Then I thought, “Whoa, I’m going to get my ass kicked.” But I have to run past them and there are lots of them. So I slog by and get to the freeway unharmed. But then it hits me. I have to run back past them again to get to my car. I’m thinking, this time they’ll get me for sure. It was all I could do to turn around. But I turn around and they are all gone. I really picked up the pace on the way back in case they were hiding, waiting to jump me. Then later I thought maybe it was all a mind thing because I was so tired. But you do see some scary looking people on the canal. 

RFYL: Tell us about one of your marathons.

Frank: Ok, this one turned out good but it was crazy too. It’s right after 9 11. The stock market was closed for a couple of weeks so all I could do was run. So I was in really good shape, and I’m doing the Chicago Marathon. When I got to the halfway point it seemed like the race just started. It was just one of those days. I just went faster and faster and faster. And so I got to the tunnel; there’s a tunnel before the end of the race in Chicago. I guess it’s where the Convention Center is. I tried not to look at the clock the whole race but I looked up then and I couldn’t believe it. I was like thirty-five minutes ahead of schedule. I was in total shock. I says, “Is that clock right?” And I just stopped. I started laughing. I had to tell myself to get running again. Like the clock was going to change its mind. And then I chugged it on in and had my PR.

RFYL: Why did you start running?
Frank: I was about 260 lbs on New Years day, 1998. I was at the Wigwam restaurant and a great pal of mine and his girlfriend were down from Utah. They were going to do a marathon. My pal was going through a divorce and had talked the girlfriend into doing the Marine Corps Marathon. So we’re celebrating all that. We’re sitting around a dinning table having some snacks. The centerpiece was like this big round bowl of green gelatine. My friends see how chunky I am so they say, “I’ll betcha a hundred bucks you won’t do a marathon with us.”  Well you know how guys are with a challenge. I’m like “Yeh, yeh. I’ll do it. No problem.” And just as I said that the top button of my blazer flew off into the pile of green goo. So I’m looking around like it didn’t just happen. I mean what’s the etiquette for extracting a button from the ordourves?  Finally, I get this napkin and fish out my button and we’re all cracking up. Long story short, I thought they’d forget about the challenge. 

But about a month later Galloway's Book on Running showed up in the mail. They hadn’t forgotten, and I was about to begin training for my first marathon. 

RFYL: How did your other friends react to this decision?

Frank: Well several of my friends saw me losing weight and having a good time with it. There’s probably twenty people in Phoenix that I was running around with who started running because of that decision. One of them just qualified for the Boston Marathon. And he was a fellow couch potato. Maybe not as big. I was huge. 

RFYL: You seem to be a great student of running; who are some you really admire?

Frank: You know I’ve always thought Steve Prefontaine was an awesome guy. Just because he pushed himself so hard. We’ve all been there and It’s like, “Ok, I’ll just push till I puke. But I’ll recover. And I’m gonna leave it on the field.” That was his thing
The other guy is Louis Zamparina. What a story! The book Unbroken.  I just get horrible chills when I think what he went through. The coolest part of the book to me was when his wife talks him into going to the Billy Graham event. It’s years after the war and Zamparini is still pretty much lost. He’s about to lose his wife and kids. But he says to his wife, “Ok, ok I’ll go.” So he goes to listen to Billy Graham and something must have happened because he went back two more nights. The second night, Graham says, “You’re here again.” And Zamparina says, “What do I have to do?” and Graham says, “Just believe.” So Zamparini softens his heart and all of a sudden his life takes off; he finds out what he’s supposed to be doing. He goes on to establish the famous Camp Victory for kids. But the coolest thing, I truly believe the toughest thing in life is forgiveness. I know a lot of people carry it in their hearts. But here’s this guy (a sadistic POW warden nicknamed “The Bird”) beats Zamparini up, almost everyday for two years and Zamparini travels to Japan to forgive him. Talk about guy who walks the walk.

RFYL: Let’s talk training. Some of your likes and dislikes. 

Frank: I love long runs when you’re all trained up. When you’re in shape you can really enjoy those. When you’re not in shape they kill you. But a very nice, successful long run is great. I mean it makes your whole week. 

But I think, like everyone else, I hate speed work. It’s just hard as hell. It makes you a lot better. I think I’m probably kind of lazy. But you gotta do that stuff.

RFYL: Do you think there is a runners’ personality type?

Frank: Runners in general are pretty loose cats is my experience. Like we have a group in the summer that gets up and we meet at four in the morning around Paradise Valley and run. I think you gotta be a little bit off to be a runner anyway. But you know I’ve never met any creepy runners. I’m sure they’re out there, but for the most part people are pretty nice. It’s probably cause running takes the edge off negative things.  But I think the people that run for fun and try to get better, not mega hardcore but just people who want to get better. Those are the ones for me.

 RFYL: Those are the good ones. What about the bad ones?

Frank: Well I think, kinda like humanity. Nobody really likes to hang around selfish people. And I think the ones that are totally self-absorbed are kind of a pain in the ass. But you don’t hang with them anyway cause they’re usually so much faster than everybody else. I would say the folks on the google team at the Arizona Ragnar Relays are like that. Those guys are so far ahead of everybody, you couldn’t talk to them if you wanted to. 

RFYL: Can you share some really good and really bad running experiences? 

Frank: Ok, I was running on the canal on a Friday night and I pulled a hamstring and you know, injuries hit. It’s just part of the deal. So I’m peg-legging back to my car, it’s a Friday night after work and all these runners are going down the canal having a great time and I’m dragging my wheel. And you know, at my age, a hamstring, you’re out three to four months. That means 20 pounds. That was the worst. 

A really good experience? I would say finishing my first marathon. 

RFYL: Just finishing?

Frank: Yeah, it was the marine corpse in ’98 and all my friends said, “You know, God bless you but there is no way you can ever run a marathon. And I weighed almost 250. I had to drop like, geeze, about 60 pounds. 

And it was the Galloway’s book that got me through it. Galloway had a book out called Galloway’s Book on Running. And it was just a hardcore, hard-ass training schedule. After that he went to his walk/run program. But this was way back and you ran everyday. And like your long runs, I think there was a 28, a 26 and a 20. It was nuts! But finishing that first Marathon was incredible. I got to the finish line, and it was really weird, I started crying, I was so amazed.

 RFYL: I’m beginning to think crying is a theme for first time marathoners. I cried when I ran my only marathon. Jeff Hall cried when he did his first and now you.

Frank: Well It’s a pretty big deal. And everybody says you can’t do it and then you do it. And you just thank God you set a goal out there and you persevered and you got it done. It’s huge. Well it’s like life, 98% of its mental. So you get to a jam in life and your loop says, “you can’t do it, you can’t do it, you can’t do it”, and you just say “Bullshit! I finished a marathon. I’ve had worse things thrown at me, and bigger hills I’ve run up and I’m going to get through this.

RFYL:  Families usually play a big role in the important things. What is your family’s reaction to your running? 

Frank: My family they think I’m nuts. It’s interesting, my oldest brother’s wife’s father, he’s a famous track coach in Southern California. For high school kids. He thinks adults doing marathons is just absurd. It just beats you up too much. And my dad, he never exercises and he’s 82, a medical marvel. He’s been on Lipitor for 40 years. The funniest thing though, our family has high cholesterol, so everybody’s on Lipitor. So we’re trying to get Pfizer to sponsor our Ragnar Team. No, no I’m kidding but the family thinks I’m nuts for real. 

RFYL: Ok, I guess it’s time for the universal question: Why do you run?

Frank: Well, you know none of us are going to win an Olympic medal and it’s a weird sport because you’re competing against yourself. If you run, you’ll have friends that are fast, and friends that are slow. I think the biggest thing about running is it’s a great work out. I have a lot of friends who are set for speed, but I think it’s nice just getting out and exercising and maybe pushing yourself a little. I guess I just like hanging with runners. 

RFYL: What would you do if you couldn’t run?

Frank: I guess probably hike as fast as I could. I hate gyms, being inside. I mean I go to the gym but I think it’s sterile. But as long as I can walk, I think I keep running.

RFYL: How?

Frank: I think the trick is, ok like the last thee years I’ve slowed down a lot and I’ve pulled several calf muscles. In general you get chicken. You start favoring things. Like me shortening my stride. Then I’ve got kind of an asthma thing. So you stop pushing yourself. Mentally you pull it back. I was running with a buddy on Mockingbird and we’ve done about ten miles and he says, “Your stride’s really short.” It’s kind of like when we were on Mt. Shasta and the guide kept saying “natural stride, natural stride” because when you short step it you’re blowing energy. The deal is to be as efficient as possible. 

And then your core has to be strong. We do a lot of core strengthening stuff at Phoenix Fit. I’ve always thought that stuff was all BS, but since I started doing it I’ve noticed a big difference. Before I would slump over when I got tired. Having a weak core makes you wobbly. The trick is to just get down the road as efficiently as possible. And you want to run as tall and efficiently as possible. It’s like being a singer. If your core doesn’t support your diaphragm, you can’t project. 

RFYL: I’m going to do the New York City Marathon in 2012. I’ll be 70 years old. I’ve been told that it’s a crapshoot, that I have zero margin for error. 

Frank: I disagree. You know, a marathon, mega miles? Well, what I was told, you should treat a marathon like five five-mile runs, so they’re segments. It’s kind of like that whole “living in the now” concept. So you’re e running on the canal and you’re ready to puke and you say if I can just get to that telephone pole, that’s my goal, my short term goal. Then you get there and it’s oh, there’s the SRP truck. And then an overhanging tree and so on. Just five five-mile problems. And If you can think of them as opportunities, it will go even better.  

RFYL: Got any advice for this geezer doing a marathon at 70?

Frank: You know, a lot of it is just saddle time. You’ve got your base, you’re doing your training. So first week in November? You’ve got thirteen months to get ready. It’s a lay-up. You got tons of time. Keep raising the bar on your mileage and you’ll be golden. I wouldn’t worry about the time. I’d just say, “ I’m going to finish the SOB.” I think your goal should just be negative splits in New York. You’ll have family there. But you know how fast time goes. Make doing something extra every day your goal. Like an extra ten sit-ups. That kind of drill.

RFYL: What was your New York Marathon like?

Frank: It’s a crazy race because you start on this bridge and all the celebrities take off. Everybody’s fast in this race. The last time I did it, I don’t think I ever passed anybody. And then the 59^th Street Bridge its like running up Camelback. And finally you crest and make this left turn and people just yell their brains out. It’s one of the coolest moments of your life.

RFYL: Any advice for our readers?

I would encourage any runner new to the sport to find a group to run with. I fell in with this group called Phoenix Fit. And I urge anybody who is hasn’t done a half or a full marathon to hook up with them. I think they have about 120 members. And they work with all types of runners. There’s one guy weighed about 350 lbs and he’s out there running and losing weight. They have great coaches. The workouts are very structured.  They meet on Saturdays and during the week there is a deal called ATP, an advanced program for folks who really want to improve on their race times. They really helped me with all kinds of exercises and different runs. I’ve seen a big difference this year. And when you run with a group you meet a lot of new friends hang out with some awesome people.

Epilogue: The interview is over. The recorder turned off. “I’ll see you at Ragnar", says the painted reveller to the old man. “If not sooner,” replies the old man.

hundreds of miles in a single weekend.

Mountain Man Mystery Solved

Having to provide the identity of my last Who is that Runer? post is kind of like having to explain a joke you just bombed with. Granted, my prompt-Identify this hyper-active valley runner/hiker (top left) and win a nano-second of fame-was not a great clue. Which is why I threw in this challenge to sweeten the pot: RFYL will settle for guessing the mountain. Hint, it's in California and they named a soft drink after it. 

I mean, come on, how do you not get Mt. Shasta out of that?  

The answer to the Who is that Runner? challenge is none other than Frank Nightingale, Stockboker Wells Fargo Advisors, age 51. Of all the runners I’ve met over the years, none seemed to have more fun with his sport than Frank. RFYL would like to share some of Frank’s humorous reflections on life and running though a recent interview to be posted on Saturday, October 29.

One last chance to redeem yourself. Atop what Arizona Mountain is Frank standing?

Bernice and Garry: What's in a name? That which we call a rose...

They say the days of the charismatic teacher are numbered. And while I never played the “sage on the stage” I was not above putting on a show. My supervisors pretended to be interested in individual student gains, but the real bean counting in those days was butts in the seats. In order to keep my numbers up I had to engage the students and, whenever possible, make the learning experience fun. Which it always was to me.

I will admit that adding Afro Lady, AKA Bernice, and her literacy charge, Margaret, to the mix presented a challenge to my delivery system. I found myself putting a little mustard on my lesson plans. One of my spiced up lessons is still lodged in my memory banks.

As a math teacher, I have always been a proponent of the big picture. The multitude of processes students are normally required to learn often don’t make sense in and of themselves. The intrepid student who achieves mastery of percents, ratios and proportions does come to see the interconnectedness of it all but many fall by the wayside, feeling betrayed by the system and mislead by their teacher.

Solution: Instead of slogging through to the Promised Land, start with the big picture. To that end I set myself the task of presenting the big picture all in one place-on the big chalkboard. All known processes with examples and sample problems merged into an army in white, marching across the vast field of green, encumbered by my childish scrawl but proudly bearing the flag of unity and the promise of future success. To keep things light I planned to tell the students they could leave early as soon as they mastered the board.

But my real target audience was Bernice. I counted on her arriving before the students, giving me a moment to bask in the light of my brilliant pedagogy. As to her arrival, she did not disappoint. Nor could I complain of her attention to my project. She took a long moment to look the board over, smiling and nodding, appropriately I thought.

Then she spoke. “I see you only used one side of the board. Are you going to put Algebra and Geometry on the other?”

I dropped a beat, and then said without smiling, “No I thought I might put the complete works of William Shakespeare on the backside.”

And then she said the most curious thing: “Do you know any Shakespeare?”

Have you ever hit an inside straight in poker? Or happened on a 300 point word in scrabble? Or felt as clever as Brer Rabbit when he begged Brer Fox not to throw him into his beloved briar patch? 

“Do I know any Shakespeare?” Lady, you just kicked the door wide open. Game On!

A step in the right direction

Had a near perfect run this morning. Four miler. No foot pain. No hip or groin pain. No anaerobic stretches. No fatigue. Giving my new shoes, Saucony Hattori, another chance. My first outing with them was my recent 8 miler, which can best be described as a set-back. Since my feet were begging me to quit six miles into that run, I couldn’t give the newbies a very high mark. Today I’m thinking they could be the best shoes I ever bought, at least for the running style I adopted after reading Christopher McDougall’s Born to Run almost two years ago. With the above problems at bay, I was able to concentrate on my form and my foot strike. I will never be a barefoot runner (except on the beach) and my Vibram Five Fingers are viable on smooth surfaces only. But I’m a true believer in the wide toed, mid foot strike, quick lift style I gleaned from McDougall’s book. And though the new shoes have a thicker sole than the Vibram’s, there is zero angle from my heal to my toe and I can still feel my feet spread to grab the ground. How was my pace? As the great Caballo Blanco said to McDougall, “Think Easy, Light, Smooth, and Fast…When you’ve practiced that (Easy & Light) so long that you forget you’re practicing, you work on making it smooth. You won’t have to worry about the last one—you get those three and you’ll be fast.” Pace be damned, give me “Easy, Light, Smooth and (someday) Fast”. As for the shoes, the words of legendary distance coach Arthur Lydiard set the standard. “Shoes that let your foot function like you’re barefoot—they’re the shoes for me”. For me too, and maybe, just maybe I’ve found them.