The 1600

Three hundred sixty five days ago I came up with a number, sixteen-hundred. Could I run sixteen-hundred miles in a year? It wasn't a crazy high number, coming off a year where I had hit a little over fifteen-hundred, but still it's averaging 133 miles a month for a year is no easy task.

This decision was made on New Year's Eve, last minute, really just based on a tweet asking something along the lines of running goals for the New Year. Like every resolution, it was out of mind a few weeks into January. Fast forward eleven months.

2015 goes down as a tough year. Running requires heart and mine felt heavy and broken for most of it. Towards the end of the year, not much motivation remained. Failed at my attempt of getting older, yet faster. Never even attempted the one prize I really wanted. Watched my consecutive streak of months over triple digits end. Depressing.

Late November, I happened to remember the resolution I had set for myself. Half expected it to be ridiculously out of my grasp based on how the year played out. Surprisingly when I looked, it was still in reach and only one-hundred seventy miles away. With thirty-one days to go, could I average six miles a day and still pull this off?

It took EVERY day to pull off the 1600! From New Year's Eve to New Year's Eve, but it happened. Going from the past couple months of not even making it to a hundred miles a month, to almost doubling my total in December to pull off this silly number, took everything I had. It wasn't until the last few days, did it even seem in grasp. The weather really saved me, had it turned miserable, not sure the story would have been the same.

2015 was a battle every step of the way, at least it ended on a positive, with The 1600.

The Salesman

Never will be a salesman, just not built with the level of BS needed to be successful at it. With that said though, it is possible, on occasion, for my charm to con somebody into doing something they don't want to do. With great charm, comes great responsibility!

A few months ago, that charm was responsible for getting my cousin, Dimmy, to commit and finish her first half marathon. Would it work again? A couple of the Superstars wanted to give the Mackinaw Island Half Marathon another try as an end to the running season. Dimmy lives a cat's swing (inside joke with the Superstars, I'd never swing a cat) away from the island, so it only seemed natural to talk (and don't mean that at all, I mean con) Dimmy into running with us. She treated me with such care growing up. In fact she almost seemed pleased to tell me how she and her brother crashed the tandem bike they were riding on Mackinaw Island with me in the bike seat as a baby! With  family like this, it's surprising I'm still here. But I am, and this cousin (me) believes in revenge! When I think back to how my legs burned after running this race the first time, the hills, I couldn't resist convincing Dimmy to do it with us. Sure, to some, this probably could be viewed as heartless, but deep down I know she can do it, but loved the idea of her cursing my name around mile eight or nine! Payback! Muhahaha!

The problem with revenge, sometimes it doesn't exactly go as planned.  No sooner did I get her to sign up for the race, then she offered for all of us to stay at her house. Beautiful house, an even better view, then she pulls out some serious Martha Stewart with a gourmet meal. Who is this? Wait a minute, is this poisoned? Is the conman getting conned? Starting to *almost* feel bad now.

Since I'm a little too big to get dumped from a tandem bike, my punishment in the form of karma seems like it's almost a guarantee it's going to rain. The boat ride over, the sky teased that it was going to clear and end up turning into a pretty good race day, but deep down, I knew the storm was coming.

Lining up, the group huddled together to stay warm. I was really unsure how I'd feel today, racing hard last week battling a cold this week. Part said just stick with CT and have fun. Another part of me said give it a shot and could always meet up with CT if not feeling it. The indecision, started me much further back that I would if being serious, bring on some crowd fighting.

Crack, goes the gun! A mob of people on a small road to begin with, then add the giant puddles. I started eased and relaxed, but before log there goes CT darting around people, here we go. Soon it's a game of Frogger, before too long, it becomes an early trail race resorting to passing people on the shoulder. Yup, definitely started too far back to race this.

By mile two, most people were passed and things opened up. Still constantly amazed at the number of people who run horrible lines. As I was smiling about this, that's about the time the drizzle started. It actually felt good. Maybe, rain isn't a bad thing.

Soon after mile three, the trail starts and so did the downpour. I watched the woman in front of me gingerly step around a couple patches of mud. The first of the hills started, so I was in conservation mode and wasn't willing to sacrifice energy to verbalize free advice, but I really wanted to tell her don't waste energy dodging, it's a sure thing we are ALL getting dirty today. The more we climbed the worse the rain came down. First official race in the rain and it officially became a sloppy mess, which was fun, especially since I decided against breaking in my new shoes today.

Mile six, I was glad to be done with the climb for a bit. My shirt was a second skin and really debated dumping it, but couldn't because it's a favorite, that's what I get for wearing my hometown race shirt, the nipples will hate me later.

Miles seven to ten are some of prettiest, but most difficult. The rain stopped, but the rolling hills didn't. Somewhere in this section, I knew that I wasn't going to PR this course. It felt good to pass the local wearing the viking helmet. While staying at a consistent pace, it wasn't possible to give any more and it was all about maintaining at this point. It helped by continuing to catch and pass people. Even though fatigue was setting in and part of me wanted to ease up, gaining ground on the next person ahead helped stay motivated.  Soon thoughts drifted to just have to get out of these trails and back to the road where it's nice and flat and knowing things will get easier. Used car salesmen?

Almost to the road, caught and passed a younger kid. I think I caught him by surprise because he startled a bit and almost slipped in the mud. Told him, "you're too close to the finish now to be THAT GUY covered in mud, so be careful". Next up, a woman. As I passed her, I gave her the complementary, "good job, doing great". She came back with she's the fifth woman overall. About this time we reached the road. My earlier runner's thought of the easy part is here, were quickly smashed back to reality as the gust of wind made it feel as if standing still. So much for that idea! Easy come and easy go, the hills were gone, but the wind was the next hurdle.

It's going to be a fight this whole last few miles into the wind, then something clicked. The salesman died and the nice guy came back. Looking over my shoulder, 5th girl wasn't too far back. I told her get up on me, I'll block the wind as much as I can, draft off of me, lets go get 4th girl! Honestly, I wasn't sure how long I had left in me running hard into the wind, but figured what the hell, lets see what happens. We did catch and pass a few more runners, unfortunately none of them female. My favorite pass was a horse and carriage, for some reason I decided to taunted and trash talked the horse going by. Okay, he/she was pulling a carriage, but hey, it will probably be the first and last time this ever happens! In the end, never even caught sight of the 4th girl, but crossing the line, 5th thanked me for helping her and she PR'd. Not sure if I really helped with any part of that, but I do know the last few miles were faster than when I caught her, so I'm taking a little credit for that!

Ran back for CT, found her at a wedding ceremony, fitting. She was tired, immediately worried about her time because she ran "naked" (without her watch). Of course in her mind she was doing awful, but in the real world she was right at the time she expected. Didn't even get to see Dimmy finish. She did so well, that I missed her finishing being a baby staying inside out of the rain. Didn't expect her in so soon after tricking her into those hills. As if like a boss, she was smiling when I did see her. There's no way she could have known, but her not wanting to kill me after, almost sadden me. So much for my dirty joke! Further proof, I'll never be a salesman.





   

For You, Pink Means Fight!

Four months ago, I had high hopes and big dreams for today. Today is here, but those thoughts are nothing but a distant memory. So many things have changed.  This week alone, in addition to all kinds of work stress, add a funeral to that, and then even more saddening news of a friend being diagnosed with breast cancer four days ago. It's starting to feel like the down dog getting kicked, again.

The GR Marathon is a close race, but it didn't feel that way driving to it this morning. All prior times, the car is filled with chatter of close friends. Today, time stands still on this dark, quiet, morning as my car is empty. I am alone and it feels that way. On a day that I wanted some magic to happen for myself, all I can think about is how cancer changed the course of today's plan, not once, but twice. F*ck you cancer!

Today, is about dedicating a run to my friend. Her fight is just starting, it's going to be way more difficult than any marathon, half marathon, any race I've ever bitched about here in this blog. I don't feel trained to go out and crush a race, but prior to lining up, I told myself at any point during the race when I felt like quitting, heard the voices to easing up, I couldn't. She is going to have to fight hard and can't quit, so either can I on this day.

I've rolled up to races with Superman under my top layer, for moral support. I've gone without any layers to intimidate. As the top layer comes off today, it's pink, so show support for my friend. This one's for you today, because trust me, it's not my color (not to mention the cut is all funny)!

Ready, Fiiiiight! Goes the gun. The first two miles were fast and relaxed. Miles three and four were quicker with the crowd support downtown. At around six, I could begin to feel this summer's training kick in, not in a good way either. Trained by running way to fast this whole summer and it took it's toll on me. By nine, the fight was here. The voices started, "ease up", "relax", "slow down". Way too early for this shit! Fight! Ten, eleven, twelve, were all the same way. It's unfair my fight only had to last thirteen on this day, not even a close representation of her fight, but those last miles were a struggle to argue and prevent my body taking the easy way out. Doesn't even begin to compare to my friend's looming struggle, but every time that voice started, I thought of her and that awful "c" word. F*ck you cancer!

In the end, didn't pull off some miracle time like I would have wanted to. But all things considered, everything that happened this past week, not sure how I pulled off the time that I did. One of the very few times when I can say I put everything I had out there on this day. Crossing the line was emotional. There have been plenty of races where I wanted to cry, from the pain, suffering, or placement, but today was different. On this day, it was a hand gesture trying to form the symbol of the pink ribbon over my heart and lets just say I was an emotional mess crossing the line.

This is a special message from me to you cancer, you picked the wrong girl to mess with. You are going to lose, she BQ in her first marathon (on a nightmare course) for Pete's sake, you've got NO chance! In fact, you'd be best to stay away from ALL the girls in my group! Each one of them is tougher than anything you have and you WILL to lose EVERY time! Fuuuuuuuck you cancer!

Race to a Wedding

The run I love to hate is here. This run is brutal to begin with, but it's been one hell of a long week, in fact I'll submit it for the worst week EVER. At this point, I actually almost look forward to the beating this thirteen miles will inflict, because it will feel like a massage compared to what this week has brought. To top off this challenge today, have to run this and jump in the car to race again attempting to catch a wedding avoiding the wrath of CT if missed.

Standing at the starting line, have no idea what today will bring. Missed so many miles this past week, emotions just seem drained, legs technically should be fresh. When the horn sounded, wasn't even sure if it wasn't just the pounding of my head. This race started odd, the first mile I was in the lead. Could feel footsteps close, but wasn't sure what they were waiting for, why they were pacing off of me. Three did eventually pass, but that's it.

Finishing a half marathon in fourth place, given the past week, I'll take it. When the hills started, it wasn't long before soon it was third. For the next few miles, occasionally caught glimpses of second through the trees.

As the trail climbed more hills around mile six, soon found myself in second. This is when it started. Instead of having a goal and something to chase, I was left alone with my thoughts. Maybe it was a combination of everything this week brought, but thinking about "things" instead of concentrating on the task at hand, was my undoing. Already drained mentally, suddenly it caught up to me physically and all ability seemed to disappear. About this same time the race merged with the full marathoners. This made it already confusing if not for already crashing, while I still thought there was a good chance I was still in second, it was impossible for me to tell anymore. Not that it really mattered because I had given up at this point.

With about a mile left, I attempted to pull it together. Running up the final hill, I watched a runner go up and over, when really they should have turned around and headed back down the hill. Reaching the top, I yelled down to the runner that they went the wrong way. As he climbed back up, couldn't help but notice he was wearing a half marathon bib. Shit! Couldn't bring myself to race down the hill to the finish to be ahead of him. Waited as he climbed back up and sent him on his way. Probably would regret this later, but here is my good deed for the day.

Not sure if it was a sign from above, especially since I thought I did the right thing, or the week and all the events catching up to me, but heading down the hill a sharp pain in my chest started. Seemed fitting to finish a crummy week, with a bad run, in pain, heart broken.

Feeling miserable and defeated, still got third overall and first in my age group by some miracle. Couldn't even stay for the award, had to bolt for the car and drive home. Officially made it to the wedding with an hour to spare, then CT hit me with an emergency suspender run back to the house for my efforts. Personally, think she wanted me to cut it closer than I had, so after this last adventure, with ten minutes to spare, wedding time.  

The Ringer

Ringer - noun - an athlete or horse fraudulently substituted for another in competition or event.

Today, is the day CT and I both win our trophies in front of our parents. I've visualized this moment for the past year. In the snow, the blazing heat, climbing that awful hill, when the mind wanders to why the hell am I doing this to myself, this is the moment my mind drifts to. The excitement, the adrenaline, the glory.

It isn't suppose to be like this. Instead, I find myself alone, CT is not here. Pre-race jitters are replaced with uneasy feelings of maybe I shouldn't even be here either. Part of me knows I can't change a thing, maybe CT needs me more. Another part says The Ringer would want me to give it my all. The Ringer is CT's Dad and he's facing a challenge greater than any run. CT is right where she should be, at his side.

When I think of a ringer, it's a winner, somebody who shows up and is expected to win. It's odd, but it feels like that spirit is with me. On a day when I wanted to zone everything out prior to the race start and escape in my bubble, it's one of those races where people want to talk to me. It's probably my serious game face on the outside, when in reality is three million thoughts racing around in my head. One in particular is the guy who bested me by six seconds last year to claim my trophy. Seriously? Maybe today, I am the ringer, I mean by the actual definition.

Clang, clang, (a Double Ringer) goes the gun. The first mile is a blur. Faster than last year by five seconds. Told you, I thought about this race for a long time. The guy who got me last year, felt it necessary to point out that he was going to go out slower this year, yet he's ahead of me. Trying to psych out the ringer maybe? Early past the first mile, he opened the gap, but by mile two right on his heels. It's not easy running with a heavy heart. I set two goals for myself this past year, win my trophy and beat the guy who got me last year (even though in a new age group). For the last mile, he watched my back as the ringer pulled away.

Crossing the line, rushed to check my phone, only to find that The Ringer passed. Whatever heart I had left went out to CT. It just wasn't suppose to end this way. The Ringer will be missed and I hope I did the right thing.

Do or do not. There is no Tri

It's time to tri something new, at least that's what CT tells me. Maybe a tattoo? Must say, think I look good in ink! Just like everything else, it starts with a blonde. Her first Tri was a few weeks ago. She did really well for it being her first one, but it also left her wanting more, then this opportunity presented itself. Next thing I know, I find myself part of a relay team. She successfully talked me into doing a Tri, without really doing a Tri (I'm learning).

The race is a small, as far as participation is concerned. It consists of a 750 meter swim, twelve mile bike, and a 5K run, apply named a Sprint Tri-Athlon. The team, obviously CT and I, but we added a third leg as our swimmer, introducing the Mad Dog! The Mad Dog is second generation Superstar and also participated in CT's first Tri. One of the moments I'll never forget is the the scowl on the Mad Dog's face as she went by on the bike, reminded me of a dog going to the vet. Clearly, the Mad Dog's place is in the water, so a team relay makes sense.

Fully admit, I found myself looking at last year's times and projecting our finishing time. CT must have infected me, now I'm doing it too. By my estimation, the Mad Dogs would have a great chance to not only place, but could quite possibly win overall. How fun would it be to roll up and beat a guys team with two crazy girls, I mean rabid dogs?

Morning of prior to check in, take a sneak peak of the race board to see a grand total of six teams in the relay division. Like I said, not a big event, but can't control who signs up. With only six teams, our chances when from good, to in the bag in my book. With three divisions, male, female, and mixed teams it's practically a sure thing that we'll place. Even if all the teams are in our division, with our team, we are walking away with an award.

Prior to start, begin to eye up the competition. Ugh, the first team in view is one of three seventeen year old boys, all lean and in great shape. There it is, that's the team I wanted to beat and by the looks of it we have no chance, dammit! Couple of the other teams don't look like a threat, one of all guys and the other of all women. Heck, we might be the only mixed team, winning by default. Not exactly the way I'd like it, but it certainly takes some pressure off, but still really want to win. Much the same as the youngster men's team, there's also a youngster female team.

The race goes swim, bike, run, so the Mad Dog is first up. At this point, I'd like to point out they start the relay teams with the men's tri-athletes, so here's our 90 pound fourteen year old swimmer battling it out with full sized guys. Once out of the water, the Mad Dog then had to run up a pretty good size hill before handing the timing chip to CT. In a way she had to do two events. I bring this up because prior to the race, the director brought up that the youngster female team had an injury and their swimmer couldn't run, so they would be allowed to have another team member get her chip and make the hand-off. I'm not competitive enough to care before the gun goes off, but in the heat of the moment watching, it matters! Watching fresh legs run up a hill versus the Mad Dog's tired legs, makes a difference. This is no cake walk, this is a race now.

Heading in the bike, we were in third place. The boys had a good two minutes on us, the girls probably a minute. This is where the calm before the storm happens, in this relay world. CT is doing her thing and now it's time for me to find my zone and get ready. Took some practice laps in the parking lot. It wasn't long before youngster girl is following me doing the same loop. Hmmm, is she trying intimidate me? Youngster boy clearly doesn't care, he's just standing talking with friends. With my warm-up completed, now comes the hard part, waiting. Unlike the set start time of a race, now it's a guessing game for when CT is going to come in. Figure I'll really start getting ready when the youngster boy comes in.

Put me down for shocked! First in, youngster girl, I watch their transition and like a shot there goes their runner. Waiting. Next in youngster boy, off he goes. At this point youngster girl has a good two minute lead, which in running seems HUGE! There's CT! She's tired, the way she's coughing, I almost wondered if she was going to puke on me as I attacked her timing chip. Here's where I'll break the story with today's lesson, practice! Getting our numbers and gear, the Mad Dog had our timing chip the whole time, makes sense since she was starting. In the heat of the moment, getting the chip off with the velco strap was a disaster, wasted valuable seconds working on getting it transferred. Down a good two minutes to first and another to second, mentally didn't know if I had enough in me, third place is going to stink.

The goal was to put down a nineteen minute and something 5K. Haven't done anything close to speed work lately and had no real idea if that was even possible, but also knew I couldn't let the adrenaline of being behind causing me to go out too fast and burn out. Knowing there was such a gap between the first two teams and myself, probably helped, mentally didn't give myself any real chance to catch them. Then it happened.

First turn, I saw the bright shirt youngster boy was sporting. I feel sorry for the solo tri-athlete I happened to be passing at the time because I muttered "it's on motha-fer" under my breath! He had a good minute head start, but the fact I could see him, meant there was a chance. He wasn't throwing down five minute miles, like I expected. At the mile mark, I estimated he was thirty seconds ahead of me. Just before the turn around at a mile and a half, I spotted youngster girl and he was close to catching her. At two miles, he was still about thirty seconds ahead. Getting tired, there'd be no way I'd be able to close the gap on him. Any chance we could make this a half marathon? The girl on the other hand, I was right on her heels, got her in the last turn.

Knowing we were so close to giving the boys a run for the money, felt good. Wish I had a little more down the stretch. Probably didn't help that I ran thirteen miles the day before, but still pulled off a PR 5K for myself (though think the course was a little short), a 19:11! While I'm proud of that, I'm more proud of beating my counterpart youngster guy in the run by thirteen seconds. Keep getting older, but also keep getting faster.

Team Mad Dog rocked! Doubt anybody will notice, but it was one hell of a good race between the three of teams. The final results had us all within forty seconds of each other. While I'm super proud of it, think the moral here is girls are no joke, you better watch out guys! CT made up some serious ground with her biking. Had to bite my tongue a little after watching the cocky youngster boys high five and showboat some after looking at their posted times. Really wanted to hit them with the reality check of the situation that two of them got beat by an old guy runner, a girl on a bike, and only really accomplished beating a fourteen year old girl in the water, but remembering how invincible I felt at that age and decided, ahhhh we'll just let life bust them down in a few years. There's the real Yoda life lesson.

Won't lie, really wanted to win the whole thing. It would have made for a really great memory for the Mad Dog. As it turns out I'm rather bitter about it, not for coming in second, but for what happened next. Turns out even though the race advertised two deep awards for each division, they only gave out one award for the relay, so the boys got that. Not sure if that was because lack of teams or poor race organization, but won't move that event anywhere close to the must do again list. Maybe that's what turns a dog into a Mad Dog, but here to say the Mad Dogs will race again, meaner and better! Beware of the Dogs!

The T-Rex

It's summer and time to begin training again. Hmm, doesn't seem like there any time off, may have to check into that. Trying to keep the plate clean of races and maintain focus on only a couple at the end. So, with that said, got talked into doing a trail race this weekend.

Ten miles, hope I didn't bite off more than I can chew. The timing seems perfect for doing a race called the T-Rex when the Jurassic Park movie is in the theaters. Choosing between running or sitting in a theater watching a T-Rex in a remake of a movie, that I thought was poor to begin with, sign me up! Naming a race after a dinosaur, has to be fun, right? The key feature, hence the name, is something called the T-Rex hill. Sounds scary, but I've run some damn scary hills, think I can handle it, no worries.

Rooooooooar goes the start! Fitting, because what starts in a wide open grassy field (mouth?), soon becomes a single track path in the woods (throat?).  The bottleneck resulted in some walking, though I wasn't worried because in my head figured ground could easily be up once hitting the dirt roads (which I thought too up most of the course). This is the point of the story where actually running and knowing the course prior to racing it is probably is a good idea. Put this in my memory book for next time.

Soon after the first mile, finally, here's the dirt road! Did get around a few people, but the first surprise is this dirt road is a constant incline. Before mile two, back in the woods in a single track again. Again more up. Where did the fun go? Oh, here's some down, no wait, it involves jumping across a rocky streams. This almost feels like a remake of the trail race I love to hate!

Somewhere around mile five, dumped out of the woods into an open field for power-lines. Another good sized hill, with fake dinosaur eggs as a prop. Somewhere in this stretch I realized that this wasn't going to be an easy run and the joke was on me. This was now about survival. When I finally came face to face with the T-Rex, I gave in and walked up it. Had I attempted to run up it, it would have drained every ounce of energy from me as it devoured me.

Back in the woods, finally found some downhill, but as a cruel joke it included hurdles of down trees across the trail. I was gassed and really worried about injury, so eased up some here. Got passed by a couple of people, but was more worried about leaving this trail in one piece instead of coming home with bite marks.

The final hill, had to goof off a little for CT, hence my T-Rex impression. In the end, ended up coming in second for my age group. Happy with that, but felt like I'd go extinct a couple times during some of the climbs, so know I need to train harder in the coming months to prepare for my favorite trail race to hate. This turned into a bigger test than expected.

A Climax, To a Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

This weekend started very different than normal weekends. We traveled, to a race, but this time to watch and cheer. I won't even pretend that cheering is harder than the actual running, but let me tell you, it's not as easy as one would think! CT, our Superstar friend, and I were all whipped after spending the day biking and running.

Watching is fun. At least for me, it feels so good seeing a familiar face during a race. Hope it worked the same way for the people we were looking for. But, for as good as it feels not having to go full effort, there's this voice that says "don't you wish you signed up for this and you were doing this?". I ignored that little voice.

No sooner did we get back, when CT reminded me that the Run to Climax is this weekend. The little voice returned. It's been four years since my first time running that race. Tempting...

Broke out the new shoes for this race, going to call them the Orange Crush, with the sole (pun ha) purpose of breaking PR's. First time out in these shoes, they cut me. Been leery of them since, but today is going to be their first race.

Walking to the starting line, maybe the bad luck started with a few sprinkles of rain. At the time I didn't take this as a sign, it actually felt good because of how warm it was. The real sign of trouble started with my watch. Currently, it's been a battle of wills. My watch has been misbehaving for the past few months. It's a miracle I haven't smashed it, yet. Up until this point, it's never failed me in a race...until now. It won't even stay on for more than a few seconds and is constantly rebooting. My mood instantly changes to one of pure anger.

The gun is silent, or maybe I didn't hear it from the steam sizzling off my head. Already in a foul mood, I didn't start close to the starting line. CT continued with the biking and cheering theme from the weekend. At about the mile mark, I toss my watch to (maybe it was at) her, really not caring if it hit the cement and smashed to it's death. Not sure if running on pure anger would be a good thing or bad thing, but by about mile two I estimated I was in about tenth place.

While it would have been nice to see my exact splits from my watch, it just so happened that at each mile a volunteer was calling out times, so I did have an idea of how I was doing. But instead of some relief, it only made me more angry that I've been using that watch as a crutch on some level to monitor how I was doing. Honestly, I'm not this angry guy, no idea where all this is coming from.

Next came irritation that I shouldn't be getting tired. It's warm, but it's not like this is a long race. Mile three, passed a few people and figured at this point I could finish here and at least this day would be over.

Not today, the same people I passed caught me back and passed me! What is happening? Nothing is going my way today! It's been some time since I've been repassed and that by itself is demoralizing. While I could see them, there was nothing left to make a push at the end. At least, now it's over.

Or so I thought, the final trick this day had up it's sleeve came on the final results. Crossing the line, the clock read high 28:2xish. Told myself I finished at 28:30. Get home, look at the official results and they have me down for a 28:48! Obviously, not a big deal, but on a day when nothing seems to be going right and the root of almost all those problems being my watch screwing up, seems only fitting that I question the time they put down for me and have no way to question it.

This is my story of my terrible, no good, very bad day. Even with it being a fairly horrendous day, the Orange Crush did easily crush my previous PR on this course, there is still hope for them. My watch on the other hand, might suffer from a crush of its own.

 

The Funk (1st to get 2nd)

The Funk has been following me. The Funk, isn't a robot controlled Twitter follower that means nothing if it's following you. The Funk, is something real and the damn thing has been following me since turning that F-word. The Funk feels like a disease, an incurable one at that. The symptoms? Horrible runs. Since catching the Funk, two absolutely awful races, countless bad training runs, feel heavy, lazy, nothing seems to go right. You know, generally feeling like the S-word, oh yeah, shit!

This weekend brings us to my hometown. It's not the annual 5K, this time, but for a new half marathon. While not a doctor, I'm not sure if the Funk is contagious, but the morning of, CT is suffering from the symptoms now. Jeez, she may be even have it worse! It was hard even getting her into the car to get to the race, it was like dealing with a two year old!

Attempting to find the cure, went back to my bread and butter pre-race routine. Just need a few minutes to find my zone with some tunes by myself. Can't spill any real secrets what really goes on, but for the moment, felt the Funk drain away. Looking up, locked eyes with CT, the Funk, dies today! Certainly not about to brag and confidently predict it's gone, especially after only self diagnosing healing thirty seconds ago, but in is moment I felt healed.

This race is small, but of course it's the first one. The hope was to have the whole Superstar clan come rolling into town to participate. As it worked out, only one star could make it with us. On the drive up, the joke was what if we could win, yeah right! While we didn't have the clan running, we did have our own cheering section, with signs of course.

Fuuuuuuuunk, goes the starting gun. The young kid I had eyed up prior to the start, think he was gone before the first turn. Per my family's request, kept it under control going into the first turn, so they could get "action" pictures. This will be my excuse for not winning, slowing down for pictures? Who does that? Still to be determined if the Funk is cured. Somewhat surprised that nobody else bolted by, coming out of the first turn was in fourth place. The game plan for this race is not repeating what caught the Funk, going out too fast, not catching the F-word! Oh please, I'm so far removed from the F-word at twenty-three anyway. This time, easy six miles to start, then attempt to get faster for the last half is the plan.

Mile one felt very relaxed. Didn't want to look, but glanced at my watch, 7:13. Ugh, that's faster than I wanted. Am I already screwing up the plan? Then again, currently sitting in fourth place, in a half marathon, and can't feel anybody breathing down my neck. Fourth place in a half would be kind of cool. Maybe just stalk these two, since the pace feels easy, hell maybe they'll die out with some Funk of their own. Mile two, they slowed some, guessing the adrenaline wore off, closer to the pace I was hoping for at 7:30.

Miles three and four stayed at about that same pace. The mind has plenty of time to wander, thinking about all kinds of things, finishing fourth, worry about crashing like when I first caught the Funk, age group awards, strategy, how CT is doing, and of course, if it's possible to finish second in a half marathon. It's never applied, but I've read and know some basic race strategy and I felt like trying some, this may be the only time it will every apply.

The whole time I'd been eyeing the two guys ahead of me, sizing them up, deciding which one looked stronger. When I heard the stronger of the two cough a couple of times, decided it was time to see what would happen if I passed and pushed the pace. Would they keep up or fall back? Secretly, I hoped they'd attempt to keep up, burn themselves out, and all but give me second. One problem with this race, it's a straight line and feels like you can see forever, really no escape. But the next two miles, dropped the pace down to 7:00 minute miles and have no idea if they attempted to keep up, if my plan worked, or they simply let me go. Told myself not to look back, because that would be sign of weakness. Instead listened crossing roads if spectators or volunteers cheered for anybody after me, didn't hear any, so assumed they had to be behind me at a safe distance.

At about the halfway point, I eased back, hoping to conserve just in case something was needed at the end. It was crazy to think it's actually possible to get second place in a half marathon. Mile eight, I could feel it getting warmer, tried not to let that freak me out knowing that my foot was off the gas some. At ten, fatigue was setting in, but told myself at eleven my treat would be taking my shirt off. Even though it felt harder, my miles were very consistent still. It worked out perfect, right about at mile eleven the trail split and the curve it took made it easy to look back down the trail, without needing to turn around to look. Nobody! Honestly, not sure if it came down to it, if there would have been anything left to fight it out at the end had somebody been there. Maybe it was there, just held in very safe reserve. Either way, my attempt to break wills worked.

Crossing the line, Mom's first comment "you're done already?". Does that mean she wants me to do more? General surprise? Maybe it doesn't look like I ran a half marathon? Or did she think I was still infected with the Funk? Mental note, when having spectators, probably a good idea to give them a rough estimate of finish time. Really, not accustom to having a cheering section. As it turns out, she had just got there, good thing I took my foot off the gas and didn't PR!

Took a few minutes recovery, then my plan was to head back and find CT. No sooner did I start to head back to find her, this orange streak with the tell tail blonde pony tail bob comes into view crossing the bridge. Now it's my turn to say "you're done already?". Even though all signs pointed to it being her, I couldn't see for sure until she got off the bridge and the smile came into view, that's her, for sure! Mile wide smile. First girl! This is the girl who was complaining, didn't want to do it, practically had to drag and beg her do do it, coming down the home stretch going to win the whole damn race! Few minutes later, here comes our Superstar friend to be the second overall female and also winning her age group.

The Funk is dead. For good, who knows? Glad to put it to rest though. Can't think a more successful race weekend to kill it off with family and friends. It will be the first and last time I ever pull second place in a half marathon, scraping the Funk off the bottom of my shoe, feels the best!


  

The Five Year Plan

Five years is a long time to do anything. How long did it take me to get out of school? It's crazy to think it's been that long since deciding to run a 5K. The goal started out small. Figured, it wouldn't last more than a few months and like very treadmill ever bought, the idea would soon be collecting dust.

Today, marks the five year anniversary of attempting that first 5K (distance). I don't remember much from that day other than being absolutely horrified of the time it took me. Had no idea how it would change me, nor how much. Never in a million years did I think that it would lead not just to a marathon, but marathons.

Wish I could say I planned it, it's really just coincidence, but five years to the day hit 6,500 miles total. That's not miles on the car, that's not miles on a bike, those are all miles by my own two feet. That number is unreal to me. To put another way, if I ran a 5K every day for these past five years, my total would only be 5,518 miles.

Coming off a couple of really bad races, but taking everything that's been accomplished over these past five years, have to be happy with reaching this point. Here's to seeing what's next...  

A Rascal, Forever In Time

Time. When it's bad, it's described as stopping. When it's good, it always seems to fly by too fast. This picture was taken so long ago, but feels like yesterday to me. To give you an indication, one of my first pictures, a selfie at that, with my shiny new digital camera, back in 2000! Fifteen years later, my cell phone has two better cameras than that one, but his post isn't about what changes over time, it's about what that picture is trying to save, time.

The year is 1998, fresh out of college and on my own for the first time. Working all day, not all that unlike school, but now come home to an empty apartment. Gone are roommates and suddenly it feels very lonely. I'm alone. I don't like it. Being on my own did give freedoms, and one freedom that I never had growing up was getting a four legged friend. Always wanted a dog, but a cat felt like a better choice given their independence for my situation. In my dreams, I pictured a pure white cat with blue eyes.

I had been giving the decision to get a cat lots of thought, over analyzing as usual, but impulse caught me. I believe it was a Sunday when the loneliness got to me and drove to the pet store to "look". What are the chances, but they had a white kitten with blue eyes, it's a sign! I'm doing it! The staff happened to be busy, so I had to wait. While waiting, I wondered around looking at the other kittens and happened standing in front of the display window. In the display case was this kitten that was WILD! It was like watching the Tasmanian Devil from cartoons, it was just this blur of motion, when it did briefly pause, these two HUGE green eyes appeared. This little kitten's eyes were so big they didn't look like even should fit on the little body. It took only seconds watching the energy, the craziness, and the silliness, instantly fell in love. This is my cat. Hey, sometimes dreams are wrong.

Naming her took even less time than falling in love with her. Rascal was obvious, she was into everything! Here's where I could fill this blog with story after story of what made Rascal special and how she became such a big piece of my heart. But, I'm not going to do that. This blog is about sharing things I want to remember and don't want to forget. In this situation though, I'm being selfish and am keeping every memory for myself to fill my recent void, because I know I won't forget.

Sixteen years, almost seventeen, is a long time. Both Rascal and Shy have been a part of my life for almost half of it! With the passing of her brother, thought I've been mentally preparing for this moment. When I got the news that her health was failing, I wanted time to stop, but it didn't. Thought I was prepared, but I wasn't. Seeing how frail she is, this is the exact moment my heart broke:



So many emotions, so many tears. Words can't even begin to describe and this blog post will never do her justice. How this ball of fur, with two huge green eyes, touched me so deeply, is beyond me.

Luckily, still time for one last selfie, a whipped cream treat, little nap and most important daddy girl time.



So thankful that I got to spend a little more time with my girl, it wasn't enough, just sorry I couldn't stop time.
  


Rascal  Girl (August 26, 1998 - May 5, 2015)

Rascal, you were exactly what I needed, when I needed it most. The perfect combination of beauty, independence, class, yet a hunter, loving on your terms, so vocal, with the damn biggest sweet tooth, and above all a rascal! Loved every second, every cat nap, and telling every story blaming your brother for breaking something! You will be with me, ALWAYS! I dream of you often and hope to see you soon. I Love You Baby Girl!  

Unlucky 13

Never really questioned the luckiest of a number before. Sure, I have favorite numbers, some that I prefer more than others, but definitely didn't stress over them, especially the traditional scary ones. Heck, I'd stay on the 13th floor of a hotel. Simply naming the 13th floor the 14th floor, doesn't change a thing, does it? That's further proof how silly people take it, right? While I still don't put much thought into it, Marathon 13 is looming.

The Marathon that beats me every year, stands directly before me. Marathons take heart to run. This year, my heart is heavy with personal turmoil. This course is an awful challenge when everything is working, let alone trying with heartache. Gave it a try, but couldn't do it, what little heart I had working today, couldn't carry me the distance I needed. Much different blog this time around, not going to detail how it went or where it went wrong, just that it did. Goes in the books as my worst Marathon ever.

Do I believe that being the number thirteen had anything to do with it? Nope. Am I glad it's over and I won't see that number again? Yup.

40+

The jokes have been flying around lately. Avoidance, has been the plan, but just like dodging the pot holes in Michigan, they can't be avoided forever. Ugh. Denial, is the next plan. What better way to deny getting older then PR'ing my favorite race time? That will surely show the jokers, there is no aging going on here!

Creeeeeeek, goes the gun. Oh, come on, now the starting pistols are cracking jokes too? I want this PR, bad. It's going to be difficult, not just because it's fast, I'll even admit it I'm getting older, but weather isn't going to help at all. The whole week the temps have been creeping up. It's a late start, which only helps the temps increase. By the start, it's already as warm as I'd ever want it. Logic tells me I've got no chance with this PR, but I want it so bad, there's no turning back. I want it and I'm going for it.

Just before the first mile, I pass a guy already covered in sweat and remember thinking "sure glad that's not me already". Mile two passes quickly, so do three and four. At this point, I finally check my watch to gauge if I'm even close to my goal. Right on pace! Considering it's warmer than I want, this is a very good sign. Watch out, age defying in progress!

As quick as that feeling came, it was gone by mile five. All thoughts of chasing that PR evaporated. I'm not even sure what really happened, but the wheels came completely off. Is this really what getting older is? In my race wanting to prove anti-aging, it felt like somebody handed me the walking cane. The whole rest of the race was a struggle. It probably didn't have to be as bad as it was, but it was defeating knowing what I wanted to accomplish, which only made the feeling worse.

There is a lesson here and of course I should have known better. Based on the conditions, never should have started out fast, but in my head, thought it was my best and only chance to get that PR knowing it was only going to get warmer. Ultimately, never had a chance based on the conditions. Had I started out slower, I at least could have ran a much more consistent race. Instead, it goes in the books as one of my worst. There will be other days and I promise to be a resilient old guy!

There is one bright spot today, I'm not talking about the glaring sun that was beating down on us the whole day either. Got to witness and partake in a first, got to share the experience of watching my cousin finish her first half marathon! She's had to train completely on her own, she doesn't have anything even close to the runner support in my area. That alone, she deserves tons of credit. To make matters worse, she suffered a stress fracture about four weeks before this race. It would have been easy to throw in the towel at that point, but she was determined to finish. Have to be honest, I questioned her determination vs doing the smart, safe, thing, but I've seen this before. You know, that runner's thick headedness. Hmm, is she related to me, or CT?

She's does have a few things to learn, like showing up to the race on time, wearing black on a sunny day, are a couple. We can work on those. I'm proud of her for knowing one of the most important rules though, asking the doctor if it's a good idea to run with a stress fracture, the day after the race!

After I finished, I turned around and went back to fine her. Found her powering up the second to last hill, smiling at some crazy woman who was red in the face yelling encouragement to the runners (if it were up to me, I'd track that woman down and give her a medal). Not sure if she knew it or not, but it was a done deal at this point she was finishing. The fact I found her where I did, she was still moving, believe it or not she looked way better at this point than I did, zero doubt she was crossing that line.

The final mile, took our selfie, caught up with how the race went for her. Highlights included, a big hug from CT (perfect timing for the marathoners coming back and the half marathoners turning around), CT planting the seed of a cold beer after the race, six miles of her thinking about that beer, at some point her willing to trade her finisher medal for a beer to two guys in a truck watching the runners drinking beers, and her texting her husband wanting food and him not able to find her.

My cousin, half marathon number one in the books! Post race, I couldn't resist and had to ask seconds after crossing the line if she was ready to sign up for another one, a quick and resounding "no" came back. What you don't realize, this cousin relentlessly tortured me growing up! Didn't have the heart to torment her with getting her to commit to another so soon, but I liked the thought of it, plus I KNEW what would happen next, because ALL runners do it. Yup, twenty four hours later, she was already thinking about the next one, just like I expected!

I may be 40+ now, but this time the plus means add another runner to the club. 

Hairs Too Many

Standing in front of the mirror, I wonder who this person is looking back at me. It's not the baby faced, good-looking, devilishly handsome, young man (most if not all of that is made up) who used to stare back at me. Instead, he looks like an ungroomed monster. Who let this animal in? The beard is so scruffy and unkept, not to mention big patches of grey, he looks mean and old.

Tradition says it's time to shave, it's the day before a race. Last chance to gain that psychological speed advantage of less wind resistance. Tomorrow's race is end of an era though. Almost five years ago it started, tomorrow will be most likely my last race in this age group. Hate aging and refuse to do it, yet the mirror is clearly telling me it's happening. Well, I've got news for Mr. Mirror, looks are deceiving. Placing the razor down, let us see what this grey beard is capable of.

Even though in my world, the story is about the beard, it's the same story it always is in the real world, my shorts. Within minutes of getting to the event, I'm already greeted to a story of making it into conversation from somebody seeing a guy running around town in shorts in the winter and them knowing it was me. Before long, there's excitement telling me about seeing a couple other people also wearing shorts, almost as if testing me if I care or am worried that my title was somehow in jeopardy. I'm fine, I've got other things on my mind, I mean face.

This past week has been a struggle. For no real reason, I want to see how many months I can go over a hundred miles in a row. Most months, it's never a real concern, easily eclipsing the century mark for miles. With the early bad weather of the month, the Vegas trip, and February being a short month anyway, this streak came dangerously close to ending. To prevent it from happening, I had to run more miles than I normally would going into a race that I had specific goals for. My legs felt a lot like rubber and had a feeling I probably really hurt my chances for the 1:36 - 1:37 time I wanted for myself. Probably, something I'd regret, but didn't want the streak to end this way either, at least it safely continues.

What sound does a razor make? Scraaaaaaape, goes the starting gun. The first mile, didn't have a feeling if "it" was there or not. Legs didn't feel as dead as they did towards the end of this week, but they also didn't feel fresh and itching to go, until. On purpose I started behind the 1:40 pace group. That's my make or break number to determine if it's a good half marathon for myself or a bad one. Then I saw it, until, a pair of bare legs were running with that group. This is still a story about a beard, but seeing another pair of shorts awakened, the monster under the beard. This isn't happening, pace quickens and soon surge past the 1:40 group. As if it were a sign soon after passing a voice from the crowd comes out "first guy in shorts!". Humble, baby face would never have responded, but the monster came back with "not only the first in shorts, but he'll be finishing first in shorts as well". The monster, has some confidence. Time to see if the monster can back it up.  

Mile two I'm not only keeping pace with some people who I consider very fast, but I'm gaining. Mile three, I can't be sure, but I think up ahead is one person who I really wanted to beat coming into this race. It's a little shocking that he's up here, especially when I'm clocking seven minute miles, maybe he's faster than I thought, his breathing though tells he's going beyond his means. By mile four, he's now behind me, the beard, and the monster as well.

Mile five, here's the real world again, a volunteer shouts "Does your mom know you are running in shorts?". I can't help by smile on my way by and reply with "Yes, and she yells at me all the time". This is one time though, I can't help but laugh to myself knowing if mom were here, while she'd not approve the the shorts, she'd hate the monster more, I mean the beard.

Miles six to ten are the straightest, easy to see who's ahead. While I knew I was running fast, it felt relaxed, but I wasn't constantly checking my watch to really know how I was doing. Told myself to conserve some here and save something for the last three miles if I needed it. Then it happened, my first problem, an untied shoe. Ugh, anytime in the past once I stop the wheels come off and it is unavoidable, I'd have to stop and tie this shoe. Of course the girl who I just passed, passed me as I stopped. Starting back up, my pace didn't seem as fluid as it was before, but soon caught and passed her again. In the distance, I can see three more runners, one of which is fast, also in my age group, ugh.

By mile ten, the distance gap had closed, but it wasn't happening fast and I could also feel the signs of beginning to get tired. Thinking back to the first time I ran this race, these were the miles I turned the jets on. Today, the afterburner was used in the early miles and it was going to be coasting to the finish. Why did I keep this wind resistance beard again? It seemed like we were going at the same pace, yet watching the line my next target was taking, I was gaining ground every turn as he took bad angles. The beard may suck for drag it causes, but there is wisdom in it. With about a mile to go, all three were passed and just like the first year that I ran this race, nobody was left, only monster, beard, and I.

It wasn't until the final stretch that I glanced at my watch. My PR sits at 1:33 and while my watch read 1:33 with a few hundred feet to go, I knew wasn't going to get my PR, but still much better than the 1:36 - 1:37 I wanted. While it was damn close to that PR, I was far from dead like when I got that PR and I didn't have anywhere near the amount of facial drag that I did for this race. Had I known it was within reach, not sure I would have been able to replace it, but kind of wish I had paid closer attention to how close I was. Oh well, still happy about my time. My time wasn't good enough to place, but this goes down my first race where not a single person passed me. That has always been a minor goal, came close a few times, but somebody has always been able to get by me, not today. Did they fear the beard? The monster? Or did I simply never take my foot off the gas? It was probably fear of the mean guy in the beard.

Will the new age group start a new tradition of running with a beard? It's more fun to wonder what if, had I shaved, would I have been a hair faster (CT's dad's favorite pun)? Or was it the monster behind the beard? Either way, whatever that mirror sees, I'm here to say the person in it is still getting faster, probably one grey hair at a time.
     

The Weekend We Took Vegas

We arrived via a limo and we left in a limo. By any stretch of the imagination, when visiting Sin City, The City that Never Sleeps, and the Gambling Capital of the World, I think that is considered a success.  Vegas oozes money. Of course, oozes assumes money goes both ways, instead it feels like an instant tap to the wallet. Gone are the days of free drinks in an attempt to grease the wallet to keep it open. Now, drinks empty the wallet almost as fast as the slot machines! At one point, two drinks came to twenty-eight dollars! Two! Who can afford to gamble, with prices like that?

Thank goodness we are only in town to celebrate a birthday and not trying our luck at gambling. I've got no luck when it comes to gambling. My theory on that, everything finds level. While I have zero luck when it comes to winning financially, it's only because I win at everything else, parents, friends, and pets. Since everything evens out, I'd rather have it this way, then winning a few bucks.

I really wanted this to be a surprise trip for CT's day, but had to fess up and tell her prior to us leaving town. For one, I didn't want to be responsible for packing her stuff. Luckily, I did because, it never would have occurred to me that the formula for shoes is three times the number of days in Vegas for women! So, I dodged that bullet, maybe my luck is changing. Hmmm. Second, it's just to hard keeping a secret all to myself for so long. Last year's birthday trip was a complete surprise, but because other people were involved, it made the secret easier to keep while in constant communication planning. It was easier just to spill the beans.

The limo was a surprise that CT had no idea of. As we left the plane, she asked "So, we are just going to take a shuttle to the the hotel?" Smiling and nodding back, thinking to myself, this is going to work out perfect. While the scene wasn't right out of the movies of walking to the door and seeing a guy holding a sign up with our name's on it, it's only because the stupid airline forced us to check our bags (I'll save the rant, but won't be flying the nickle and dime airline Spirit again). He did have a sign, took our bags, and opened the door for us. Awww, this is how the one percenters do it. Champagne wishes and off we go. Even though in Vegas, I  still couldn't bring myself to drink champagne at 8 in the morning.

This trip was never about the gambling, but it is the story. After exploring and generally getting a feel for the city, we decided on which show we wanted to watch, purchased our tickets grabbed some lunch, then it was nothing more than a waiting game until later that night exploring the vastness of the strip. What do you do when you have time to kill in Vegas? You know. CT is  the typical woman, something shiny always catches her eye and in every casino we visited, the slot machines were calling her with their sparkle. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep her away from them the whole weekend, but finally gave in and let her play, telling her should could "waste" two dollars, that was my limit on such a silly thing for the value.

Two pulls later (maybe it was actually four), her two dollars were down to .34 cents. Unsatisfied with the machine she picked, she called it quits. In my head, all the time thinking she'll be done with a couple more pulls. Thirty-four cents isn't going to last very long Vegas.

After our show, which was a good time, our glitz matched the sparkle of Vegas. While GQ magazine is never going to call me, it is fun dressing up and pretending to have some style once in a while. CT looked like a damn model. Part of the fun is people watching and I did expect the later crowd to give off this vibe of a high class night club the whole night. Instead of almost everybody dressed to impress, it was as if a dinner party got dropped into a Walmart. Just a really odd mix of people in the city for various reasons.  Bachelor parties, Bachelorette parties, people like us just out to have some fun dressed sexy, then vast majority of the slogan t-shirt wearing public thinking with one spin they are gonna to hit it big. I suppose I should be happy that at least I didn't see any in sweatpants, but then again I probably just didn't look hard enough.

Before we retired for the night, the sparkle called CT for a couple more pulls, down to ten cents! One more pull and it will be over. Good thing that limo is prepaid, otherwise we'll be leaving Vegas broke! Then it happened, she started to win a few times. Soon, she was up to $1.02 and coming that close to despair, to this now substantial cushion, she decided to call it a night.

The City that Never Sleeps, well I'm calling BS. Not much is open before 10 am and the only real activity are workers maintaining the shine in the early hours. Sure the machines are still running, but that doesn't count in my book.

The second day in Vegas is one of those things that I'll always remember, for the rest of my life. Here comes the back story, I don't want to brag, but my wife is gorgeous. She just is. Case in point, the night before, every couple we'd pass, both sets of eyes were on CT. Locked on. If there was enough time before they'd pass, which wasn't often, it was almost humorous if their attention could be pulled from her beauty. If so, immediately they had to check me out to see who she has with.  My guess, in an attempt to analyse the situation, if I were some super rich tycoon, athlete, famous person type. That alone makes me feel good and appreciate how lucky I am. This morning however, I received a compliment like no other. The server at breakfast took a long hard look at CT his first time seeing her. I know CT didn't notice and I doubt he even realized he did it, but by the look on his face I could tell that time almost stopped for him for those brief few seconds. On the surface, I expected it to be one of those things I'd just smile about later, knowing that only I witnessed it. He made some small talk as we placed our order, but just before we turned to leave, he gives me a good long look and I can tell he's debating saying something, then it finally bursts from his mouth "King Kong's got nothing on you". I know, what a strange thing to say. But immediately, I knew what he meant and I couldn't help smiling as he offered me a fist bump. Pure admiration for the hot blonde I had with me, even King Kong would be envious. Made my morning, may even have made my trip. Damn right, King Kong's got nothing on me!

Later that night, CT convinced me to play a dollar in the slots. We were in a different casino and her $1.02 ticket wouldn't work here, so I gave her credit and issued her another dollar as well.  My luck is so bad at slots, as if you didn't know already. Being it was night, the place was packed and it was difficult to find two machines together. She also couldn't play the machine she wanted to play, so we combined our modest funds and called it a night with $1.34 to our name.

First thing in the morning, her machine was open. Turns out, it must have worked very hard the night before giving out all the winnings because quickly dwindled away more of our money.  Still not deterred, CT decided since it was our last day she had one other machine she'd been eyeing up and felt as though it would get our remaining thirty-four cents (if I spell it out, it will last longer, right?).

We get to her special machine, only to find that it's a minimum of twenty five cents to play. Unacceptable, when we only have $.34, so she finds a penny slot machine close by and this will be our make or break us spot. Not sure if she wanted to see it for herself, or it was guilt of her blowing our hard earned four dollars to this point, but she wanted us to take turns playing.  She'd make a bet and play, then I'd make a bet and play. Knowing I wasn't lucky, I'd only bet a penny at a time. She would sometimes bet one, sometimes five, sometimes more. You know how I said things even out in this world? Well, I think we found the secret of Vegas. I'd loose with every bet I'd make, but she started winning with hers. When we'd lose, it was only a penny at time.  When she'd win, it was for bigger and bigger amounts.  It wasn't long and our $.34 cents grew to over five dollars! We were officially ahead of Vegas. I wanted to run as fast as we could with our winnings.  CT on the other had found her addiction, winning.

At one point she hit some kind of jackpot that allowed us to roll dice in the game. Provided we didn't hit a seven, points kept getting added to our score based on what we rolled. By the time we finally hit a seven, which of course it was me who finally rolled it and stopped our streak, we were up to $26! Turning $4 (well, really $.34 at this point) into $26, I half expected the pit bosses to come escort us from the casino. While I wanted to tell CT to stop, I also realized we were now playing with casino money. Her goal was $30, if she hit that she was done.  Turns out our luck didn't continue, but we must have played for a good hour before giving back some of our winnings, but cashing out with $15.

While not as funny as The Hangover or as interesting as 21, that's our story of taking down Vegas. While our winnings barely covered a drink, it felt as though we conquered the town. On a side note, in two and a half days in Vegas, we walked a marathon in distance, so this may have been the hardest earned winnings as well!    





   

Shy Goodbye

My second kitten came home for a gift for my first kitten. Guilt pushed me to do it, I felt bad leaving my first kitten alone all day and thought a second was a great idea. Little did I know what and how things would change.

It was a completely different experience, what drew me to Shy was he was just a ball of fur, reminded me of well, me. If looking at very early pictures of myself, hair going every direction almost as if electrocuted, his fur the same way. On the ride home, unlike Rascal who constantly attempted to escape from the box, it was almost as if Shy wasn't even in the box, calm. At their first meeting, Rascal was anything but impressed. Shy on the other hand, I'm not even sure he knew another cat was even around. Rascal relentlessly attacked Shy, knocking him over without him having any idea what even happened. I was actually fearful for him and wondered if I didn't make a huge mistake, I didn't.



Naming Shy was obvious. The little guy always seemed to look down awkwardly. His purr, nothing more than heavy breathing. Looking back, I really believe Shy probably wasn't eight weeks old when I got him. Maybe that's what caused him to be inappropriately named. Fast forward a few months and something happened the last visit to the vet and his personality changed. Gone were the characteristics of shyness, and hello friendly, buggy, annoying, pestering kitten.



Shy was anything but the typical cat, greeting guests at the door more like a dog. Begging for rubs, okay, that may have been my biggest mistake teaching him that. Sleeping on his back. Didn't like treats, just his normal food. He did enjoy beating on, terrorizing his sister, which I assume was payback for all that early mistreatment she did to him. Almost everybody who saw him, commented on how big or fat he was. I enjoyed "defending" his honor by responding with "he's not fat, he's fluffy"!

Shy really did have to endure biased parenting on my part. The poor little guy had to put up with probably a ten to one ratio of pictures to the first child. It wasn't fair and I do feel bad for it. I'm sure the amount of rubs went the opposite way, but that was pure effort on Shy's part. Even though he had every right to be jealous, you'd never know it.

It's been hard these past few years not seeing Shy or his sister(s). Thirteen years is a long time to bond, even if it's an animal, they still feel like my kids. It has been a constant worry of mine that the last time I'd see them was the day I dropped them off at their new house and one day I'd get the message that one passed away. It just so happened that I got a chance to watch them for a week, just before the start of the new year. Emotions were high, wondering if they would remember me, would they have forgotten me, or worse would there be resentment.

My first visit didn't go as expected. I really expected all kinds of curiosity, which would make me feel like they remembered me, instead it was the exact opposite. They all didn't seem to care, is this the cold shoulder? Of course it felt like that, but I believe enough time had passed where they really didn't remember me, which is probably a good thing. Speaking of memories, with my visits, I could clearly see the signs of old age. These weren't the kittens who would destroy the house getting into constant mischief anymore. Seeing this, also made me appreciate being able to see them one more time.

It's hard to avoid using the cliche, things happen for a reason. But it really feels like that knowing I was worried about not seeing them again, knowing that they are getting older, and then hearing the news that Shy passed away only a few weeks after getting my visit. I feel very lucky that I got my chance.


Shy Kitten (Early September 1998 - January 14, 2015)

Shy, you really are a great cat. Going to miss all the things that made you special. "Snake-head", who could forget that? No such thing as a bad rub, the harder the better. The purrs, not even sure how to describe them in words, but that little motor sound will always be with me. Butt-knots, your fur really was a mess buddy at times! Thank you for keeping me entertained and company all those years. Love you and miss you!