I have a big day coming up. A day that required a visit to my local running store, the local package store, my neighborhood supermarket, the town hardware store, and a women’s clothing store. Oh yea, for those of you that live outside of Massachusetts, a package store is an establishment that sells alcoholic beverages, also known in some parts of the Greater Boston Area as the ‘Packie’. A few of you may be scratching your heads trying to figure out what I am up to and how many laws I intend on breaking.
I got myself into this mess. Since I’ve been married I’ve never once made a shopping list. I always felt confident I could easily remember 8-12 items, who needs a list? I mean, how hard can it be to remember a few items, the supermarket is only 1 mile from my house and I have a great memory. I could easily recite my training log from June of 2008. But inevitably, whenever I enter my local supermarket the smell of cookies being baked somehow magically erases at least 5 items I vowed not to forget. And once I make my way to the bakery and sneak a few bites of these warm cookies, I then forgot a few more of my items, leaving me to wander aimlessly around the store filling my cart with organic carrots and chocolate soy milk when I should be buying eggs and bread. But I digress. When I said it was my fault, it was my fault; I mean I did leave my shopping list on the kitchen counter.
My wife is great; she doesn’t care if I leave my underwear on the floor next to the hamper. She knows I have horrible aim. I always leave my sweaty socks on the floor in front of the washing machine and somehow these smelly socks always end up being washed and somehow placed in my dresser draw. I could leave any of my bikes in the porch for a few days and not hear a peep from my wife. But leave something on the kitchen counter, and bang, I will hear about it. Well this day is so important to me that I didn’t want to forget an item so I crafted a list. Here is what was on my list: Wool Socks, 40lbs of Flour, Chalk Paint, 2 bottles of The Knot Irish Whiskey, and a Red Dress. It took my wife less than five seconds to give me ‘The Look’ after reading my list. She then came out with the gem, “What the hell are you doing and do I want to know?” OK. for all you Harriers out there…………What am I doing?.....................Yes, you guessed it, I am participating in my first Hash Run.
In a nutshell, Hash Runs usually occur in the woods or out of sight from the general public, by a group of friends looking to have some fun. It generally involves drinking and eating before, during, and after the run. There is running, singing, exchanging of clothes, and tons of surprises. Here is a brief history from the Hash House Harriers website: 'Hashing began in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, in 1938, when a casual group of British colonial officers and expatriates began meeting on Monday evenings to run, in a fashion patterned after the traditional British paper chase, to rid themselves of the excesses of the previous weekend. After meeting for some months, they were informed by the Registrar of Societies that as a 'group,' they would require a Constitution and an official name. A.S. Gispert suggested the name 'Hash House Harriers' in homage to the Selangor Club Annex, where the men were billeted, so named the 'Hash House' for its notoriously monotonous food. The final word, 'Harriers,' refers to the role of those in the chase, where the 'hare' was given a head start to blaze a trail and mark his path with shreds of paper, and then pursued by a shouting pack of 'harriers.' Apart from the excitement of chasing the hare and finding the 'true' path, harriers reaching the end of the trail would be rewarded with beer.'
For those of you who met me, you must have figured out that I am VERY good for the economy. I have virtually every gadget, and every piece of specialized gear and clothing needed for running, swimming, cycling, hiking, snowshoeing, skiing, and weightlifting. I have my own dresser that specifically houses my athletic gear and wear. It is the biggest dresser in my bedroom and it is stuffed to the gills. I have my own running sock drawer (running socks only, my dress socks and daily socks are in my other dresser), a running shorts drawer, a running tops drawer, a running pants drawer, a performance underwear draw (don’t ask), a gear draw (GPS, Ipod, FuelBelt, Yaktrax, reflective vests, etc..), a swim-wear drawer, a weightlifting gear drawer, a running winter hat and gloves drawer, and a Tri-wear drawer. I know I have issues.
It has been years since I found an activity or sport that I didn’t already have all the needed gear and equipment for. I was very excited to go shopping for the following needed items. Ok, here is a breakdown of my shopping list:
Gore Tex Socks- I am sure there will be some running through rivers and streams
Flour- To mark the course
Chalk Paint- To mark the course after we run out of flour
The Knot- To drink during the ‘water stops’
The Red Dress- Ok, here is where I may loose a few of you, I am wearing the Red Dress
Please keep reading, I am not a cross dresser, not that there is anything wrong with that. ‘Newbie’s’ or first time Hash Run participants are encouraged to wear a red dress to their first run, and I am not going to be the ‘Newbie’ to piss off the Hash Run Gods on this matter. I checked my wife’s closet; I didn’t see any red dresses. We have been married for over ten years, and the ‘Lady in Red’, somehow turned into the ‘Lady in Jeans and a Sweater’.
I had a plan, I would hit the package store first and pick up The Knot, I would then go to the supermarket and get the flour (and cookies), then off to the hardware store for the chalk paint, then off to the running store for a pair of Gore tex socks, and finally to the Mall for a Red Dress. The first four stops were executed flawlessly, but I had a few issues at the fifth stop.
I entered the first women’s clothing store I came across at the local Mall. My plan was to look like the cool husband strolling into a store to buy his wife a sexy red dress for their anniversary. I figured I could pick out a dress by myself, hold it up and gauge if it would fit me, bring it to the register and then ask for a gift receipt. Like the Guinness guys say, Brilliant!!!!!!
Wrong, I wasn’t more than 20 feet inside the store when a hot, blonde, I’m guessing 21-24 year old, salesperson came up to me to ask if she could help me. The only words I could muster were “Yes please” I played it cool, because I am cool. After at least 10 uncomfortable seconds of staring at her, I finally informed her I needed a red dress for my wife. I fully expected her to take mercy on my and point me to the red dress section of the store. Instead, she said “Follow Me” and like Pavlov’s dog, I did. Kind of like when runners find 5k’s too short, well this walk to the red dress section was too short as well, if you know what I mean. Would it have been inappropriate to ask her to slow down so I could enjoy the view for a few more seconds? I said thank you and informed her I would check out the dresses. She told me she would stay with me and help me pick out a dress. She also mentioned she could answer any questions I had. Believe me, I had some questions. Now normally, I wouldn’t mind a hot blond salesperson staying with me to answer questions, but I didn’t need ‘Commission Woman’ near me while I picked out my Hash Run dress. She asked me what size dress my wife wore and I froze. With quivering lips, I responded “I think a 30 waist”. Damn, wrong answer. I couldn’t keep this going; I was buckling already, there was no way I was going to pull off this caper, so I came clean. I said, “I’m sorry I lied to you, the dress isn’t for my wife, it is for me”. I fully expected the hot young salesperson to start laughing at me, but no “Commission Woman” must have sensed easy cash.
I explained to her that I was a runner and I had this thing called a Hash Run coming up where the men wear red dresses while running in the woods. You guessed it; she had a very puzzled look on her face. I needed a new approach. I decided I needed to prove to her that I was a runner so I pulled up my pant legs, showed her my legs and said “See look at my legs, they are shaved, I’m really a runner.” Damn, what the hell am I doing, I must be an idiot, oh yea, I am and idiot. I am not as smooth as I was in college, man, times have changed. The shaved legs demonstration definitely didn’t work and she started to look at me weird. I then blurted out, “I’m married, look at my wedding ring”. As I was holding my hand up, I then realized I wasn’t wearing my ring because I just got off an overtime shift at the Fire Station and I never wear my ring at work, way too dangerous. Great, things are really working out just as I had planned I finally said, “I need a dress that I can run in and preferably a dress that wicks moisture”. She started to laugh and surely figured out that one, I had no game, and two, I was too stupid to be a cross dresser.
Yes, Mercedes (not her real name, but I figured if I threw in a stripper name a few of you knuckleheads would get a kick out of it) did help me pick out the perfect red dress. I bought a sweet mid calf length, poly synthetic fabric (wicking), red dress. No, I didn’t try the dress on in the dressing room, but yes, I do need a drawer for my new Hash Run gear.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Presidential Fitness
Thinking back, The Presidential Physical Fitness patch may have been the first award I ever earned. From what little I remember about the first few years of elementary school, I remember not being too interested in the three R’s but being very interested in Gym, Lunch, and Recess. I remember my gym teacher, Mr. Maxwell, informing the class we had a test, and if we passed this test then President Gerald Ford would send us a letter and a patch for our book bag. Yes, back then we had book bags, not backpacks. I had an awesome Bobby Orr book bag, I was cool back then too. I thought Mr. Maxwell was the coolest teacher ever because he liked to play games with kids, he wore sweatpants every day and he had a mustache. Gee, thinking back, Mr. Maxwell’s picture in my elementary school yearbook looks eerily familiar to the current mugshots of most Level II & III Sexual Offenders. Just kidding, it was the early 1970’s and gym teachers wore sweatpants, had big hair, and sported mustaches………..and those were the male gym teachers.
I don’t remember all of the events involved in the Presidential Physical Fitness Challenge, but I do remember running around the school track, doing push-ups, sit-ups and hanging from a bar for some ungodly amount of time, I think it was called the flex arm hang. I can’t remember my scores or times, but I do remember eventually getting a letter and patch from President Ford. I may have been getting a C- in math, but I was ‘The Man’ in gym class. I still have the patch, and my mother probably has the letter in scrapbook somewhere in her attic. I’m not sure where the Bobby Orr book bag ended up, I bet someone (maybe my mother) is selling it on Ebay.
I was so excited early last week when my son informed me that he had a “President Test” coming up. Being a first grader, I fooled with him and asked why the President was coming to his school to take a test. He responded, “No Dad, the President doesn’t take a test, it is a gym test that I take”. Oh, Ok, now I was with him. I joked with my wife that George W. Bush was probably relieved as well, because I’d bet he’d have a hard time passing a first grade test. As with most busy little guys, I didn’t have too much time for follow-up questions, he was out the door putting on his bike helmet and begging to go for a ride. We went for a ride around the neighborhood, purposely jumping off every curb, skidding on every sand patch, and generally showing off for the ladies. I know, we are both idiots, he can’t help it, it’s genetics.
My son arrived home on Friday and announced to me that he didn’t pass the “President Test”. He didn’t seem depressed, he ran in the house like he usually does, threw off his backpack and wanted to play. Wait a minute, no playing, I need more information. I had tons of questions. I immediately morphed into Psycho Sports Dad and bombarded him with insightful questions such as “Why didn’t you pass the test?” and “What happened?”. He looked at me and calmly said what a father never wants to hear from a future runner, he said “I walked”. I returned with the gem, “You walked, what do you mean you walked”. My six year old son looked directly at me and calmly said, “I didn’t feel like running Dad” and ran off to build Lego structures. Ouch, an arrow to the heart. My wife tried to console me by mentioning that he is only 6 years old and maybe he didn’t want to run. My wife is the best. She always ‘gets it’. Again, that genetic thing
Well there it is. There goes his scholarship to Oregon. He will never run at Hayward Field, and he will never break a 4 minute mile. Psycho Sports Dad eventually calmed down. It actually took a kiss, a hug, and a “I love you Dad” for me to realized that in the grand scheme of things, a Presidential Fitness patch isn’t important. Having a son who is happy doing the things he does is important. If he was happy running (and walking) around the track, then so be it. Not everybody has a six year old Prefontaine in the making. I’m fine, I’m good, I’m content.
It is now Sunday evening, and my wife threw out her the usual Sunday night question, “What does your week look like?” I’m sure she was ready for my usual response, which typically goes, “Not sure, I haven’t looked at my schedule”. I know this drives her crazy and I have a great chuckle every Sunday night after I answer her. For some reason she never laughs. But tonight, I had a real answer for her, an answer she has been waiting over 10 years for, my response was “I am heading to the track Monday afternoon for some repeats”. Knowing that I haven’t run too much in the last month due to a lingering foot injury, she mentioned, “Do you think you maybe stay away from the track and speed workouts until you get a few more runs under your belt?” My response was, “I’m not running, your son is, he has another Presidential Physical Fitness Test next year“ You guessed it, I got “The Look”
P.S- I also told my son that if he could break a ten minute mile, I would buy him a Bobby Orr book bag.
I don’t remember all of the events involved in the Presidential Physical Fitness Challenge, but I do remember running around the school track, doing push-ups, sit-ups and hanging from a bar for some ungodly amount of time, I think it was called the flex arm hang. I can’t remember my scores or times, but I do remember eventually getting a letter and patch from President Ford. I may have been getting a C- in math, but I was ‘The Man’ in gym class. I still have the patch, and my mother probably has the letter in scrapbook somewhere in her attic. I’m not sure where the Bobby Orr book bag ended up, I bet someone (maybe my mother) is selling it on Ebay.
I was so excited early last week when my son informed me that he had a “President Test” coming up. Being a first grader, I fooled with him and asked why the President was coming to his school to take a test. He responded, “No Dad, the President doesn’t take a test, it is a gym test that I take”. Oh, Ok, now I was with him. I joked with my wife that George W. Bush was probably relieved as well, because I’d bet he’d have a hard time passing a first grade test. As with most busy little guys, I didn’t have too much time for follow-up questions, he was out the door putting on his bike helmet and begging to go for a ride. We went for a ride around the neighborhood, purposely jumping off every curb, skidding on every sand patch, and generally showing off for the ladies. I know, we are both idiots, he can’t help it, it’s genetics.
My son arrived home on Friday and announced to me that he didn’t pass the “President Test”. He didn’t seem depressed, he ran in the house like he usually does, threw off his backpack and wanted to play. Wait a minute, no playing, I need more information. I had tons of questions. I immediately morphed into Psycho Sports Dad and bombarded him with insightful questions such as “Why didn’t you pass the test?” and “What happened?”. He looked at me and calmly said what a father never wants to hear from a future runner, he said “I walked”. I returned with the gem, “You walked, what do you mean you walked”. My six year old son looked directly at me and calmly said, “I didn’t feel like running Dad” and ran off to build Lego structures. Ouch, an arrow to the heart. My wife tried to console me by mentioning that he is only 6 years old and maybe he didn’t want to run. My wife is the best. She always ‘gets it’. Again, that genetic thing
Well there it is. There goes his scholarship to Oregon. He will never run at Hayward Field, and he will never break a 4 minute mile. Psycho Sports Dad eventually calmed down. It actually took a kiss, a hug, and a “I love you Dad” for me to realized that in the grand scheme of things, a Presidential Fitness patch isn’t important. Having a son who is happy doing the things he does is important. If he was happy running (and walking) around the track, then so be it. Not everybody has a six year old Prefontaine in the making. I’m fine, I’m good, I’m content.
It is now Sunday evening, and my wife threw out her the usual Sunday night question, “What does your week look like?” I’m sure she was ready for my usual response, which typically goes, “Not sure, I haven’t looked at my schedule”. I know this drives her crazy and I have a great chuckle every Sunday night after I answer her. For some reason she never laughs. But tonight, I had a real answer for her, an answer she has been waiting over 10 years for, my response was “I am heading to the track Monday afternoon for some repeats”. Knowing that I haven’t run too much in the last month due to a lingering foot injury, she mentioned, “Do you think you maybe stay away from the track and speed workouts until you get a few more runs under your belt?” My response was, “I’m not running, your son is, he has another Presidential Physical Fitness Test next year“ You guessed it, I got “The Look”
P.S- I also told my son that if he could break a ten minute mile, I would buy him a Bobby Orr book bag.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Mad Libs
What a great weekend. My two boys were with my parents for the weekend and my wife had a three day conference at Foxwoods Casino. The weather was amazing with blue skies and temperatures in the low 60’s. What was a workout maniac to do? Do I ride in the morning and run in the afternoon or run mid-day and hit the gym at night? Do I go crazy, sleep in each day, and then try to squeeze in a run, ride, and gym workout each afternoon? Ah, decisions. Well, I did have a few other commitments on the calendar, it wasn’t going to be all exercise, football on TV, and take out. On Saturday I had a Fire Department training and on Sunday I signed up to volunteer at my running club’s annual Groton Town Forest Trail Races.
Instead of boring you with my usual humorous play by play reenactment of my workouts (and mishaps); I’m going to give you, the reader, a chance to guess what I did and experienced this weekend. I’m going old school on this one. How many of you remember the crazy Mad-Lib books that you could order from the school sponsored Scholastic Book Club catalogs? They gave you a sentence such as “Jim and ________ went to the ______ together and did________.” It was up to you to be creative and fill in the answers. I still remember my week’s worth of after school detention in 5th grade after Ms. Nelson found my Mad Lib book. I guess she didn’t agree with me that Suzy and Matthew did such things in the school gymnasium. I know, I was an idiot in 5th grade as well. I am asking you to ‘cut’ the following paragraph, fill in the ‘blanks’, and email me back the completed story. There will be two winners. The first winner will be the person who most accurately reflects what happened to me this weekend and the other winner will be the person who is most creative ( PG 13 or mildly rated R only please, my parents read this blog). Please email all responses to alm91397@verizon.net For your efforts each winner will receive (free of charge) a limited edition, long sleeve, 2007 Ayer Fire Department Thanksgiving Day 5K Road Race T-shirt. In a few weeks I will post my actual weekend, the best guess at the actual weekend, and the most creative account of my weekend. OK, go wild!!!!!!!!
On Saturday morning, I woke up after an uninterupted night of_________ and made my way to the _______ for ____________ training. There is nothing like _______ out a _______window with nothing but___________ below you. At 3:00pm, the ___________ was over and I went ____________ to prep my ___________ for a __________. I eventually hit the _________ and found my way to the ________ which led to the top of __________. Once at the top, you could almost see___________. There were ten___________ looking at me trying to figure out what was between my __________. Like they never saw a _________ before. The ______ was starting to _________ so I headed _______. Once__________, I decided to order___________ and watch_________ on TV. I don’t remember falling ___________, but I do remember waking up with ___________ on my face. It was _________, and I figured I could squeeze in a _________ before the ___________. I took my _________ and ________with me and hit the ___________. The________ was just starting to_________ when I ___________ a _________ in the middle of the ____________. The _________ must have been out looking for some___________ before the long winter’s _________ and looked at me like I was _________. I was never so __________ in my life. I slowly _______ off my _________ and _________ backwards very slowly. I was soon out of _________ and ________ off quicker than ___________ doing ____________ repeats. Needless to say, I returned home still ___________. Time for more___________, this time I ordered _________ for __________. A quick check of the________ and it was time to leave for the _______________. Arrived at the __________ and found I was assigned to the _____________ table and the ___________ line. Before I took my ___________ at the __________, I decided to ___________ the ___________. The _________ on the trails made it very ___________; it was difficult to know where the ________ and ________ were. I had a _______ out there all alone. The _________ was a huge___________, the ________ were as ________ as they were __________ after the event. There were some very fast________ this year. Actually, there was a _________ record in the longer______. I made it ________ by ________ to meet my ________ pulling into the ___________ with the__________ in the backseat. She seemed _________. I told her the _________ was pretty ___________ and that I really__________ her and the __________. She just gave me ___________. Oh, well.
Instead of boring you with my usual humorous play by play reenactment of my workouts (and mishaps); I’m going to give you, the reader, a chance to guess what I did and experienced this weekend. I’m going old school on this one. How many of you remember the crazy Mad-Lib books that you could order from the school sponsored Scholastic Book Club catalogs? They gave you a sentence such as “Jim and ________ went to the ______ together and did________.” It was up to you to be creative and fill in the answers. I still remember my week’s worth of after school detention in 5th grade after Ms. Nelson found my Mad Lib book. I guess she didn’t agree with me that Suzy and Matthew did such things in the school gymnasium. I know, I was an idiot in 5th grade as well. I am asking you to ‘cut’ the following paragraph, fill in the ‘blanks’, and email me back the completed story. There will be two winners. The first winner will be the person who most accurately reflects what happened to me this weekend and the other winner will be the person who is most creative ( PG 13 or mildly rated R only please, my parents read this blog). Please email all responses to alm91397@verizon.net For your efforts each winner will receive (free of charge) a limited edition, long sleeve, 2007 Ayer Fire Department Thanksgiving Day 5K Road Race T-shirt. In a few weeks I will post my actual weekend, the best guess at the actual weekend, and the most creative account of my weekend. OK, go wild!!!!!!!!
On Saturday morning, I woke up after an uninterupted night of_________ and made my way to the _______ for ____________ training. There is nothing like _______ out a _______window with nothing but___________ below you. At 3:00pm, the ___________ was over and I went ____________ to prep my ___________ for a __________. I eventually hit the _________ and found my way to the ________ which led to the top of __________. Once at the top, you could almost see___________. There were ten___________ looking at me trying to figure out what was between my __________. Like they never saw a _________ before. The ______ was starting to _________ so I headed _______. Once__________, I decided to order___________ and watch_________ on TV. I don’t remember falling ___________, but I do remember waking up with ___________ on my face. It was _________, and I figured I could squeeze in a _________ before the ___________. I took my _________ and ________with me and hit the ___________. The________ was just starting to_________ when I ___________ a _________ in the middle of the ____________. The _________ must have been out looking for some___________ before the long winter’s _________ and looked at me like I was _________. I was never so __________ in my life. I slowly _______ off my _________ and _________ backwards very slowly. I was soon out of _________ and ________ off quicker than ___________ doing ____________ repeats. Needless to say, I returned home still ___________. Time for more___________, this time I ordered _________ for __________. A quick check of the________ and it was time to leave for the _______________. Arrived at the __________ and found I was assigned to the _____________ table and the ___________ line. Before I took my ___________ at the __________, I decided to ___________ the ___________. The _________ on the trails made it very ___________; it was difficult to know where the ________ and ________ were. I had a _______ out there all alone. The _________ was a huge___________, the ________ were as ________ as they were __________ after the event. There were some very fast________ this year. Actually, there was a _________ record in the longer______. I made it ________ by ________ to meet my ________ pulling into the ___________ with the__________ in the backseat. She seemed _________. I told her the _________ was pretty ___________ and that I really__________ her and the __________. She just gave me ___________. Oh, well.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Superman!!!!!!!!!!
Ring Ring Ring Ring. I glanced over at my nightstand and noticed it was 6:30am. Why was my alarm clock going off, it was the weekend? I was sure I didn’t set the alarm clock the night before. I fully intended on sleeping until at least 7:00am, which is the generally the time my three year old comes upstairs and starts jumping on the bed like a Romanian gymnast. So naturally, I leaned over and hit the snooze button (habit I guess). Ring Ring Ring Ring, what the %$#@, I just hit the snooze button. After hitting the snooze button again, I heard a voice from the pillow next to me, “It’s the phone genius”. I didn’t glance over but I’m sure I was getting “The Look” I picked up the phone and managed a very scruffy “What?” I just remember hearing one of my riding buddies yelling something like, “70 degrees, Foliage, Group Ride, Killer Single track, Hill Of Death, Eight of us, Get up, Get dressed, Be at my house, Half Hour, No excuses” Then he hung up. Huh? I thought to myself “Am I dreaming?” Then I heard that familiar voice again, “No you aren’t dreaming, you were just talking out loud, that was your dingbat friend, get out of bed, get ready, and get over there now”. I thought to myself again, “My wife is great” The familiar voice appeared once again, “Yes, your wife is great, you are talking out loud again, get up and get ready because if you don’t, he will keep calling and I’ll never get back to sleep”. Ok, I take that back, my wife is kind of great, but a little selfish too.
The next fifteen minutes were a blur, out of bed, dressed in my coolest Hammer Nutrition gear, camelback filled, three gels and a still frozen waffle for breakfast, brain bucket on, and out the door. I chose my hardtail that day, I was sure there would be plenty of climbing and my hardtail, which is a climbing machine, weighs in at just over 19.4lbs.
I arrived at the meeting place and the gang was already discussing the route. It was decided that this would be approximately a 3 hour ride with tons of climbing and scenery. Less than a 1/3 mile from my front door is a trail that connects to the sweetest network of single track in the area. In the past, I have gone on 7 hour epic mountain bike rides with my tires only hitting pavement to cross the occasional road.
The ride started off uneventful, lots of conversation about annoying wives, kids, and jobs. Note to Leann, I did not complain about you, the kids, or my job. Note to Kim, Kevin did complain about you. Thump, Thump, that was the sound of me throwing Kevin under the bus. Just as we were approaching the trailhead, one of the riders, while reaching for his water bottle, drifted a bit, rubbed tires with someone else, and went right over the bars. He got up quickly and announced he was Ok. After we stopped laughing, I thought to myself “Good, the big crash is out of the way, now all I have to worry about is a mechanical issue” I also remember thinking "I didn't say that out loud did I?" I know I’m an idiot. I don’t know about you, but I would rather experience a pinch flat any day of the week versus taking that all too familiar, over the handlebar ride. Let me explain our little inside joke: it seems whenever we ride at least one person takes a bad fall, one has a major mechanical issue, and one has to leave early. If all three occur, we call it the ‘Tripe Threat”. You never want to experience the “Triple Threat”. The guys are relentless.
The first trail provided us with an ample warm up. It was pretty flat, not too technical, and begged for speed. Being fruitcakes, we gave in and opened it up a bit. After a few miles, we encountered what we locals refer to as, “The Hill Of Death”. This climb is just over 1/2 mile, but is an absolutely lung and heart busting climb. Very, very steep to say the least. Granny gear central. We eventually made it to the top (FYI, I smoked the boys on the climb, just call me Lance) and stopped to take in the views of Mt. Wachusett, Mt. Watatic, and the Monadnock Range. The foliage was beautiful, there were deep reds, vibrant yellows, crisp orange tones, just incredible.
Now was the fun part, the decent. I have ridden this trail hundreds of times. It is very tight, but smooth for the first ¼ mile, very few roots or rocks, just sweet bench-cut single track. It gets tricky about half way down, when the trail takes a sharp right and follows the direct fall line of hill. I did remember that I was riding my hardtail and I had to be a little cautious on the downhill and ride ‘off the seat’ a bit. I also remembered that I would have to brake a little earlier before the sharp right hand turn. The trail was covered in freshly fallen yellow leaves. These leaves seemed to provide a very soft feel. I let the bike go, I was absolutely screaming down this hill. The leaves were crunching beneath the tires and I was giggling like a little kid.
All seemed right in the world even though I lost thousands in my 401K earlier that week. I noticed the right hand turn was coming up, so I started to apply the brakes and my back wheel immediately locked up. Oh no!!!!! Some may think skidding is cool. Skidding is cool when you’re 6 years old and you’re locking up the brakes of your Stingray in the sand at the end of your driveway. Skidding is not cool when you are screaming down a hill on top of wet leaves with trees inches from your handlebars. When you skid, you loose control. Wait a minute, I thought the leaves were dry, yes the top layers of leaves were dry, but the leaves closest to the ground were wet from the morning dew. I didn’t panic, I’ve been in this situation may times before; I let off the brakes, shifted my weight and reapplied the brakes. More skidding. Oh $%&@, now it is time to panic. The turn was fast approaching; I was skidding, then accelerating whenever I let off the brakes, then skidding, and so on.
Remember when I said the trail followed the fall line after the turn? Ok, good memory. For all you cross country runners out there, what do they place on trails that follow the fall line to limit erosion? Guesses? Ok, I will tell you, they place water dams. What is a water dam you ask. Well, a water dam is a log semi buried in ground and placed at a slight angle so when water is running down a trail, it hits the water dam and is directed off the trail. The first water dam is located right at the apex of the corner and is placed at a forty-five degree angle. This water dam had about 6 inches sticking out of the ground.
Ok, picture this, a knucklehead screaming down a trail of wet leaves, wearing spandex that is way too tight, contemplating if he should lay the bike down or go for it……….all the while having his life flash before his eyes. Ok, here is the payoff. I didn’t lay the bike down, I decided (hoped, prayed, thought, wished, etc...) I could make the turn. I entered the turn way too fast and too high. I attempted to lift my front tire over the water dam, but it was too damn difficult because my front brakes were applied. I figured the slower I am going to softer the crash would be, so I kept applying my brakes. I did get my front tire up, but not exactly over the log. When I lifted the tire up, of course it stopped rolling because the brakes were applied (MTB 101, Duh!!!!). My front tire landed on top of the angled log, which was wet and very slippery. Guess what happens when a locked up wheel hits an angled, wet log? You guessed it, wash out. Before I had time to react, my handlebars were touching the ground and I was doing my best flying Superman impression. I remember thinking, “Please don’t hit a tree, please don’t hit a tree” Well, I hit a tree. Actually, I performed a textbook flying left shoulder block. The problem was that this flying shoulder block was performed on a large oak tree. Spandex vs. Oak. The smart money goes on the Oak Tree.
From what I remember, it really didn’t hurt too much. After a quick inventory, I jumped to my feet to see if anyone saw that yard sale. Most of them saw everything, and were in disbelief that my shoulder was still attached to my body. They laughed, they busted my chops, and it was just what I expected. I checked my bike over and just a few battle scars. Note to everyone, battle scars on you bike look cool, battle scars on your forearms do not.
One of my buddies yelled out, “That could have been a triple threat”. As I was brushing off, and collecting what was left of my ego, I stated, “Not today boys, a flying shoulder block into an oak tree ain’t stoppin’ this kid”. Needless to say, I rode pretty cautiously and in the middle of the pack for the rest of the ride. Three hour rides rock!!!!!!
I woke up the next morning feeling a little sore. I really thought my shoulder would feel worse than it did. It was another beautiful Fall day, sunny and in the 60’s. I didn’t have work on Monday (Columbus Day) so I decided to go back to the scene of the crash and ride the trail again. I really wanted to see where things went bad. I climbed the “Hill of Death” and started my decent. On the decent, I rode as slow as I could, I was in total control. When I came to the right hand turn, I noticed something hanging on the tree that I shoulder blocked the day before. Attached to the tree, was a bright neon orange poster with a picture of me on it, which stated, “If You See This Man, Tell Him To Leave Me Alone”. My friends are the best.
My friend was filming with his helmet-cam, here is a link to the video of the crash. Enjoy!!!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJXU7EVXs2A
The next fifteen minutes were a blur, out of bed, dressed in my coolest Hammer Nutrition gear, camelback filled, three gels and a still frozen waffle for breakfast, brain bucket on, and out the door. I chose my hardtail that day, I was sure there would be plenty of climbing and my hardtail, which is a climbing machine, weighs in at just over 19.4lbs.
I arrived at the meeting place and the gang was already discussing the route. It was decided that this would be approximately a 3 hour ride with tons of climbing and scenery. Less than a 1/3 mile from my front door is a trail that connects to the sweetest network of single track in the area. In the past, I have gone on 7 hour epic mountain bike rides with my tires only hitting pavement to cross the occasional road.
The ride started off uneventful, lots of conversation about annoying wives, kids, and jobs. Note to Leann, I did not complain about you, the kids, or my job. Note to Kim, Kevin did complain about you. Thump, Thump, that was the sound of me throwing Kevin under the bus. Just as we were approaching the trailhead, one of the riders, while reaching for his water bottle, drifted a bit, rubbed tires with someone else, and went right over the bars. He got up quickly and announced he was Ok. After we stopped laughing, I thought to myself “Good, the big crash is out of the way, now all I have to worry about is a mechanical issue” I also remember thinking "I didn't say that out loud did I?" I know I’m an idiot. I don’t know about you, but I would rather experience a pinch flat any day of the week versus taking that all too familiar, over the handlebar ride. Let me explain our little inside joke: it seems whenever we ride at least one person takes a bad fall, one has a major mechanical issue, and one has to leave early. If all three occur, we call it the ‘Tripe Threat”. You never want to experience the “Triple Threat”. The guys are relentless.
The first trail provided us with an ample warm up. It was pretty flat, not too technical, and begged for speed. Being fruitcakes, we gave in and opened it up a bit. After a few miles, we encountered what we locals refer to as, “The Hill Of Death”. This climb is just over 1/2 mile, but is an absolutely lung and heart busting climb. Very, very steep to say the least. Granny gear central. We eventually made it to the top (FYI, I smoked the boys on the climb, just call me Lance) and stopped to take in the views of Mt. Wachusett, Mt. Watatic, and the Monadnock Range. The foliage was beautiful, there were deep reds, vibrant yellows, crisp orange tones, just incredible.
Now was the fun part, the decent. I have ridden this trail hundreds of times. It is very tight, but smooth for the first ¼ mile, very few roots or rocks, just sweet bench-cut single track. It gets tricky about half way down, when the trail takes a sharp right and follows the direct fall line of hill. I did remember that I was riding my hardtail and I had to be a little cautious on the downhill and ride ‘off the seat’ a bit. I also remembered that I would have to brake a little earlier before the sharp right hand turn. The trail was covered in freshly fallen yellow leaves. These leaves seemed to provide a very soft feel. I let the bike go, I was absolutely screaming down this hill. The leaves were crunching beneath the tires and I was giggling like a little kid.
All seemed right in the world even though I lost thousands in my 401K earlier that week. I noticed the right hand turn was coming up, so I started to apply the brakes and my back wheel immediately locked up. Oh no!!!!! Some may think skidding is cool. Skidding is cool when you’re 6 years old and you’re locking up the brakes of your Stingray in the sand at the end of your driveway. Skidding is not cool when you are screaming down a hill on top of wet leaves with trees inches from your handlebars. When you skid, you loose control. Wait a minute, I thought the leaves were dry, yes the top layers of leaves were dry, but the leaves closest to the ground were wet from the morning dew. I didn’t panic, I’ve been in this situation may times before; I let off the brakes, shifted my weight and reapplied the brakes. More skidding. Oh $%&@, now it is time to panic. The turn was fast approaching; I was skidding, then accelerating whenever I let off the brakes, then skidding, and so on.
Remember when I said the trail followed the fall line after the turn? Ok, good memory. For all you cross country runners out there, what do they place on trails that follow the fall line to limit erosion? Guesses? Ok, I will tell you, they place water dams. What is a water dam you ask. Well, a water dam is a log semi buried in ground and placed at a slight angle so when water is running down a trail, it hits the water dam and is directed off the trail. The first water dam is located right at the apex of the corner and is placed at a forty-five degree angle. This water dam had about 6 inches sticking out of the ground.
Ok, picture this, a knucklehead screaming down a trail of wet leaves, wearing spandex that is way too tight, contemplating if he should lay the bike down or go for it……….all the while having his life flash before his eyes. Ok, here is the payoff. I didn’t lay the bike down, I decided (hoped, prayed, thought, wished, etc...) I could make the turn. I entered the turn way too fast and too high. I attempted to lift my front tire over the water dam, but it was too damn difficult because my front brakes were applied. I figured the slower I am going to softer the crash would be, so I kept applying my brakes. I did get my front tire up, but not exactly over the log. When I lifted the tire up, of course it stopped rolling because the brakes were applied (MTB 101, Duh!!!!). My front tire landed on top of the angled log, which was wet and very slippery. Guess what happens when a locked up wheel hits an angled, wet log? You guessed it, wash out. Before I had time to react, my handlebars were touching the ground and I was doing my best flying Superman impression. I remember thinking, “Please don’t hit a tree, please don’t hit a tree” Well, I hit a tree. Actually, I performed a textbook flying left shoulder block. The problem was that this flying shoulder block was performed on a large oak tree. Spandex vs. Oak. The smart money goes on the Oak Tree.
From what I remember, it really didn’t hurt too much. After a quick inventory, I jumped to my feet to see if anyone saw that yard sale. Most of them saw everything, and were in disbelief that my shoulder was still attached to my body. They laughed, they busted my chops, and it was just what I expected. I checked my bike over and just a few battle scars. Note to everyone, battle scars on you bike look cool, battle scars on your forearms do not.
One of my buddies yelled out, “That could have been a triple threat”. As I was brushing off, and collecting what was left of my ego, I stated, “Not today boys, a flying shoulder block into an oak tree ain’t stoppin’ this kid”. Needless to say, I rode pretty cautiously and in the middle of the pack for the rest of the ride. Three hour rides rock!!!!!!
I woke up the next morning feeling a little sore. I really thought my shoulder would feel worse than it did. It was another beautiful Fall day, sunny and in the 60’s. I didn’t have work on Monday (Columbus Day) so I decided to go back to the scene of the crash and ride the trail again. I really wanted to see where things went bad. I climbed the “Hill of Death” and started my decent. On the decent, I rode as slow as I could, I was in total control. When I came to the right hand turn, I noticed something hanging on the tree that I shoulder blocked the day before. Attached to the tree, was a bright neon orange poster with a picture of me on it, which stated, “If You See This Man, Tell Him To Leave Me Alone”. My friends are the best.
My friend was filming with his helmet-cam, here is a link to the video of the crash. Enjoy!!!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJXU7EVXs2A
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Labor of Love
A few years ago, actually almost 5 years ago to the day, a fellow firefighter (who is a runner) and I were sitting around the firehouse discussing our Thanksgiving weekend plans. He mentioned that he usually gets up at the crack of 4:00am, packs his running bag, meets a few family members for breakfast, drives over an hour to a relatively small unnamed Northeast Massachusetts town, and competes in a 5 mile road race that has over 3000 runners. I asked him what it is like to run with so many people on such a short course. He responded, “I hate it, I don’t know why I go”. I responded with the obvious, “Why do you go?” I don’t remember his answer, but he start rambling about it not being true race, he described it more as an ‘event’ than footrace. He complained about the soccer moms who run 12 minute miles and stage in the 8 minute mile section. He explained the parking situation was horrible, the pack doesn’t thin at all, the majority of the people don’t break 9:00 minute miles, and the frozen pie each runner receives isn’t that good. He told me it was a long standing family tradition to run in this race on Thanksgiving Day so he felt the need to continue to do so. Just joking, I asked him that if I organized a Thanksgiving Day race, would he run with us. He responded he would.
I immediately envisioned a nice easy Thanksgiving Day 5K road race sponsored by our Fire Department. I had zero experience with organizing a road race and had zero expectations that anyone other than my buddy and I would show up at this fictitious race. And since I am way faster than my buddy, I knew I would beat him and come in first place. Hey, as my once single brother-in-law used to say, “A hit is a hit, keep up the average”. I’m still not sure if he was talking about road racing wins or “Last Call” stats at a local bar in Central Square. The analogy works, so I’m using it.
What turned out to be an innocent conversation about holiday plans, morphed into me and another firefighter (a fellow runner and my next door neighbor) feverishly researching what is involved with staging a road race. I recruited my neighbor not only because I am also faster than him, but because he is a computer whiz and agreed to handle all registration and on-line duties. Note to all future race directors, find a tech savvy individual and con this person into handling all registration duties, provide cash and candy if need be, it makes race director life so much easier. We ultimately ran the idea by our Fire Chief, the Police Chief, and the Board of Selectmen, who all loved the idea and gave us the OK. Before we knew it, we had a race planned. We had no idea what we were doing or how the race was going to turn out, but we had a USATF insurance waiver in hand, and had Active.com & Coolrunning.com up and running dammit!!!!!!
I won’t bore you with all the organization details such as the countless race committee meetings consisting of just the two of us sitting around a kitchen table trying to figure out what we should do and when should do them. We tackled such topics as signage, volunteers, refreshments, t-shirts, sponsors, advertisement, course marking, etc... Please feel free to contact my wife and ask her about the amount of time involved in planning a race. I warn you, only do so if you really want to see her infamous 'Look’. She is really a softy and 'The Look' isn't all that intimidating, but I let her think it scares me, hey, let her feel good about herself. Come to think of it, I would love to see what “The Look” looks like directed at another person. But I will tell you that on Thanksgiving Day in 2005, 179 local runners showed up at the Fire Station in Ayer, Massachusetts and ran in 3 inches of freshly falling snow. As I think back, I still can’t believe that we staged a road race. There were no major problems, the timing company showed up, the porta-potties were delivered in time, nobody got lost on the course or broke any bones while running (actually if somebody got hurt, one could consider that job security, I know I’m an idiot), and there was plenty of hot coffee and hot chocolate after the race.
The Ayer Fire Department has an established charitable contribution wing called The Combination Company #1. Its mission is to contribute to our local community in the form of civic, charitable, public safety, literary, and educational purposes. Proceeds from our race will enable the Ayer Fire Department to continue to fund an established long standing scholarship at Ayer High School, support local high school athletic programs, provide support and education for the local community in the areas of fire and public safety, sponsor Senior breakfasts and dinners, participate in Ayer’s Annual Safety Day, and offer ‘Camp Pete’, an annual full day safety camp each summer for over 80 children. ‘Camp Pete’ has always been, and will be, free of charge.
Our race has grown tremendously each year since its inception. Our largest growth area has been in runners under the age of eighteen. It has been rewarding to see a family theme emerge within our race. As we scan the registered runners each year, we note not only the many familiar names who have been with us since the start, but the many runners with the same last names. It brings a smile to our faces when we notice that many individuals run together in large family groups. I don’t want to discount the number of quality racers who run with us though because we do have more than our fare share of ultra fast ‘rabbits’, so defined as anyone who can run sub 5:15 miles. So maybe that 1st place overall finish I thought about is out of reach.
We continue to strive to stage the best race possible and appreciate our sponsors who choose to lend support to our race, our volunteers who choose to assist us with staging our race, and our participants who run in our race.
Go on, admit it, pretty good for a bunch of firefighting runners huh?
We are heading into the 4th year of the Ayer Fire Department Thanksgiving Day 5K Road Race and I am pleased to announce that I am still faster than my two co-workers. We are expecting over 400 runners this year. I’m proud of our race. By all means our race isn’t perfect, I think the course is a little short, but hey it’s a 5K, and if someone runs our course a few seconds faster than a certified USATF wheel-measured course, who cares? Take the PR and go have a second piece of pie later that day.
Is being a Race Director fun? Not really, most of the time you are so focused on completing tasks and working off the ‘punch list’ that you never get to enjoy the process. Why do I do it? Simple. I owe it to you runners out there. As a Race Director, I feel that I ‘m doing my part for this wonderful sport. Over the years, I have competed in so many amazing races and it is all because someone stepped up and said, “I want to organize a race”. Call it giving back; paying it forward, you pick the phrase. Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a self ‘pat on the back’ article, but I just want you to think about that favorite race you circle on your calendar every year. Did you ever stop to think about the planning that goes into your favorite race. Did you know that the Race Director usually starts the planning process for the next year’s race a few months after the current race?
Do me a favor, the next time you attend a race and have a positive experience, seek out the Race Director and thank him or her. You don’t realize how much that means to someone that puts family commitments and their personal time on hold to plan such an event. Actually, don’t seek them out on race day, send the Race Director an email when you get home. The Race Director will probably have ten things going on at once and when you introduce yourself, the Race Director will forget at least five of the things he or she was juggling at the time of your introduction :)
I immediately envisioned a nice easy Thanksgiving Day 5K road race sponsored by our Fire Department. I had zero experience with organizing a road race and had zero expectations that anyone other than my buddy and I would show up at this fictitious race. And since I am way faster than my buddy, I knew I would beat him and come in first place. Hey, as my once single brother-in-law used to say, “A hit is a hit, keep up the average”. I’m still not sure if he was talking about road racing wins or “Last Call” stats at a local bar in Central Square. The analogy works, so I’m using it.
What turned out to be an innocent conversation about holiday plans, morphed into me and another firefighter (a fellow runner and my next door neighbor) feverishly researching what is involved with staging a road race. I recruited my neighbor not only because I am also faster than him, but because he is a computer whiz and agreed to handle all registration and on-line duties. Note to all future race directors, find a tech savvy individual and con this person into handling all registration duties, provide cash and candy if need be, it makes race director life so much easier. We ultimately ran the idea by our Fire Chief, the Police Chief, and the Board of Selectmen, who all loved the idea and gave us the OK. Before we knew it, we had a race planned. We had no idea what we were doing or how the race was going to turn out, but we had a USATF insurance waiver in hand, and had Active.com & Coolrunning.com up and running dammit!!!!!!
I won’t bore you with all the organization details such as the countless race committee meetings consisting of just the two of us sitting around a kitchen table trying to figure out what we should do and when should do them. We tackled such topics as signage, volunteers, refreshments, t-shirts, sponsors, advertisement, course marking, etc... Please feel free to contact my wife and ask her about the amount of time involved in planning a race. I warn you, only do so if you really want to see her infamous 'Look’. She is really a softy and 'The Look' isn't all that intimidating, but I let her think it scares me, hey, let her feel good about herself. Come to think of it, I would love to see what “The Look” looks like directed at another person. But I will tell you that on Thanksgiving Day in 2005, 179 local runners showed up at the Fire Station in Ayer, Massachusetts and ran in 3 inches of freshly falling snow. As I think back, I still can’t believe that we staged a road race. There were no major problems, the timing company showed up, the porta-potties were delivered in time, nobody got lost on the course or broke any bones while running (actually if somebody got hurt, one could consider that job security, I know I’m an idiot), and there was plenty of hot coffee and hot chocolate after the race.
The Ayer Fire Department has an established charitable contribution wing called The Combination Company #1. Its mission is to contribute to our local community in the form of civic, charitable, public safety, literary, and educational purposes. Proceeds from our race will enable the Ayer Fire Department to continue to fund an established long standing scholarship at Ayer High School, support local high school athletic programs, provide support and education for the local community in the areas of fire and public safety, sponsor Senior breakfasts and dinners, participate in Ayer’s Annual Safety Day, and offer ‘Camp Pete’, an annual full day safety camp each summer for over 80 children. ‘Camp Pete’ has always been, and will be, free of charge.
Our race has grown tremendously each year since its inception. Our largest growth area has been in runners under the age of eighteen. It has been rewarding to see a family theme emerge within our race. As we scan the registered runners each year, we note not only the many familiar names who have been with us since the start, but the many runners with the same last names. It brings a smile to our faces when we notice that many individuals run together in large family groups. I don’t want to discount the number of quality racers who run with us though because we do have more than our fare share of ultra fast ‘rabbits’, so defined as anyone who can run sub 5:15 miles. So maybe that 1st place overall finish I thought about is out of reach.
We continue to strive to stage the best race possible and appreciate our sponsors who choose to lend support to our race, our volunteers who choose to assist us with staging our race, and our participants who run in our race.
Go on, admit it, pretty good for a bunch of firefighting runners huh?
We are heading into the 4th year of the Ayer Fire Department Thanksgiving Day 5K Road Race and I am pleased to announce that I am still faster than my two co-workers. We are expecting over 400 runners this year. I’m proud of our race. By all means our race isn’t perfect, I think the course is a little short, but hey it’s a 5K, and if someone runs our course a few seconds faster than a certified USATF wheel-measured course, who cares? Take the PR and go have a second piece of pie later that day.
Is being a Race Director fun? Not really, most of the time you are so focused on completing tasks and working off the ‘punch list’ that you never get to enjoy the process. Why do I do it? Simple. I owe it to you runners out there. As a Race Director, I feel that I ‘m doing my part for this wonderful sport. Over the years, I have competed in so many amazing races and it is all because someone stepped up and said, “I want to organize a race”. Call it giving back; paying it forward, you pick the phrase. Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a self ‘pat on the back’ article, but I just want you to think about that favorite race you circle on your calendar every year. Did you ever stop to think about the planning that goes into your favorite race. Did you know that the Race Director usually starts the planning process for the next year’s race a few months after the current race?
Do me a favor, the next time you attend a race and have a positive experience, seek out the Race Director and thank him or her. You don’t realize how much that means to someone that puts family commitments and their personal time on hold to plan such an event. Actually, don’t seek them out on race day, send the Race Director an email when you get home. The Race Director will probably have ten things going on at once and when you introduce yourself, the Race Director will forget at least five of the things he or she was juggling at the time of your introduction :)
Monday, October 6, 2008
Manly?????
Recently I had a conversation with a coworker at the Firehouse that really got me thinking about the definition of ‘Manly’. The conversation started with, “Dude you shave your legs”, and it ended with me attempting to explain to my buddy that there is a rule that all members of my triathlon team need to be ‘shaved down’ before all competitions. He asked if I had an upcoming race and I responded “No”. He asked why my legs were shaved and I just had to drop my head in defeat and walk away.
Thinking back, I really don’t remember this topic coming up when I was approached and asked to race for my current triathlon team. I specifically remember the Team Manager asking if I wanted to be a member of the team, receive a bunch of free gear, equipment, and swag, in exchange for promotional work and great race results. There was nothing about waxing my hairy back. I know I was overly excited about the prospect of receiving a top of the line race rig, but I think I would have remembered the chest hair shaving clause. I’m over 40 years old and Italian, which means I have more hair growing in places I don’t want, and less hair growing in the places I do want.
I remember the dreadful day fondly, it was the day I was to pick up my new bike and uniform. I drove to the team headquarters, nervously entered the building, and met my new teammates. They seemed like nice enough guys, mostly Type A competitive racers, tall, skinny, pretty serious looking. I sensed they were sizing me up as soon as I entered the building. After introductions and brief team meeting, we geared up and hit the road for a short training ride. The pace was mellow and the conversation flowed. One team member asked if “I let my winter coat grow?” I responded that I usually shave my head before big events but let my hair grow in between races. He then asked if I waxed. I responded that I used clippers to buzz my head and commented that it must hurt to wax your head. The entire group laughed. Did I miss something? He then responded “I meant do you wax your body?” Now it was my time to laugh, but nobody was laughing with me. For the remainder of the ride I was educated about the positive aspects of keeping your body free of body hair. The reasons provided included absolute gems like, it will make you swim faster, if you fall on the road your skin won’t tear from your body, you will feel faster, you will look faster, to you look cooler, and your wife will love the feeling. Huh? They didn’t know my wife. The only thing that kept going thru my mind was “How am I going to tell my wife about this”.
When I arrived home, my wife had ton of questions about the team. I don’t remember any of the questions she asked or if I even answered them. I do remember a long silent pause and then I informed her, “They want me to shave”. She responded with, “Good, I want you to shave too; it’s gross when you don’t shave on the weekends”. (Take note guys, it is ‘Manly’ to not shave on the weekends) There was another awkward silence and then I responded, “Not my face, they want me to shave my body”. In a classic Edith Bunker impersonation, my wife looked at me blankly, attempting to digest what I just said, and came out with a very long, slow, “Ooohhhh”. She asked if I wanted to do that. I looked over at my new $4000 full suspension race bike and responded with, “Get the shaving cream honey it is erotic shaving night!!!!!!” You guessed it; I got ‘The Look’.
After some quick internet research about how to shave for cycling events (note, there are some very inappropriate shaving websites out there, be careful. Yuck), I figured out I just had to shave my arms, armpits and legs. Only shave the exposed areas right? I love my wife, she is definitely the brains of the operation and when she told me to use a dull razor when shaving, I just laughed at her, everybody knows that a new razor shaves better than a dull one right?
I entered the shower the proud owner of a $4000 bike with a new razor (I can hear all the women screaming now, NOT A NEW RAZOR YOU FOOL!!!!!), and a can of shaving cream. I exited the shower 20 minutes later totally emasculated with smooth arms, pits, and legs. I was also down at least a pint and a half of blood. The shower floor looked like the scene from Psycho and my legs looked like someone took a weedwacker to them. Did I feel fast? No. I felt dizzy; I lost a lot of blood. Once all 16 band-aids were applied, I ran downstairs to show my wife my new race body. I expected to hear her say such things as “Wow, you look fast” and “Having those shaved arms and legs should save you at least three seconds on a twenty five mile bike ride”. I didn’t hear such comments, but was greeted with, “Won’t all those band-aids slow you down?” I was a beaten man.
I showed up for a swim practice a few days later showing off my freshly shaved arms, pits, and legs and received laughs again. I felt like the Little Leaguer on the first day of practice that put his glove on the wrong hand. What did I do wrong, most of my razor wounds were healing and were barely visible, did I miss a clump on leg hair on my hamstring? The guys were laughing because I had a hairy back and chest with shaved legs and arms. They said it is easier to shave or wax your entire body all at one time. I informed them that there are some parts of my body I can’t reach with a razor, and some places I do not want a razor to come close to.
Ok, I arrived home, entered the shower and somehow shaved my chest without loosing any more blood. When my wife got home, I informed her she had to shave my back. She responded she didn’t remember anything in our wedding vows about back shaving. She eventually agreed to shave my back for the sole reason that she could tell her friends and they could all laugh at me. Well, she did, and they did. But, I did tell them I have a $4000 bike? They didn’t care, most women don’t, it’s in their nature to laugh at males when we do something foolish. We never let them down; we certainly give them plenty of ammo.
OK, to make a long story short, I first shaved my arms, legs and pits on 4/18/2007. I first shaved my chest on 4/21/2007. My wife shaved my back on 4/21/2007. Since those horrible days, I have been forced to shave my arms, chest, legs, and pits approximately every three days. I have a wonderful neighbor (she works in a high priced fancy salon in Cambridge, Massachusetts) who waxes my back every month. Her husband, who is very understanding, laughs every time I attempt to explain that there is nothing inappropriate going on, it is purely business. Hahahaha
You may ask that why do I continue to shave and wax most of my body hair now that my race season is over. The answer is, if I could find a legal drug to take that would eliminate the itching, I would braid my chest hair. I’ve tried numerous times to grow back my body hair but the itching is totally unbearable after only 5 days. My mind won’t even allow me to think about what seven day stubble would feel like. I am cursed, and as Eddie Murphy once said, “You brought this $%#@ on yourself”. My wife won’t admit it, but I think she likes the shaved body feel. Ok, I’m an idiot. She just likes laughing at me. But I do get back at her. Not only can I leave the toilet seat up, I can now use all of her shaving cream. hahahaha
I like to think of myself as a ‘Manly’ man. I’m a pretty active guy. I work out almost every day, most days include two workouts. My workouts include off-road running, weight lifting, mountain biking, swimming, and plyometrics. I mean, I lift actual weights, and a lot of them, I don’t mess around with those Cybex machines with the belts, straps, and instructions. I have a cool job. I hang out with cool guys. I have tattoos. I have my own mug behind the bar of my local Irish Tavern. I like beer, Maxim Magazine, power tools, smoked meats, heavy metal, football, and girls in bikinis (only my wife, wink, wink). In my opinion, all of the above mentioned items fit into the definition of “Manly”. But I can’t seem to get those five words out of my head, you may be thinking to yourself, “Anthony don’t worry about your buddy questioning your manhood, you are Manly”. But those five words stay with me day after day, I just can’t get them out of my head. You may ask, are the five words, “Dude you shave your legs” Of course not, the five words are, I HAVE A $4000 BIKE.
Thinking back, I really don’t remember this topic coming up when I was approached and asked to race for my current triathlon team. I specifically remember the Team Manager asking if I wanted to be a member of the team, receive a bunch of free gear, equipment, and swag, in exchange for promotional work and great race results. There was nothing about waxing my hairy back. I know I was overly excited about the prospect of receiving a top of the line race rig, but I think I would have remembered the chest hair shaving clause. I’m over 40 years old and Italian, which means I have more hair growing in places I don’t want, and less hair growing in the places I do want.
I remember the dreadful day fondly, it was the day I was to pick up my new bike and uniform. I drove to the team headquarters, nervously entered the building, and met my new teammates. They seemed like nice enough guys, mostly Type A competitive racers, tall, skinny, pretty serious looking. I sensed they were sizing me up as soon as I entered the building. After introductions and brief team meeting, we geared up and hit the road for a short training ride. The pace was mellow and the conversation flowed. One team member asked if “I let my winter coat grow?” I responded that I usually shave my head before big events but let my hair grow in between races. He then asked if I waxed. I responded that I used clippers to buzz my head and commented that it must hurt to wax your head. The entire group laughed. Did I miss something? He then responded “I meant do you wax your body?” Now it was my time to laugh, but nobody was laughing with me. For the remainder of the ride I was educated about the positive aspects of keeping your body free of body hair. The reasons provided included absolute gems like, it will make you swim faster, if you fall on the road your skin won’t tear from your body, you will feel faster, you will look faster, to you look cooler, and your wife will love the feeling. Huh? They didn’t know my wife. The only thing that kept going thru my mind was “How am I going to tell my wife about this”.
When I arrived home, my wife had ton of questions about the team. I don’t remember any of the questions she asked or if I even answered them. I do remember a long silent pause and then I informed her, “They want me to shave”. She responded with, “Good, I want you to shave too; it’s gross when you don’t shave on the weekends”. (Take note guys, it is ‘Manly’ to not shave on the weekends) There was another awkward silence and then I responded, “Not my face, they want me to shave my body”. In a classic Edith Bunker impersonation, my wife looked at me blankly, attempting to digest what I just said, and came out with a very long, slow, “Ooohhhh”. She asked if I wanted to do that. I looked over at my new $4000 full suspension race bike and responded with, “Get the shaving cream honey it is erotic shaving night!!!!!!” You guessed it; I got ‘The Look’.
After some quick internet research about how to shave for cycling events (note, there are some very inappropriate shaving websites out there, be careful. Yuck), I figured out I just had to shave my arms, armpits and legs. Only shave the exposed areas right? I love my wife, she is definitely the brains of the operation and when she told me to use a dull razor when shaving, I just laughed at her, everybody knows that a new razor shaves better than a dull one right?
I entered the shower the proud owner of a $4000 bike with a new razor (I can hear all the women screaming now, NOT A NEW RAZOR YOU FOOL!!!!!), and a can of shaving cream. I exited the shower 20 minutes later totally emasculated with smooth arms, pits, and legs. I was also down at least a pint and a half of blood. The shower floor looked like the scene from Psycho and my legs looked like someone took a weedwacker to them. Did I feel fast? No. I felt dizzy; I lost a lot of blood. Once all 16 band-aids were applied, I ran downstairs to show my wife my new race body. I expected to hear her say such things as “Wow, you look fast” and “Having those shaved arms and legs should save you at least three seconds on a twenty five mile bike ride”. I didn’t hear such comments, but was greeted with, “Won’t all those band-aids slow you down?” I was a beaten man.
I showed up for a swim practice a few days later showing off my freshly shaved arms, pits, and legs and received laughs again. I felt like the Little Leaguer on the first day of practice that put his glove on the wrong hand. What did I do wrong, most of my razor wounds were healing and were barely visible, did I miss a clump on leg hair on my hamstring? The guys were laughing because I had a hairy back and chest with shaved legs and arms. They said it is easier to shave or wax your entire body all at one time. I informed them that there are some parts of my body I can’t reach with a razor, and some places I do not want a razor to come close to.
Ok, I arrived home, entered the shower and somehow shaved my chest without loosing any more blood. When my wife got home, I informed her she had to shave my back. She responded she didn’t remember anything in our wedding vows about back shaving. She eventually agreed to shave my back for the sole reason that she could tell her friends and they could all laugh at me. Well, she did, and they did. But, I did tell them I have a $4000 bike? They didn’t care, most women don’t, it’s in their nature to laugh at males when we do something foolish. We never let them down; we certainly give them plenty of ammo.
OK, to make a long story short, I first shaved my arms, legs and pits on 4/18/2007. I first shaved my chest on 4/21/2007. My wife shaved my back on 4/21/2007. Since those horrible days, I have been forced to shave my arms, chest, legs, and pits approximately every three days. I have a wonderful neighbor (she works in a high priced fancy salon in Cambridge, Massachusetts) who waxes my back every month. Her husband, who is very understanding, laughs every time I attempt to explain that there is nothing inappropriate going on, it is purely business. Hahahaha
You may ask that why do I continue to shave and wax most of my body hair now that my race season is over. The answer is, if I could find a legal drug to take that would eliminate the itching, I would braid my chest hair. I’ve tried numerous times to grow back my body hair but the itching is totally unbearable after only 5 days. My mind won’t even allow me to think about what seven day stubble would feel like. I am cursed, and as Eddie Murphy once said, “You brought this $%#@ on yourself”. My wife won’t admit it, but I think she likes the shaved body feel. Ok, I’m an idiot. She just likes laughing at me. But I do get back at her. Not only can I leave the toilet seat up, I can now use all of her shaving cream. hahahaha
I like to think of myself as a ‘Manly’ man. I’m a pretty active guy. I work out almost every day, most days include two workouts. My workouts include off-road running, weight lifting, mountain biking, swimming, and plyometrics. I mean, I lift actual weights, and a lot of them, I don’t mess around with those Cybex machines with the belts, straps, and instructions. I have a cool job. I hang out with cool guys. I have tattoos. I have my own mug behind the bar of my local Irish Tavern. I like beer, Maxim Magazine, power tools, smoked meats, heavy metal, football, and girls in bikinis (only my wife, wink, wink). In my opinion, all of the above mentioned items fit into the definition of “Manly”. But I can’t seem to get those five words out of my head, you may be thinking to yourself, “Anthony don’t worry about your buddy questioning your manhood, you are Manly”. But those five words stay with me day after day, I just can’t get them out of my head. You may ask, are the five words, “Dude you shave your legs” Of course not, the five words are, I HAVE A $4000 BIKE.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Family
September 27th, 2008, I’ve had this date circled on my calendar for more than three months. Each time I passed the refrigerator, Ok, each time I closed the refrigerator door after sneaking a goodie, I would look to see if this date was still circled. Why was I looking forward to September 27th? Did I have a big race scheduled? Did I have front row seats to the Red Sox vs. Yankees? Was the new model of Nike trail shoes being introduced? The answer was ‘no’ to all of the above. On September 27, 2008, my wife’s cousin was marrying his fiancé. Now you may be saying to yourself, “Has Anthony gone soft?” Well let me tell you, one; I haven’t gone soft, and two, read on for the explanation.
Now this wedding wasn’t going to be your ordinary, cookie-cutter wedding. This was going to be a wedding with two Italian families involved. My wife’s cousin is half Italian (the good half) and his fiancé is 100% Italian. Well she is technically Sicilian, but I don’t want to start a fight here. Her last name starts with a consonant, is loaded with virtually every vowel, and of course, her last name ends with a vowel. My wife laughs at me, but I knew it was going to be an incredible wedding the second I opened the invitation. My wife’s cousin’s wife’s last name is VERY Italian, actually Sicilian, and would a Sicilian throw a wedding for his only daughter, anything short of the wedding scene in the best movie of all time, The Godfather?
Enough background let me get on with the story. It was an evening wedding on the North Shore of Massachusetts. OK, insert North Shore/Big Hair/IROC/Italian joke here. For those of you not familiar with Massachusetts, the North Shore is not only home to one of the largest enclaves of 1st and 2nd generation Italian families, but some of the finest Italian food, cement contractors, and tuxedo rental shops that rent light blue and burnt rust ruffled tuxedos.
The wedding started promptly at 5:30pm. It was a beautiful ceremony, the groom looked handsome and his bride was beautiful. Other than a few jokes by the priest about threesomes and the groom looking like he wanted to unwrap the bride like a BB gun on Christmas morning, it was pretty uneventful. No time to explain the jokes, but I am sure the higher ups at the church will be keeping a closer tab on the wine. We were out the door and at the reception hall at 7:00pm. Now when I say reception hall, please do not envision your typical function hall at the VFW or American Legion Hall. I should not give the name of the function facility, but everything from the food, to the facility, to the service was amazing, so why not give a great place a plug. The reception location was Spinelli’s. The Irish folk out there must be scratching their heads right about now trying to figure out where Lynnfield is. “When did they rename Lynn?” hahaha
My wife and I drove to the wedding with two other family couples and my father-in-law. The gentlemen dropped the woman off at the front door and we proceeded to park. It was pouring rain that night, and we did not want the women to get too wet. Yea right, we wanted the women to go inside so we could walk around to the other side of the building were the function facility had a retail bakery. My brother-in-law and I bought 12 cannoli and a pound of amaretti (almond macaroon paste) cookies for the ride home. More about that later.
While the wedding party was busy smiling for pictures in the marble foyer, we met up with our wives in the Capri Room where guests were treated the most unbelievable Italian antipasto spread this side Palermo, Sicily. Somehow three plate full of cheeses, olives, roasted peppers, grilled eggplant, and focaccia disappeared. Unfortunately for my wife, I met a runner. That’s right, if you have read my earlier posts, you should be shouting out loud, “She lost you for at least an hour”. Now I have met this runner before, I just didn’t know he was a runner. He is engaged to my wife’s other cousin. He just started running earlier this year and already has a half marathon scheduled. He lives in Winthrop, Massachusetts and has been training with a few Merrimack Valley Striders. Great, training with MVS studs, I give him another two weeks and he’ll be faster than me. Hahaha.
Cocktail hour soon ended and the guests were ushered into the Tuscany Room. I had a smile from ear to ear and my wife kept asking how much I had to drink. I tried to explain to her that I was not drunk, I haven’t had a drink all night, why chance ruining the night ahead. I tried to explain that I was excited becasue I had just finish reading the menu and thought this could quite possibly be the best Italian Wedding Extravaganza ever. You guessed it; I got ‘The Look’. Here was the menu
Primo Course- Italian Escarole Wedding Soup
Primo (2) Course- Gemelli pasta in marinara sauce
Antipasto Course- . Caesar (get it, haha) Salad served in an edible tortilla bowl.
Secondo Course- Filet Mignon & Baked Stuffed shrimp served with contorni (veggies on the side)
Dolce Course- Wedding Cake, assorted Italian pastries
A bottle of Montepulciano and Chardonnay were also placed at each table.
I will not go into detail about how amazing each course was, please check my blog on The Food Network for the details. In short, the food was so good that if I thought it would’ve been appropriate, I would’ve licked each plate clean.
I would like to share some highlights:
There were amazing, heartfelt speeches by the best man (brother of the groom and all around great guy), the maid of honor (who’s speech had the alert single guys frothing), and the brother of the bride who delivered a wonderful speech about how when he sized up his future brother in-law, he immediately realized he was a good guy and was OK with his sister dating him. The older brother was just doing his Italian duty.
Having my family (technically my wife’s family, but I love them so much I call them ‘my family’) dancing between the two Primo courses. This party was starting early.
Now don’t take this the wrong way, but I must have kissed over 100 people that evening. Guys too. The Irish folk out there must really be scratching their heads now. By now you should realize I’m Italian. I’m proud to be Italian. We hug, we kiss, we laugh, and we show our emotions. When we see family members, we pull them in and give a big hug and kiss on the cheek to let them know we are happy to see, and be with them.
Realizing that when a DJ plays the Lou Monte’s, “Lazy Mary” at an Italian Wedding, he better turn up the volume if people want to hear the ‘artist’s words’. Everyone in the room, or at least the Italians, belted out the entire song.
Talking running with my brother in-law Anthony. Two runners at this wedding, awesome. Even the Irish folk know you get thrown out of the Italian Club if you don’t name one of your sons Anthony. Anthony and his wife will be running the BAA Half Marathon again this year. Now let me explain who Anthony is. Anthony is a great brother in-law, a jovial guy, and a legend at the dinner table. Anthony is quite familiar with receiving ‘The Look’ from his wife as well, is it the name? He not only holds the record for eating double cheeseburgers at now defunct Tastee greasy spoon in Cambridge, Massachusetts, (He woofed down seven double cheeseburgers at 2:00am one evening, the last one with bacon), he is famous for his “any leftovers in the fridge will make a great omelette’. He competes in the Clydesdale division. He is not fat, he is just big. When I say big, I mean solid. He played high school and college football. We're still not sure if he ‘played’ college football, but we know he practiced and has a photo of himself in uniform that until recently was proudly displayed in his downstairs bathroom, which is referred to as “Tony’s Throne”. I still have the coffee mug with his college football photo he gave me one Christmas. He is a 200+ lb eating, drinking, laughing, talking, and running machine. If you looked at him for the first time, you would never image he has two half marathons with very respectable times under his belt. He is the only person I know that trained for a half marathon and gained weight. He is type of guy you hope sits next to you on a long flight. You will still be laughing as you wait for your bags at the luggage carousel.
I will wrap this up soon, but I must share one last story from this wonderful evening. Every wedding I attend, I always make sure to seek out the bride and groom’s parents, introduce myself and thank them for inviting me to the wedding.. When I informed my Italian brother-in laws’ my about my intention to meet and thank the bride’s mother and father, on cue, they immediately broke into The Godfather script when Luca Brasi was practicing his speech before meeting Don Corleone at his daughter’s wedding. It went something like this, “Hey Anthony, you need to tell Mr. _ _ _ _ _ _ that you are honored and grateful that he has invited you to the wedding of his daughter and that you hope their first child be a masculine child”. After the wine came flying out of my nose and the entire table stopped laughing, I made my way across the room and introduced myself to the bride’s parents. Here is how it went:
Me: “Excuse me Mr.& Mrs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _, my name is Anthony Mavilia, I am married to your son in-law’s cousin. I want to thank you for inviting me and my wife to the wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony, your daughter looks beautiful, and it has been wonderful to share this special night with your family.
Bride’s father: “Ah, Anthony, it is nice to meet you as well, thank you for sharing in this special day, I’m glad you are having such a nice time”. The bride’s father then said, “You are family now, come here”. He pulled me in and gave me a hug and kiss. I talked with him, his wife, and their son for a few moments and right before I left, his son leaned over and asked me, “Are you going to wish that his first grandson be a masculine child?” I could not contain my laughter. The three of them pulled me in for another hug and kiss and I was on my way back to my table to share my story.
What an amazing evening. Two great families, a beautiful ceremony, an amazing reception, and great conversation with new and old friends. And did I mention that there was running talk involved? Yeah!!!!!!!!!
Back to the cannoli, amaretti, and the long ride home. I was so stuffed when I left the reception that I was only able to eat two cannoli on the 1 ½ hour ride home. Sunday morning was going to come awfully early. Sunday mornings mean a 8:00am Group Run with the Squannacook River Runners. Although I was only able to force down two cannoli on the way home, the next morning before the group run, I woke up swinging. In honor of my brother in-law Anthony, I have two words for you “CANNOLI OMLETTE”.
Now this wedding wasn’t going to be your ordinary, cookie-cutter wedding. This was going to be a wedding with two Italian families involved. My wife’s cousin is half Italian (the good half) and his fiancé is 100% Italian. Well she is technically Sicilian, but I don’t want to start a fight here. Her last name starts with a consonant, is loaded with virtually every vowel, and of course, her last name ends with a vowel. My wife laughs at me, but I knew it was going to be an incredible wedding the second I opened the invitation. My wife’s cousin’s wife’s last name is VERY Italian, actually Sicilian, and would a Sicilian throw a wedding for his only daughter, anything short of the wedding scene in the best movie of all time, The Godfather?
Enough background let me get on with the story. It was an evening wedding on the North Shore of Massachusetts. OK, insert North Shore/Big Hair/IROC/Italian joke here. For those of you not familiar with Massachusetts, the North Shore is not only home to one of the largest enclaves of 1st and 2nd generation Italian families, but some of the finest Italian food, cement contractors, and tuxedo rental shops that rent light blue and burnt rust ruffled tuxedos.
The wedding started promptly at 5:30pm. It was a beautiful ceremony, the groom looked handsome and his bride was beautiful. Other than a few jokes by the priest about threesomes and the groom looking like he wanted to unwrap the bride like a BB gun on Christmas morning, it was pretty uneventful. No time to explain the jokes, but I am sure the higher ups at the church will be keeping a closer tab on the wine. We were out the door and at the reception hall at 7:00pm. Now when I say reception hall, please do not envision your typical function hall at the VFW or American Legion Hall. I should not give the name of the function facility, but everything from the food, to the facility, to the service was amazing, so why not give a great place a plug. The reception location was Spinelli’s. The Irish folk out there must be scratching their heads right about now trying to figure out where Lynnfield is. “When did they rename Lynn?” hahaha
My wife and I drove to the wedding with two other family couples and my father-in-law. The gentlemen dropped the woman off at the front door and we proceeded to park. It was pouring rain that night, and we did not want the women to get too wet. Yea right, we wanted the women to go inside so we could walk around to the other side of the building were the function facility had a retail bakery. My brother-in-law and I bought 12 cannoli and a pound of amaretti (almond macaroon paste) cookies for the ride home. More about that later.
While the wedding party was busy smiling for pictures in the marble foyer, we met up with our wives in the Capri Room where guests were treated the most unbelievable Italian antipasto spread this side Palermo, Sicily. Somehow three plate full of cheeses, olives, roasted peppers, grilled eggplant, and focaccia disappeared. Unfortunately for my wife, I met a runner. That’s right, if you have read my earlier posts, you should be shouting out loud, “She lost you for at least an hour”. Now I have met this runner before, I just didn’t know he was a runner. He is engaged to my wife’s other cousin. He just started running earlier this year and already has a half marathon scheduled. He lives in Winthrop, Massachusetts and has been training with a few Merrimack Valley Striders. Great, training with MVS studs, I give him another two weeks and he’ll be faster than me. Hahaha.
Cocktail hour soon ended and the guests were ushered into the Tuscany Room. I had a smile from ear to ear and my wife kept asking how much I had to drink. I tried to explain to her that I was not drunk, I haven’t had a drink all night, why chance ruining the night ahead. I tried to explain that I was excited becasue I had just finish reading the menu and thought this could quite possibly be the best Italian Wedding Extravaganza ever. You guessed it; I got ‘The Look’. Here was the menu
Primo Course- Italian Escarole Wedding Soup
Primo (2) Course- Gemelli pasta in marinara sauce
Antipasto Course- . Caesar (get it, haha) Salad served in an edible tortilla bowl.
Secondo Course- Filet Mignon & Baked Stuffed shrimp served with contorni (veggies on the side)
Dolce Course- Wedding Cake, assorted Italian pastries
A bottle of Montepulciano and Chardonnay were also placed at each table.
I will not go into detail about how amazing each course was, please check my blog on The Food Network for the details. In short, the food was so good that if I thought it would’ve been appropriate, I would’ve licked each plate clean.
I would like to share some highlights:
There were amazing, heartfelt speeches by the best man (brother of the groom and all around great guy), the maid of honor (who’s speech had the alert single guys frothing), and the brother of the bride who delivered a wonderful speech about how when he sized up his future brother in-law, he immediately realized he was a good guy and was OK with his sister dating him. The older brother was just doing his Italian duty.
Having my family (technically my wife’s family, but I love them so much I call them ‘my family’) dancing between the two Primo courses. This party was starting early.
Now don’t take this the wrong way, but I must have kissed over 100 people that evening. Guys too. The Irish folk out there must really be scratching their heads now. By now you should realize I’m Italian. I’m proud to be Italian. We hug, we kiss, we laugh, and we show our emotions. When we see family members, we pull them in and give a big hug and kiss on the cheek to let them know we are happy to see, and be with them.
Realizing that when a DJ plays the Lou Monte’s, “Lazy Mary” at an Italian Wedding, he better turn up the volume if people want to hear the ‘artist’s words’. Everyone in the room, or at least the Italians, belted out the entire song.
Talking running with my brother in-law Anthony. Two runners at this wedding, awesome. Even the Irish folk know you get thrown out of the Italian Club if you don’t name one of your sons Anthony. Anthony and his wife will be running the BAA Half Marathon again this year. Now let me explain who Anthony is. Anthony is a great brother in-law, a jovial guy, and a legend at the dinner table. Anthony is quite familiar with receiving ‘The Look’ from his wife as well, is it the name? He not only holds the record for eating double cheeseburgers at now defunct Tastee greasy spoon in Cambridge, Massachusetts, (He woofed down seven double cheeseburgers at 2:00am one evening, the last one with bacon), he is famous for his “any leftovers in the fridge will make a great omelette’. He competes in the Clydesdale division. He is not fat, he is just big. When I say big, I mean solid. He played high school and college football. We're still not sure if he ‘played’ college football, but we know he practiced and has a photo of himself in uniform that until recently was proudly displayed in his downstairs bathroom, which is referred to as “Tony’s Throne”. I still have the coffee mug with his college football photo he gave me one Christmas. He is a 200+ lb eating, drinking, laughing, talking, and running machine. If you looked at him for the first time, you would never image he has two half marathons with very respectable times under his belt. He is the only person I know that trained for a half marathon and gained weight. He is type of guy you hope sits next to you on a long flight. You will still be laughing as you wait for your bags at the luggage carousel.
I will wrap this up soon, but I must share one last story from this wonderful evening. Every wedding I attend, I always make sure to seek out the bride and groom’s parents, introduce myself and thank them for inviting me to the wedding.. When I informed my Italian brother-in laws’ my about my intention to meet and thank the bride’s mother and father, on cue, they immediately broke into The Godfather script when Luca Brasi was practicing his speech before meeting Don Corleone at his daughter’s wedding. It went something like this, “Hey Anthony, you need to tell Mr. _ _ _ _ _ _ that you are honored and grateful that he has invited you to the wedding of his daughter and that you hope their first child be a masculine child”. After the wine came flying out of my nose and the entire table stopped laughing, I made my way across the room and introduced myself to the bride’s parents. Here is how it went:
Me: “Excuse me Mr.& Mrs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _, my name is Anthony Mavilia, I am married to your son in-law’s cousin. I want to thank you for inviting me and my wife to the wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony, your daughter looks beautiful, and it has been wonderful to share this special night with your family.
Bride’s father: “Ah, Anthony, it is nice to meet you as well, thank you for sharing in this special day, I’m glad you are having such a nice time”. The bride’s father then said, “You are family now, come here”. He pulled me in and gave me a hug and kiss. I talked with him, his wife, and their son for a few moments and right before I left, his son leaned over and asked me, “Are you going to wish that his first grandson be a masculine child?” I could not contain my laughter. The three of them pulled me in for another hug and kiss and I was on my way back to my table to share my story.
What an amazing evening. Two great families, a beautiful ceremony, an amazing reception, and great conversation with new and old friends. And did I mention that there was running talk involved? Yeah!!!!!!!!!
Back to the cannoli, amaretti, and the long ride home. I was so stuffed when I left the reception that I was only able to eat two cannoli on the 1 ½ hour ride home. Sunday morning was going to come awfully early. Sunday mornings mean a 8:00am Group Run with the Squannacook River Runners. Although I was only able to force down two cannoli on the way home, the next morning before the group run, I woke up swinging. In honor of my brother in-law Anthony, I have two words for you “CANNOLI OMLETTE”.
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