November 26: Days Before Christmas, Turkey Trot, Survival

...A couple days before Christmas, Andy [E. B. White] took Roger for a ramble--carrying their skates--down Charles Street and to the iced-over lake in the Public Garden, where they found mittened children and overcoated men already skating...

In the passage above from Michael Sims' book The Story of Charlotte's Web, E. B. White takes his new stepson skating.  White wasn't a very athletic guy, but he often went skating as a kid on the river and lake close to his childhood home.  He wasn't Scott Hamilton, but he could stay vertical on a pair of blades, which is better than I could do.

I've never been very athletic.  The only sport in which I participated in high school was Cross Country, and I wasn't that great.  In fact, the second day of practice, I bruised my heel bone, and I couldn't run for about a month-and-a-half.  By the time I went to team practice again, half the season was already over.  I think I ran in a total of three meets.  I eventually got a junior varsity letter, but I think it was because the coach had a couple extras.

Tomorrow morning, I'm going to be running in the annual Thanksgiving Turkey Trot.  I registered for the 5K race this year, and I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to finish it.  I kind of had an accident at work last week.  I fell off a chair and smashed my chest against my desk.  I don't think I broke a rib, but I certainly bruised something.  It's been sore ever since.

I haven't tried to run since my little accident, so I'm not even sure I'm going to survive tomorrow morning.  My goal isn't to win or place.  My goal is survival.  If I finish and don't collapse, I will count that as a success.

And then I will go to Burger King for breakfast with my family.  It's our little Thanksgiving Day tradition.  Run my ass off and then eat some greasy fast food with my kids and wife.

Say a prayer for Saint Marty tomorrow.  He's going to need a little extra help.

Or a lot of extra help...

September 8: My Son on the Bus, All Mythed Up

Well, my son fairly floated onto the school bus for his first day of school.  When he saw the bus at the end of the street, he started jumping like an over-wound toy.  He kept jumping until the bus stopped in front of our house.  Then, he did what he's been wanting to do since he found out he was going to be riding on a bus:  he climbed the steps, got strapped into his seat, started waving goodbye, and disappeared around the corner.  I couldn't get over how small he looked in that big, yellow monster.

When I got to work, I had a few things I needed to accomplish for my day.  In between registering patients and answering phones and putting together medical charts, I needed to make up a quiz for my mythology class (done), figure out my lesson plan for mythology (done), go over some poems for the literary magazine I'm helping to edit (done), and type in a blog post (getting done now).  I'm still not completely comfortable with the material for my mythology class, but I have a plan in place now.  Therefore, I'm a little more at ease.

Just got a phone call from my wife.  My son survived his first day of school without being reduced to a quivering, fetal ball of tears.  My wife asked him if he ate his breakfast.  He held up his fingers and said he drank two milks.  "There weren't any notes in his backpack telling us he's kicked out of the program," my wife said.  "That's a good sign."

Saint Marty needs to get his Greek mojo flowing this afternoon.

Does this kid look old enough for school?