The Boston Marathon and Other Stuff

I find myself eating supper at the computer, on a break between private lessons, eating the other half of the steak I grilled last night, drinking an excellent pint of St Peter’s Old-Style Porter. I used up all my reserves of patience, kindness, and goodwill toward mankind at school today. Sitting quietly, eating slowly, reading about spring planting and Hilary’s slow but sure demise, squishing my bare toes into the carpet – this feels nice.

I’m alone in my house which is for sale but no one is looking at. Susan has been gone for 6 weeks now, I think, starting our new life in Cincinnati.

Last night I said good bye so a few more of my private students, and next week I will say good bye to the rest of them. For me, leaving Texas has been like slowly peeling off a band-aid. I had no idea how many meaningful relationships I had until they started peeling off one by one. I’ve lost track of teary eyed last words, and there are still many more to go.

Here comes my next student.

OK, I’m back. As I taught we watched the huge hail-slinging tornadic thunderstorm pass by a few miles to the north out the big windows in my office. We lucked out tonight. After I finished teaching I ran 7 miles as the sun set, and the sky grew grey, and the sliver moon came out. I love when the moon is just a sliver like that. It was a good run. I thought some clear thoughts and worked through some things I have been grappling with.

Well, anyway, I have not blogged for a long time. I’ve been working on the musical for the 4^th graders and other urgent things. Tonight those will have to wait. I should write about my trip to Boston.

The Boston Marathon

It was one great day after another. I spent Thursday and Friday with my sister Cathleen. She is an artist, and knows all the amazing places along the coast. So we breathed in the sea air, and looked at beautiful places, and took pictures and film for two full days. We ate at some interesting and fun places. I even took an airplane ride, and met a some guys who restore airplanes. That was a hoot.

Then Susan arrived and we all did Boston on Saturday. I had to pick up my race packet, and so did several thousand other runners, and it was like a big party all over Boston. We walked along some of the “Historic Trail” and got some great pictures, rode the subway, met some interesting people, and had a great day. I think we even went out to the beach in the middle of the night to see the ocean under a full moon.

Sunday we went to New Hampshire and Maine, saw more great sites, and ate at the Maine Diner.

Monday was the race. We got up at 4:30 and left at 5:00. AM! Cathleen drove me to the subway station and I rode in from there. All the runners met downtown and we were bussed out to the starting line. Just imagine how many buses it took to transport 20,000 runners. If you ever want to meet an open, fun, talkative group of people, hang out with runners before a marathon. Everyone is excited and nervous. Everyone has a story, and, after you listen to their’s, most of then want to hear yours too. We left Boston at 6:15.

Once we arrived in Hopkinton we all waited in a large grassy area which they called, “The Athlete’s Village.” It was, in fact, a field between two school buildings lined with porta-potties. We waited and waited and waited. Two and a half hours of waiting, most of it in line at a porta-pottie.

They finally let us walk down toward the starting line, about ½ mile away. By the time I got there I had to go to the bathroom again, so I spent another 20 minutes in line. I left the porta-pottie three minutes before the race was to start. That was a little nerve wracking. I had made a pre-race plan which included tightening my shoe laces once I got to my place at the starting line. Well, I didn’t expect to be so late. So I was in a hurry, and ended up tying my laces too tight, which bothered me the entire race, but I didn’t wan to stop and fix them.

I never did see the guys at the front start the race. The street was packed with people as far as I could see up the hill, but it took us 10 minutes of walking to arrive at the starting line. From that point on, there was a constant stream of people cheering us on. I have never seen anything like it. 26 miles is a long way, and I have no idea how many people it takes to fill both sides of the road for 26 miles, but they were there. And they hollered for us like we were the Kenyans.

For the first 8 miles I was so engaged with the crowd that I kept missing my splits. I was high fiving kids on the side of the road, and looking at everybody. Then I realized that I had better concentrate on the race, so I started to focus on my time and got back on track.

As far as the run itself, there is a lot of pretty steep downhill running for the first 6 miles, and it tore up my quads. I was uncomfortable running down hill the entire race after that. The big hills come between mile 17 and 21, which is, for me, the toughest part of the race. The hills slowed me down a bit, but I felt alright going uphill.

I developed a cramp in my calf around that time, and I was a little worried about it, so I decided not to really push it during the last 5 miles. I was really hurting (well I had already run 21 miles, hadn’t I?) for the last 5 miles, but I always really hurt then. But it was so great to be running and finishing the Boston.

Crossing the finish line was a combination of happiness and pain. I hurt really bad. I couldn't move very fast, and I even had to ask a volunteer to untie my too-tightly- tied shoelaces because I could not even bend over.

But, I was ecstatic. Finishing the Boston was the fulfillment of a dream that started 15 years ago. I had to over come training issues, injury, school schedules, more injuries, and life in general. I have run thousands of miles, many of them long, hard, and lonely. I had to learn how to train, how to rest, how to eat, how to pace myself. I finished but failed at two marathons, one ending up in the emergency room. I qualified once and then disqualified myself by using all my allowed days off from teaching. All of these things came flooding into my mind during the last few blocks as I could see the finish line ahead, and the huge crowd was screaming like I was winning the race, and I ran those last few steps of a long, long, long journey.

I felt very alive.

Well, I walked across Boston Common, took the subway, met Cathleen and Susan, ate some supper, rejoiced a while, got on the plane back to Dallas with a bunch of other marathoners and finally got home at 1:30 in the morning. I scraped myself out of bed in time to get to school. Before school they surprised me. Each class had made a poster for me, and all the students were in the hallways cheering for me. I ran a “Victory Lap” through the school, all the students cheering and high fiving me! I’ve got no words to tell you how moving that was.

You see, during the race, they were all tracking me online, so they knew how I was doing, and when I was finished. The staff made such a big deal of it to the kids, they were just so, so fun. All week everyone was congratulating me and asking questions.

During the marathon I took some video clips of the race, and myself. So I made a short video of it and showed it to all the kids during school the next week. I talked to them about reaching for a big goal, and never giving up.

So you can see, except for the guy who actually won the thing, I think I had the best possible Boston Marathon experience, extending from way before the race to way after.

There is more to say, but I’m not going to say it now.

I wanted to write about my cultural experience last Sunday. I went to Texas Stadium for the big Cinco de Mayo celebration. I sort of expected folk dancing and music. Well, it turned out to be sort of like the State Fair, you know, booths of various kinds, three big stages with big-name groups, carnival rides. There were 100,000 people expected to attend. It turned out to be 99,999 hispanics and me. Who knew? Well, I had a great time. I tried all the various foods including: Elado – a Styrofoam cup filled with corn, sourcream, something else fatty, cheese, and topped with chili. Papas – deep fat fried potato slices with lime and hot pepper. Chicarron con cuerito – a large wafer (probably fried pork fat) topped with cabbage, cheese, peppers, tomatoes, and pork skin. Yes, pork skin. I had some orange “chips” that looked like wagon wheels with hot sauce pour on top. Let’s see, then, of course I had to try a Margarita and various Mexican beers.

I heard three or four cool bands playing ranchero music and wearing white leather pants. I’m not sure I can get used to the star guy in the band, you know, the one every screams at, playing an accordion. There was some very loud Mexican rap, and some young guys doing some random talking/screaming stuff that I didn’t get at all.

Everyone was very friendly, and didn’t seem to mind me being a gringo, although I did get the feeling that they thought I must be lost somehow.

At times I felt very tall.

OK, I’m glad I ignored all the other stuff I had on my list tonight and got this down. I’ll try to get some pictures up tomorrow.

I

Spelling Bee?

After 50 years of life I find most of my days filled with familiar experiences. But occasionally I experience something for the first time. Yesterday I found myself driving to a spelling bee, as a participant, dressed as JR from the TV show “Dallas.”

Who knows what tomorrow might hold - interplanetary space travel, being offered dessert but not eating it, playing my violin in tune?

March 31

I’m Not Kidding

I ran my last 20 miler on Saturday. It took 3 hours. Then, after a little macaroni and tuna I packed and moved boxes for 7 hours straight.

Sunday morning I woke up and stepped on the scale. I had gained 2 pounds.

That ain’t right.

March 24

Spring Break

Spring Break? It was neither spring, nor a break. The first leg was a drive to see Andy and family. What a hoot! We had a great time, and got to spend some time with our grandchildren, the most brilliant, beautiful, charming children on the planet from my objective point of view. It was a warm visit but cold, cold, cold weather.

Then we drove through constant rain to Cincinnati. We moved Susan into her new apartment and looked at a million houses for sale. We took a day off to get lost driving around downtown Cincinnati, have a nice fight about getting lost in the car, look at the Art Museum, the Underground Railroad Museum, and walk around the city center. Then we went to see “Tyler Perry’s Meet the Browns.” This is a Black movie. The theater was mostly filled, and Susan and I were the only white people in the place. What a hoot! They were so funny – interacting with the movie: “Don’t you believe him girl, he’s lying to you,” “Don’t you shot that boy – augghhh!” It was a riot.

I had to run a 20 miler on Saturday. There is a park close to Susan’s apartment with a path about 6 tenths of a mile around. You can run a lot of laps in 3 hours.

It was good to see my new town. I can’t believe we are living in another “I” state…

Kindergarteners don't speak English

Kindergarteners don’t speak English. True, they do know many English words. The fact that they know many English words is misleading, so misleading as to fool the novice into thinking they have communicated with a Kindergartener. Anyone who has ever attempted to give a group of Kindergarteners directions knows that plain English will not be heard, comprehended or acted upon. One has to speak Kindergartenese.

For example, let’s suppose you would like your class to sit close to the movie screen. Now suppose there is a student sitting too far away. The uninitiated might say something like, “Johnny, please move up.” Johnny might just as well be deaf. He isn’t exactly sure where “up” is, but he has an inkling, and he does know he can’t fly.

One might try, “Move forward,” “Please move closer to the screen,” or even “Stand up, walk that way (pointing) and sit down.” All of these will be met with a blank stare, if indeed you can manage eye contact.

First of all, Kindergartenese has no prepositions. In, over, forward, sideways, behind, next to, up, down – none of these words mean anything to a Kindergartener.

Second of all, Johnny is sitting right next to an autoharp. He has never before seen an autoharp, but he is sure that messing with this baby would be a lot more fun than whatever you are going to show on that screen. He has already translated your intentions by non-verbal means and he knows exactly what you want him to do, but speaking to him in plain English will never get that child more than 6 inches away from that autoharp.

Plain English is impotent in such a moment. You have to speak Johnny’s language. First, get eye contact. Second put your hand within one foot of the exact spot you want him to be, point firmly to it, and speak these words, “Johnny, sit here – NOW!”

This he understands.

Just because they don’t speak English doesn’t mean they aren’t smart.

Heaven or Hell?

Yesterday, while curled up in a fetal position on the floor waiting for my body to stop screaming at me, I thought the worst was over.

Then Susan took me to the orchestra.

Their second “piece” was one of those chorus and orchestra combinations. This one by Poulenc. I suppose I’m just not smart enough to understand it. From my chair it sounded pretty much like 100 angry, despondent people shouting a hopeless, anguished diatribe. And no wonder they were upset. There was no melody to be found, only a string of strident, harsh notes accompanied by aimless harmony in search of forward movement but never leading anywhere. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it repeated over and over, stomping it’s musical feet demanding that the listener give in and just feel crappy to the bone. I have no idea what the text was, but it must have been something like, “LIFE SUCKS! YOU SUCK! LOOK AT ME!!!! YOU ONLY IMAGINE YOU ARE HAPPY!!! IT’S ALL AN ILLUSION!!!! LOOK AT ME!!!! YOU! IN THE FOURTH ROW, PAY ATTENTION!!!!! DON’T YOU KNOW THERE IS NO MEANING TO ANYTHING???!?!?!!? I HHHHAAATTTEEE EEEVVVEEEERRRRYYYYTHHHINNNNGGG!!!

Six movements.

I started to wish I was running again because that did suck but at least I was getting in shape.

But then, after intermission, they played Tchaikovsky’s Symphony Number 4, in F minor. Like a huge eraser, it wiped out all the ugly. In turns thrilling, beautiful, exciting, magnificent, I clung to every note with all I was worth. It was so beautiful that ever since it stopped the whole earth seems beautiful too.

The irony is that Tchaikovsky’s life sort of did suck. I suppose, in a way, our lives are like a concert to the people around us. We have a choice to make others feel like dieing or feel like living.

18 Miles and Girl Scout Cookies

I had to run 18 miles last Saturday. When you run longer than 75 minutes or so your body has used all available food energy and you have to eat something. I was out of the packets of “Goo” that runners eat on long runs so I took some “Thin Mints.” They worked like a charm – I felt great the entire run.

Then I went to the periodontal surgeon on Tuesday who drilled a hole in my jaw and inserted a big metal screw. When I returned to consciousness the nurse told me I couldn’t run for two weeks.

Like that was going to happen.

But she was convincing enough that I didn’t run all week until a 5 miler Friday. Today (Saturday) I was scheduled for 20 miles. What the heck. I loaded up my thin mints and took off.

Yikes.

I ran the first hour realizing that this run was going to get ugly. I ran the second hour with increasingly heavy legs, and the last hour was very, very ugly. I have hurt that bad but I don’t remember when.

I will, however, come hell or high water, be ready for the Boston Marathon.

Snow in Dallas

March 4

Up and down our block you could see people out taking pictures of the snow. I was right there with them. We received a modest 2 or 3 inches here, which is 2 or 3 more than I had seen since coming to Dallas 3 years ago. You would have thought it was a foot.

My 6^th graders begged to go outside to play in it. Poor little deprived Texans. Who knows, I thought, when they will see snow again. So out we went for 10 minutes at the end of class. We all ran around and threw snowballs like a bunch of kids who had never seen snow before. Some of them were. Kids. Who had never seen snow. Ten minutes was long enough to get good and cold and wet.

I wonder when I’ll stop feeling like a kid when it snows. Maybe it was me who really wanted to go outside….

Feb 20

Post t-shirt incident, I have committed further clothing faux pas this week. I am told by my loving wife, that my favorite pants are made of, “Summer weight” material. Who knew? Last I heard, it was only the females whose wardrobe was dictated to by fashion designers. You know, no white shoes before Easter and all that. Apparently wearing the said pants out of season is actually rather offensive - to the female sub-set. This becomes problematic when your workplace is all women.

Now I have a moral dilemma. Before, while I was ignorant, I could wear my cozy linen pants whenever I wanted to, completely oblivious to my fashion sin. Now I am conscious of the “law” and, therefore, knowingly fashion-offensive to some clothing-rule-sensitive people.

It sucks being a person who cares what people think.

In the end, the pants win – at least in Dallas. After all, we don’t really have winter here, just varying shades of summer. They remain in the rotation all year-‘round summer.

Feb 11

I made another T-shirt faux pas. Rats. Life at an elementary school is complicated. There are so many shirts to keep track of. Wednesday is the black one, Monday is the “Team” shirt, and Friday is Spirit Wear. I leave them all at school, so I don’t have to remember before I leave the house. Crickey! I can’t even remember what month it is, let alone which Shirt-day.

Then there are the special weeks, like homecoming and drug week (or is that don’t do drugs week?) and holidays. Elementary teachers have a jillion excuses to put on jeans and a t-shirt. Or slippers, sweats, or pajamas.

Well, I missed an entire t-shirt event this week. Somehow didn’t get in on ordering the shirt, planning to wear it, and wearing it.

There’s no place to hide when you miss a t-shirt day. There I am, slacks and blue dress shirt in the midst of a see of brown crew-necks. Of course, elementary students and teachers have no problem pointing this out: “Where’s your _______ t-shirt Mr. Fuchtman?”

However, the truly dreaded clothing event at an elementary school is dress up day. I have faced mountains, rivers, and oceans with less trepidation than seeing a kindergarten class traipsing my way in cowboy hats, boots, and bandanas. You have no idea what a 5 year old can do to a lesson plan with his bare hands and a cute little cowboy hat.

Just you wait, St. Patrick’s Day is coming up. I’ll be ready.

Feb 4

I travel east in the morning to school. When I ride or bike I see the sunrise developing but I never see the sun. In mid-winter I left my house in the dark, and, if running, arrived just as the sky was waking up. Lately it is brighter.

I am often reminded of CS Lewis who once wrote that faith in God is like pre-dawn. We know there is a sun, not because we see it, but because we see the world around us more clearly.

Great Start

This year is starting out big, right on the heels of Mark shipping off to Iraq, Ian Andrew Fuchtman arriving on the planet, and qualifying for the Boston January has already seen the successful Waltzing incident and yesterday, after several years of waiting, planning, scheming, learning Irish tunes on pennywhistle, saving, shopping, and dreaming I finally did it- I ordered my first set of Uillean bagpipes. Bagpipes. I am ecstatic. So is Susan….