The Buckle

“Does it hurt when you cough?’ asked the Pediatrician to my 4 year old son. “It hurts, but Daddy gives me the buckle and then I go to sleep” responded my son.

The glare was directed right at me. “Oh $hit” was my first thought.

The day was supposed to be a glorious day. I had the day off from work, the weather was in the mid 50’s, and I was scheduled to test my ‘healed’ ankle on a nice flat 1 mile run. My alarm clock went off at 8:30am. Looking back, I think I was more excited at the prospect of sleeping until 8:30am than going out for my first run since early November. Granted, this run was totally against Doctor’s Orders, but I have rested my ankle, gone through aggressive treatments, and felt it was ready for a test. My Physician made me promise him that I wouldn’t run until the first week of February. I remember springing out of bed that morning, having my regular pre-exercise breakfast of a half a bagel, an egg white omelet, and two Hammer Gels.

I was almost ready to get dressed for my run, when my 4 year old son came out of his room looking like zombie on Halloween. He was crying, his color was awful, he had bags under his eyes (he gets that from his mother, hahaha), and he was holding his left ear. Being a Firefighter and an EMT, the signs were obvious; he was sick and had an ear infection. You may ask how I knew he had an ear infection by just looking at him. I didn’t even have to look at him to know he had an ear infection. I didn’t need my years of ‘On The Job’ clinical experience to solve this mystery. I knew my son had an ear infection because he slept until 8:50am. There is not a 4 year old alive, who isn’t sick, who sleeps until 8:50am. I’m not a conspiracy theorist type of guy, but I’m positive that all those OB/GYN pregnancy ultrasound tests somehow program children to wake somewhere between 5:00-6:00am. Or maybe kids just know that there are cartoons on TV early in the morning. I dunno.

Anyway, I lost the Rock-Paper-Scissor game with my wife and I had to take my son to the Pediatrician. I should have thrown Paper, I always throw Paper. I wish I could say I was focused on my son’s health, but to be honest, all I could think about on the way to the doctor’s office was when I could squeeze my run in. Here is how it went in my head: “Ok, the appointment is at 10:30, the doctor can’t get too far behind that early in the morning can he, we will get in there on time, he will check out his ears, prescribe some antibiotics, and we will be on our way before 11:15am, I can pick up the meds on the way home and be I will be ready to run by 12:00pm”

Well, it didn’t go quite that smooth. We were seen at 10:30am, but I didn’t count on a 40 minute wait for a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia, or the Department of Social Services investigation…………….Yes, the Department of Social Services is the Massachusetts equivalent of a Child Protection Services Department.

My son’s Pediatrician, Dr. J., who referred to by my wife as “McDreamy” is about 6’3 and 230 pounds. He is a young doctor probably in his late 30’s. I can tell when either of my boys have appointments, because my wife is always dressed very nicely, her hair done, and she has applied her makeup by 7:00am. It laugh to myself when I attend appointments with my wife and children, I look around the waiting room and it is so easy to identify the Moms who have appointments with Dr. J., they are dressed like they are headed out for a hot date on Saturday night.

Anyway, back to the story. While Dr. J. was cruising through his physical exam, my son started to cough. Dr. J. asked him to open his mouth, and say “Ahhhhh”, which my son did. He then asked my son if it hurt when he coughed, and my son responded, “It hurts, but Daddy gives me the buckle and then I go to sleep”. I thought to myself “Oh no, what do I do?” Dr. J. is the most unassuming person you could ever meet. He is father to small children himself, he is great with his patients, my kids (and wife) look forward to his appointments, he laughs, he interacts with the kids, and he is silly when he needs to be, but this was the first time I saw the look of shock on his face. He looked directly at me and in a stern voice, said two words, “Please explain”. All I could think of was that stupid Bill Cosby show ‘Kids Say The Darndest Things’.

The first words out of my mouth were, “Look, I’m not even wearing a belt”. Great, now he thinks I’m trying to hide the evidence. I then explained that when my son was very young, his favorite baby food was Gerber’s Blueberry Buckle. It actually tasted pretty good. Gerber somehow found a way to squeeze Blueberry Cobbler into a 3 ounce glass jar. I explained that my wife and I would refer to this Gerber Baby Food as 'The Buckle', such as, “Would you like some buckle”. My son absolutely loved Blueberry Buckle, and soon any food or liquid he saw was referred to as 'The Buckle’. Not that there are that many bluish/purple foods out there, but soon blueberry yogurt and blueberry pie became know as 'The Buckle’.

I attempted to explain that my son’s genius mother figured out that if she called grape flavored cough medicine, ibuprofen, or acetaminophen ‘The Buckle’, my son would drink it down. I tried to explain that it was all about selling the horribly tasting medicine as something he loved.

Did he buy it? If he didn’t buy my explanation, I started thinking about what my prison sentence would look like. I remember wondering if they let you run in prison. Dr. J. slowly looked toward my son and asked, “Is what Daddy said true?” I clearly remember thinking to myself that this is do or die time. I couldn’t believe the fate of my life was hinging upon the response of a 4 year old child. What was he going to say? I was praying that he wouldn’t tell Dr. J. that I shave my legs, remember kids say the darndest things. Was he going to tell Dr. J. that when my wife was working last Saturday, I let my two boys watch at least 7 hours of TV?

My son looked at Dr. J. and responded “I like to drink The Buckle from the medicine cup when I’m sick”. Ding Ding Ding, Correct Answer!!!!! The lights started flashing, ticker tape started falling from the ceiling. You my boy, are the winner of the $100,000 Pyramid Game. I was so relieved. Dr. J. looked at me with a sly smile and said, “I knew the story the entire time, your son said the same thing at his four year check-up last month with your wife. I wanted to play a little game with you.”

To close the loop on this story, I made it home by 1:00pm after picking up the prescribed medications at the pharmacy. My son was diagnosed with pneumonia and an ear infection. I was able to get out for my run later that afternoon. I felt great for the first 200 yards and was laughing at my Orthopedic Physician’s advice to not start running again until February. I guess I only had enough endorphins to carry me 200 yards because my ankle really started to hurt before I reached the end of my street. I slowly limped home feeling defeated. I opened the door to my house and immediately went to the medicine cabinet for a shot of ‘The Buckle’.

See you out there in February.

My New Position

Usually I hate to talk about religion or politics; it seems to take time away from talking about running or riding. I readily admit that I have no idea how to ‘fix’ our Nation’s financial crisis, that is if we believe the hype the media is selling us about this financial crisis. I have zero knowledge about how compound interest works or what the overnight lending rate is. I don’t know what will solve the The Big Three’s issues. Should I buy a Ford LTD Country Squire Station wagon or should Congress give them 35 billion dollars? Does Ford still make an LTD? There were great backseat in the old LTD’s; you baby boomers know what I’m talking about, wink, wink.

What I do know about is cycling. I am the proud owner of 7 bicycles. I have a road bike, a tri bike, full suspension and a front suspension 26” mountain bikes, a single speed 29’er, my old circa 1982 Hutch Pro BMX bike, and a sweet fixed gear commuter. My bikes are cool. They are a reflection of my personality. On a day I want to go fast, I pull out my tri bike and go for an ego ride. On a day I want to kick it old school and enjoy a single gear, I’ll opt for the single speed. If my kids want to cruise the local rail trail, I’ll pull out one of the mountain bikes in case I need to bunny hop some road kill and show my son how cool dad is. I have personalized my bikes with little ‘trail finds’ that I have gathered along my travels. One day I was out in the middle of nowhere (in Groton), at least 6 miles from the nearest dirt or tar road, and I looked down and saw something shiny. It was an old “Custom Cab” name plate from a 1960 Ford Custom Cab Pick-Up Truck. Of course I now have it zip-tied to my handlebars of my 29’er. I treat my bikes with care and they generally take care of me in return. Nothing makes me happier than going on Mud Run and nothing makes my wife more upset than me walking into my kitchen with muddy cycling shoes. When cleaning my bikes after a ride, I always make sure to leave one little piece of dirt or road grime somewhere on the frame to remind me that bikes are made to be ridden, not made to shine in showrooms.

The great thing about cycling is that there is a bike dedicated for virtually every type of riding. I am sure the day will come when my old bones won’t be able to take the abuse of downhill assaults, or being in the aero position of a tri bike for hours on end. When that time comes, I may have to buy a bike that looks like this:

What the hell is going on here? Is this the President-Elect? Somebody get Obama a Velcro strap for those jeans. What is up with that fender? Do you think Obama rides in the rain often? All that is missing from this picture is pink handlebar tassels blowing in the breeze and a big basket. Obama needs to ‘Man Up’. A man of his stature can’t be seen riding a bike like this. Dukakis looked better riding in the tank. You can’t tell me that people didn’t laugh at him on that bike. He could have at least clipped a baseball card in the spokes.

With all the Cabinet appointments being announced, I am anxiously sitting by the phone awaiting his call. I emailed the President-Elect and offered my services. I offered to become his ‘Secretary of Manly Toys’. I am perfect for this position. I have virtually every grown up toy and gadget that has ever been made for swimming, cycling, lifting, and running. Instead of submitting a resume, I just forwarded pictures of all my cool stuff.

Here is a list of pictures I emailed the President-Elect:
My GPS devices, my running GPS and my hiking GPS
My Headlamps
My Heart rate Monitor
My Yaktrax
My Snowshoes
My Snowboard
My Bikes
My 30 pairs of sneakers
My three Ipods
My technical running and cycling gear
My Smoker- Yum Yum , smoked meats
My wetsuit and tri-suit
My titanium bottle opener made from recycled bike parts

I better stop now or my wife will kill me

What pictures I didn’t send the President-Elect (hey everybody has some skeletons)
My home waxing kit
My red dress
My high school yearbook photo showing me with an afro and horrible moustache


My first duty as ‘Secretary of Manly Toys’ would be to advise the President-Elect to give that damn bike to Hillary. I would also recommend he put a bigger seat on first (sorry, I know I’m an idiot, but it was just way too easy to throw that in there). I would recommend that if he ever decided to go riding where somebody may snap a picture, then he should get a bike that looks like this:

That’s what I’m talking about!!!!!!! What you are looking at here is a $4500 full suspension carbon fiber custom made machine. Not only will this bike make you the coolest person on Pennsylvania Avenue, but it will keep people like me from making fun of you. There is only one thing wrong with this picture. What is it you ask? Any guesses? OK, I’ll give it to you. How the hell does Georgie get away for 3+ hour rides? How do I know that by just looking at the picture? Well, Georgie not only has a Presidential water bottle in the cage holder, he is holding a camelback. In my book, a bottle and a camelback means only one thing, an epic 3+ hour ride. How does Georgie find the time to get out for such long rides when the country is in the shape that it is? I have a hard time getting out for two hour rides and I am only the Commander In Chief of my wife and two kids. OK, definitely not the Commander In Chief of my wife and my oldest son, but I still have a pretty strong rule over my three year old. I would also recommend that the President-Elect run tubeless and clipless like Georgie in the picture above.

Do you think I have a chance? If he calls, I must serve my country, it will be my duty. Oh yea, getting to ride every day, that mid six figure salary, and getting to play with every ‘Manly Toy’ to hit the market wouldn’t affect my decision. It was nice knowing all of you. Look for me Inauguration Day; I’ll be the guy on the full suspension Trek, you know the one with the Presidential Seal on the top tube.

Time

Where does it come from and where does it go? Holy $hit, my last post was on November 4, 2008. What happened? I’ve had such a busy month that I totally lost track of time. In less than a month, I was a Co-Lunatic who planned a Hash Run for my running club, I ripped a tendon off my ankle during said Hash Run, I was bit by a dog, and I was the Race Director for the 4th Annual Ayer Fire Department Thanksgiving Day 5K Road Race. Whooo!!!!!

Where to start? Let me start by telling you I am still married. My wife is the best. I still don’t know how I was able to pull off the whole staying married thing while involved in all these activities. My youngest son yelled out to my wife one day when I arrived home from work "Mommy, you have a delivery". Should I be nervous that my wife is seeing the FedEx triathlete? I hope not, but it would make for an interesting blog entry. I was either at work, on the phone, or at my computer for the entire month. She is going to kill me when she finds out Mr. RunRunLive himself signed me up for more 2009 road race planning.

I’m not going to talk at length about the Hash Run other to say that yes, I did wear my red dress, yes I did drink way too much, and yes I did break my ankle no more than ¼ mile into the run………………..not necessarily in that order, well kind of in the order. Instead of boring you with the narrative version, here are two links to view the video. The Bastages at YouTube made me limit the video to under 10 minutes, so YouTube has the shorter version. RuncastTV has an awesome version.

http://www.runcast.tv/video/davehash_0001-1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_r_F7vU2XY

Quick story about the broken ankle. I was no more than ¼ mile into the Hash Run when I rolled my ankle on a leaf covered jagged rock. I live in New England and run year round, I have navigated scarier trails at night with a dim headlamp and dimmer friends (sorry guys). I have rolled my ankle hundreds of times running off road, but this time I wasn’t able to ‘catch’ the ankle and unweight it, before I heard a pop. Decision time. Do I stop, turn back, immediately ice my ankle like a responsible adult and wait for the gang to get back or do I continue on, knowing that there are 5 bottles of The Knot Irish Whiskey on the course? I figured I got all dressed up for the occasion, why not continue on, soak my ankle in a few mud pits, and self medicate with Irish Whiskey. I know I’m an idiot. The pain really wasn’t that bad after the 3rd shot, and after the 6th shot, I felt like a Kenyon sprinting onto Boylston Street during the Boston Marathon. Ok, maybe I felt like a short, drunk, smiling, white Kenyon, wearing a red dress while running through mud pits, having flour thrown at him while eating endangered ants. When all was said and done, my all too familiar Orthopedic Physician, who is also a runner and cyclist, DEMANDED that I not run until at least February and not ride a bike until January. Which I translated to mean, you can start riding your bike in early December and you can start running as soon as you feel you are able to. Who is with me?


Although I don’t have a dog, I love dogs, and most dogs like me. I’ve certainly had my share of run-ins with dogs while running and riding, but until November 25, 2008, I’ve never been bitten. I was on a mission to deliver apples to a friend’s house. My friend’s daughter was going to make a few trays apple crisp for our Thanksgiving Day race. While standing on the front porch handing over the goods, I saw her dog running towards us. My first thought when I saw the dog was to bend down and attempt to pat the fur ball, but this dog was running a little too fast. This story would be a lot better if I said the dog was one of Michael Vick’s pit bulls or a big Rotweiller, but unfortunately, this dog was a little Australian cattle herding dog, kind of like a dingo, but smaller. Before the dog reached me, it jumped through the air and latched on to my hand. I pulled my hand away and the dog was still hanging from my fingers. What was a dog lover to do? I’m not proud of this, but I did drop an F-bomb in front of my friend’s daughter while the dog was tearing flesh from my fingers, and then I gave the dog a perfectly executed drop-kick off my hand. I never knew dogs could fly. The dog landed on the walkway, gave me a look like, “OK, we’re even, but you’re bleeding” and ran back in the home. A quick visit to the local emergency room brought more pain than the dog bite. The nurse made me scrub the wounds with an SOS pad, just kidding; it was more like a soft bristle sponge brush. This really hurt. I asked if I could get a numbing agent for the pain, and I was greeted with “You didn’t get the numbing agent yet?” I guess someone was supposed to numb my fingers before the scrubbing began. Oh well, must have been my penance for something I got away with during the Hash Run. When nurse Forgot The Meds returned she informed me they now needed to flush the wounds. Ouch. This hurt worse than the scrubbing. I asked one more time, “Hey can I get something for the pain?” The nurse didn’t say a word and immediately ran out of the room. I have a way with the ladies. She returned a few minutes later with another nurse who proceeded to stick me 5 times with a numbing agent. She apologized for not numbing my hand for the second time. With my hand finally numb, scrubbed, and flushed, I was told that it is not recommended to stitch dog bite wounds. The risk of infection is too high. They explained that if there was an infection, they want the ‘puss’ to drain. They said that after 10 days when I completed two rounds of antibiotics, I could come back to the Emergency Room and they could cut out whatever was starting to scab, scrub and flush the wound, and then stitch three spots. My response was, “Yea right, that was quite the sales pitch, but I’m never going to be a George Costanza Hand Model, I think I’ll live with the scars, thank you.” Almost two weeks later, my fingers are still numb from the pain, obviously not the medications.

OK, on to some safe activities, the 4th Annual Ayer Fire Department Thanksgiving Day 5K Road Race. I love being a Race Director, although I don’t like the amount of time it takes me away from running, cycling, or the gym (or if my wife Leann is reading this, I don’t like the time it keeps me away from my family). As any race Director should tell you, planning a race is a labor of love. I am very lucky to have three amazing people who help out tremendously and make the process very enjoyable. This year we had over 430 runners share their morning with us. Things seemed to go smoothly. We had plenty of volunteers, plenty of refreshments, we started on time, and nobody died. I can say that as a team, we are finally figuring out this whole Race Directing Thingy. We had a strong SQRR Club presence at the race. One of our newest members broke the female course record!!!!!! It is nice to get new young, fast runners to join our club; it takes the pressure off us old coots. Although we had plenty of our old coots turn in some great times. The Squannacook River Runners placed 15 of our runners in the Top 50 overall. Not too shabby for a tawdry little running club. Tons of familiar faces, tons of kids, tons of families, and tons of smiles, just what a Race Director wants to see on race day.

What next? The 2009 Groton Road Race planning is in full swing. No rest for the wicked, or injured. I’ve stepped up and accepted an Assistant Race Director potion. What is an Assistant Race Director position you ask? Well there are two definitions, the first being that the ARD is an ‘internship’ that grooms the individual into a future Race Director. This is usually the definition the Race Director subscribes to. The second definition is that the ARD handles everything the Race Director either doesn’t want, or doesn’t have time, to do. Most Race Directors somehow merge the two definitions. Hahahaha I will keep you posted on which definition Chris subscribes to.

Goals for the winter months:
Get healthy
Add 10 pounds of muscle
Avoid the injury bug
Get in as much snowshoeing as possible
Somehow cram 6 months of training into four months so I am race ready in the spring
Oh yea, let my back, leg, and chest hair grow in, Northeast winters can be brutal
Spend some time with my family (I just redeemed myself)

I’m back!!!!!!!!!!!!