Where's Davis

I had a significant personal achievement last night.  At the gym I did essentially the same workout as Davis.  I suppose I should define “essentially”.  What I mean by that is that I lifted the same weight that he lifted and for the same number of repetitions.  I’m kind of proud of that.  It doesn’t even matter to me that me that I was doing squats and he was doing bench.  At my age you have to take pride where you can get it.  Addie just spanked me mercilessly in a game of Wii Tennis and I need this one right now, okay?

Okay if you don’t get the difference, squat is lifting with your legs and bench is with your arms and chest.  So Davis…  I suppose some readers might not know who Davis is.  Davis is our spare emergency child.  We keep him stored in another state in case something happens and we need a replacement for one of the main kids.  Somebody recently said that Davis is handsome like me, implying that we look alike, and I suppose implying a bit more than that.  Davis gave that a big thumbs down.  Everything about Davis is big, including his thumbs.

When that “handsome like me” kind of thing happens, Davis usually claims to be adopted.  He may actually have something there.  I suppose it’s possible for some people to perceive that Davis looks like me.  I, on the other hand, actually see a pretty strong resemblance between Davis and a famous TV personality.  I’ve attached a couple of pictures as evidence.  See if you can tell which one is the Jack Links Beef Jerky Spokes…. What is the right term here?  Spokesquatch?  Maybe it would be easier if I said see if you can guess which one is Davis.

I used to spend a lot more time with Davis before we sent him to storage in Illinois.  In fact it is from spending time with Davis that I picked up my current hobby.  I think I mentioned that I am learning to throw the hammer.  Addie swims and wants me to do that with her, but picture me in a Speedo.  Now wipe that image forever from your mind, and never let me see that look in your eyes.  There are things a man in his 50's shouldn't wear.  I don't have to wear those things to throw hammer. 

I can’t say that men in their 50’s are exactly flocking to The Hammer Throw in spite of the more favorable wardrobe options.  I do have some company.  By some standards it’s catching on.  Here, in fact, are some things less common than men in their 50’s who throw the hammer; men who have given birth, men who understand women and Christmas presents I have given Marsha that were just the right thing.  Statistically speaking I suppose I am somewhat rare, say one in…How many 50-something men are there in Georgia?

I like throwing the hammer even though it’s so unusual.  I must admit that I rarely tell people I throw, but only for fear of having to demonstrate in public.  The Hammer throw keeps me in some semblance of shape, allows me to learn a new skill, and gives me a way to stay connected to the spare emergency child while he’s away in storage. 

Davis and I once threw in the same meet, in fact, sort of in the same flight.  We were throwing the weight, which is the indoor version of the hammer, shorter and heavier so it doesn’t go as far.  We were only sort of in the same flight because we weren’t exactly throwing the same weight.  His was the version for college age and open competitors.  I was throwing the version for real men with life experience and maturity beyond 50 years.  Translated that means his was 35 pounds and mine was 25 pounds.  I was ahead of him briefly, just before he took his first throw.

It doesn’t bother me that Davis threw further than me that one time.  I’m bigger than that.  I don’t have a problem with llll….loooo…finishing second to my kids whether it’s Wii Tennis or throwing heavy stuff.  Or actually I should say that I wouldn’t mind if I ever did finish second to one of them.  After all, we really aren’t competing against each other.  I compete in a different age group when it’s convenient to me.  Sometimes I compete in a different species group, reference the pictures.

another story

Before I get to another story, as previously promised, I have to give a quick thank you.  After reading my previous post, a great friend quickly dropped off a health enhancing gift for me.  It's cranberry apple granola.  Yes, fiber.  Some genius in Ely, MN found my life calling before I did.  It's not so much the product as the brilliant name they gave it that excites me.  Well, actually I had the product for breakfast this morning which did lead to a different kind of excitement.  But the name!  Think of the name you would give cranberry apple granola.  That's it!  They named it Crapola!  How cool is that?  It's brilliant.  I'd love to be a distributor of Crapola.  On second thought, most of the people I work with would say I am already.

So anyway back to my safety.  Lots of people have asked me how Benn got to be a good Whitewater Slalom paddler.  I'd love to take credit but too many people know otherwise.  I made the mistake of getting in a boat and trying it myself.  Even worse, I did it in public. 

Instead of just driving him to practice and races when he was too young to do so himself, I decided to get a boat and prove my prowess.  I did stay in very good shape.  My arms and shoulders got stronger.  I learned to hold my breath a long time, but only those of us who were upside down a lot needed that skill.  I became tolerant of being cold and wet.  I learned all the jargon.  In fact only a few things about the sport really escaped me.  Those few things I never quite mastered included waves, holes, drops, fast moving currents, gates and precision paddling.  Other than that I pretty much had it dialed in.  Oh yeah, and speed, I never quite mastered speed, but really that was only because those other things kept getting in the way. 

I was more of an endurance guy.  Endurance is key in paddling.  Once while returning from a race in Colorado, I drove ten straight hours with only one break for gas and bio-requirements.   Benn slept.  We weren't talking much because he had just gotten a ticket driving in Oklahoma. 

I did have some career highlights though other than endurance driving.  I was nearly a human highlight film.  I only missed it by two words.  I was more of a human depth gauge.  Refer back to aforementioned breath holding.  Highlights: 1) I once got pinned, flipped, washed under a rock and fortunately out the other side.  2) I missed a move so badly that I ended up cartwheeling end over end in a hydraulic between gates 8 and 10.  You won't see that in the Olympics.  3)  I was once pinned so long between two rocks that I delayed the race.  It was US Nationals.  It was on local TV.  I never saw the video, but I picture myself like the Nascar wreck that everybody tunes in for.

Constantly delivering that level of entertainment value takes a toll on an athlete.  Even Brett Favre may really have to stop one day.  That's not why I retired though.  Benn got older and moved out.  He stopped getting so many tickets and drives for himself, but that's still not why I retired.  For a while after he moved out I continued to answer the call on occasion.  He called me once to run a creek after work that he and Jim knew was high from the rain.  They spent so long rescuing me from a big keeper hydraulic I was stuck in that we finished the second half of the creek in the dark.  I didn't get as many calls after that, but that's still not why I retired.

Remember from above my great friend?  She has a daughter named Kate.  I met Kate when she was probably 14.  Kate had very little paddling experience but wanted to learn.  Who could better teach her what not to do?  I started training with Kate.  She had some actually good coaches as well, but I was her partner.  We practiced, trained and even traveled to some races together.  It was during that time that I did something Benn never did.  I won the illusive Alabama Cup; a series or three citizen races.  Maybe not as spectacular as going to the Olympics or cartwheeling in mid-race, but a good thing nevertheless.  I don't think Benn ever actually competed in all three races the same year which is a requirement to win the cup but that's beside the point.  He never won the cup.  I did.

Kate won the cup.  Only two or maybe three years after she started paddling, and in fact the year after I won the cup, the greatest victory of my slalom career, Kate beat me like a rented mule.  Then she slept while I drove all the way home.  That's why I retired.  I was no longer a champion.  I was again an endurance driver.  Kate is in college now, studying in France this year, and still loves me dearly, or so I will remind her when she comes home.  Do you suppose Kate's mom after all these years is finally trying to give me back the crapola that Kate beat out of me? 

whether you wanted it or not

In case you don't remember, which will encompass the vast majority of people, none of whom will actually come to this site, I blogged my way to China and back when Benn went to the Olympics in 2008.  All of the people who were devoted followers of that blog have asked me occasionally since I stopped, if I was ever going to blog again.  Well the answer for both of you is finally, whether you wanted it or not, yes.

So why is the title unrelated to the Olympics?  Well I am a regular person and there's no guarantee at this point that I'll be in London.  London 2012 is a long road from here in many ways.  Don't worry.  There is plenty to talk about that is related to the Olympics; especially opportunities for me to spend money to give at least one family member a chance to get there.  I'll talk about that stuff.  I won't promise to recycle old jokes like "five ring fever" and "MOO."  But surely I can keep two people on the hook without cheesy joke recycling. 

In the mean time, can you stand it if I talk about some regular stuff?  Like what happened today?  I felt pretty crummy all weekend.  You see I have taken up throwing the Hammer and Weight like my other son, Davis does.  It's a violently strenuous activity that I have no business doing, so of course I'm doing it, duh.   And of course I have developed a problem with my neck and shoulders.  In my defense it's safer than when I paddled Whitewater Slalom with Benn, but that's another story. 

This story finds me grumpy, irritable, rude and even mean at work.  Few people noticed the difference, but I decided to call the Chiropractor.  On the way to the Chiropractor I noticed I also felt feverish and related it to the lower left side abdominal pain I had experienced for two days.  I made it in to see two Doctors in one day for separate maladies.  They both said the same thing.  They said it with a straight face, which hurt even worse.  I should perhaps lower my expectations of forever being able to jump in and do whatever activities my kids choose to do.  I forgave them since they really don't know me very well.

The Chiropractor looked at ex rays and seemed to be wondering how that neck held up a head the size of mine.  He actually asked if I had ever had a serious neck injury. I said, "Dude, what do you expect?  It's been holding up this majestic sized head for 53 years."   He treated me and wants me to come back in a couple of days.  Since my wife and son think he's a bone and joint magician I'll go again.  I did promise to tone down the lifting and throwing violence for this week.  We'll see how that goes.

The other doctor lost me when she started talking about something to do with diving and tickling.  I have never combined those activities, so I waited patiently for the antibiotic prescription I knew would come soon and kill my fever.  Then she mentioned my Colonoscopy from earlier this year.  Nothing gets a man's attention like talking about Colonoscopy.  Well one thing does but not the same way.  Anyway I started paying attention.  After picking up my two, yes two antibiotics, I googled Diverticulitis.  Truthfully, I googled Diver and google knew how to spell the rest.  Essentially it sounds like I need more fiber in my diet and I'll be fine. 

That's okay for me.  I like Raisin Bran, but I feel for those around me.  Fiber turns me into a serious crop duster.  Not a familiar term for you?  Have you ever been walking through Walmart and suddenly wondered if a kid nearby didn't quite make it the 400 yards to the one restroom in eight acres of merchandise?  Chances are it wasn't a kid and you were crop dusted.  Seriously, do I need to explain that further?  Ask a kid what I mean.  And yes Walmart is probably the most common place for crop dusting of this sort.

So now it should be easier for you picture me involved in all the activities I expect to blog about over the next few months.  I suppose I could have started with something a little more flattering for me, but that's way harder to come up with, and what the heck.  As you read this blog, I'll be the stiff necked crop duster in each story.