The Kid and the Kick

 In J.P.'s second cross country race of the season a couple of weeks ago, he finished second when his 8th grade teammate, Cade, out kicked him at the end.  I was curious about the race J.P. ran because he stayed on Cade's shoulder, a couple of steps behind him, the entire race at USN's river campus.  Cade finished the two mile course in 11:18 and J.P. in 11:19.

The thing I really noticed was that afterwards, Cade collapsed to the ground and J.P. milled about, not really breathing hard.  I wondered, to myself, if J.P. had run his hardest or if he had coasted a bit.  I waited a few days, then we talked about it on our Sunday morning run.  He told me initially he was okay finishing second and with the race he ran but the more he thought about it, the more he didn't like it.  That, of course, was music to my ears.

Jude and I had agreed that it didn't look like J.P. had run his hardest, for whatever reason.  After our run, my message to J.P. was simply that I didn't care if he finished 1st or 50th, as long as he pushed himself and ran his hardest.  

We also worked on his finishing kick.  I told him how, in my earlier days of running, I used to finish every run with a strong kick the last quarter mile or so.  No matter how far or fast I had run, I always finished strong.  He listened and nodded, without comment, but I could tell he was taking it all in.

The day before his race last week at Vaughn's Gap I showed him a poster I have of Steve Prefontaine.  The caption on the poster is what always has spoken to me:  

"To give less than your best is to sacrifice the gift."  

I love that quote so much.  We talked about it a bit ad what it meant, to me and to him.  

Then, Wednesday as week ago, J.P. went out and won the cross country race with an 11:10 over the 2 miles course at Vaughn's Gap, one he never had run before.  Most impressive, to me, was that he ran even with Cade - or slightly ahead of him - the entire race, then kicked the last quarter mile and finished 10 yards or so ahead of him.  A really strong finish for J.P., just like we talked about and just like we practiced.  

I've probably watched the video I took of the finish of the race 25 times.  It inspires me to see my son run. To see the results of the hard work he has put in as far back as last spring and early summer.  To see him compete and, yes, to see him win.  

What impressed me the most, though, as I told him later, was that after the race, he walked back up the outside of the finishing chute and congratulated his teammates as they finished.  As each one crossed the finish line, J.P. called them by name and reached out and slapped hands.  

Encouraging and congratulating his teammates like that was a leadership move and it told me all I need to know about my son.  He gets it.  

And I get to continue to watch him grow, compete, and best of all, lead.  

I am a lucky man.

HCR, Anthony and Habitude

I'm a creature of habit.  Always have been.  I draw comfort from the familiar.  Same restaurants.  Same bartenders.  And, yes, same coffee shops.

Amidst all of the uncertainty and fluidity of life, it anchors me, I think, to go to the same to a few places and have the same experience, day after day.

In mystery mind, I bookmark certain periods of my life with where I was most comfortable during that time.  Bongo Java.  12South Tap Room.  Edley's.  Frothy Monkey.  Portland Brew.  Burger Up.  Honest Coffee Roasters.  Some of those are past haunts.  Some are current.

At each one, I've connected with someone there, or sometimes more than one person.  Over time, we occupy that unique space between acquaintances and friends.  Not crossing boundaries but occasionally developing a real friendship that transcends the every day transaction of business that accompanies buying a cup of coffee or having a drink.

At Bongo Java, it was Chad and Megan in the early days.  Later, George, Adam, Chuck, Nick, Ayla, Hunter, and EJ.  Especially EJ.  I had a long run at Bongo Java. 

12South Tap Room.  Sweeney.

Edley's.  Spencer, Cara, Ashleigh, and Julie.  There, I had an intense run of a few years.  A picture I took at shift change one evening is framed and on ether and on the wall at the far end of the bar.  Cara, Ashleigh, and Julie.  It's a bit of a relic, now, as all but Julie have moved on from Edley's.

Frothy Monkey.  Grant and Josh, both of whom I still keep up with on Instagram.  During the pandemic, though, I stopped going there, for some reason.  Portland Brew became my neighborhood go to for morning coffee.

Burger Up.  Alejandro and Troy.  I matriculated there after I stopped going to Edley's as much, for one reason or another.  It's my current hang.

Which brings me to Honest Coffee Roasters and Anthony, whose last day working there as a barista is today.  After 4 + years in Nashville - working at HCR and trying to build a music career a session drummer - Anthony, his wife, and their two young children are moving home to Cleveland, Ohio.  

I think - I know, actually - that Anthony has mixed feelings about moving home.  He feels like he didn't make it, whatever that means, as a drummer in Nashville.  Covid-19 had something to do with that, of course, as the music industry ground to a halt for almost 18 months.  With two young children, too, there's a real benefit to living near family in a city (Cleveland) where housing is more affordable than it is here.  I get that.

Yesterday morning, I got up early, and picked up a gift card for Anthony at Home Depot.  As he made me a final latte, we chatted briefly and shook hands.  I gave him a note I'd written to him late Friday night, after Jude and the boys were in bed.  My advice - fatherly, maybe - was not to give up on his dream.  Keep chasing it.  

I also wanted him to know that when my mom had Alzheimer's disease and was at Maristone then, later, NHC place, Honest Coffee Roasters was a port in a storm for me.  Often times, I wrote about her in this space as I sat in the same seat in the coffee shop, drinking a cup of coffee that Anthony had made for me.  I wanted him to know that by having a smile and a kind word for me, or just chatting about music briefly, he had made a positive impact on my life at a time when I needed it.  

I felt, and feel, at home at Honest Coffee Roasters, in large part because of Anthony and others like him.  Burger Up is the same way for me.  A place where I can duck in for a drink or two and a quick conversation with Troy at the bar.  I'm not sure why but those type of regular interactions with people on the periphery of my life center me.  It's something I need.  

Anthony, and Troy, are winners.  I watch the tone they set for other employees in the way they go about their work and in the way they connect with patrons.  Connecting.  I think that's they key.  Connecting with other employees and with customers.  

I'll miss Anthony, for sure.  I'll miss Troy, too, when he leaves for India, probably later this fall.  

Maybe I'll still be a regular at Honest Coffee Roasters and Burger Up, or maybe I'll find another place.  

As Tom Petty sang, "It's time to move on.  It's time to get going.  What lies ahead I have know way of knowing."

A photo I took of the guys at Honest Coffee Roasters, clowning, one morning a couple of weeks ago.  "A prom picture," Anthony (on the left) said.   

       

    

Saturday in the Park

In the mid-80's, the Bangles sang about Manic Mondays.  For our families, it's the Saturdays that are m manic, especially in the fall.  And we wouldn't have it any other way.

JP had a baseball doubleheader in Franklin at 9 and 11 a.m., Joe had a soccer game at 9:50 a.m. at First Presbyterian Church in Nashville, Joe had a baseball game at Warner Park at 3 p.m., and JP had a baseball game in Franklin at 4:15 p.m.  Whew!

The final tally?  JP's Dodgers swept both games, Joe won his soccer game, Joe won his baseball game, and JP's basketball team got blown out.  4 - 1 on the day.  Not too shabby.

JP played more catcher than normal in his games.  Our regular catcher, Nico, is out this fall after breaking his wrist at camp toward the end of our spring/summer baseball season.  He pitched, too, and was rusty, which was to be expected.  He got on base several times and ran the bases well, as he always does.  

In his last at bat, he ripped a legit curve ball into right field for a single.  For some reason, JP always has been able to hit a curve ball.  He keeps his hands back, waits on it, then generally hits a line drive to right center field.  That's precisely what he did yesterday.

It was funny watching the look on some of our batters faces after they saw a curve ball, some for the first time.  The kid pitching for the Franklin team had the best curve ball we've seen, a 12 to 6 pitch that he could control reasonably well.  A couple of our boys - Cyrus and Eli - struck out looking at a curve ball.  As they jogged back to the dugout, they had puzzled looks on their faces, like someone had changed the laws of physics and not told them about it.

Senor Smoke (aka Benton) got us out of a jam and picked up the save in Game 1.  He protected a two run lead by retiring the three batters in order in the last inning.  Two strikeouts to end the game, the last one looking.  A "rec league" strikeout the umpired laughingly called it after the game when I ran into him in the parking lot.  He wanted the Franklin team to swing the bat late int he game.  I agreed.

Benton played, maybe, his most complete game he's ever played for me.  That's saying something because he's been a Dodger from the beginning, eight or nine years ago.  He pitched great and with control, hit the ball well, ran the bases extremely well, and made an outstanding play at first base in the last inning of Game 2.  He also offered to catch because he knew we were short on catchers.  Watching him mature - because he battled his emotions - has been one of the best things for me about coaching these boys over the years. 

In Joe's game, he was 2 - 2 with a pair of hard, line drive singles to center field.  The pitcher wasn't throwing particularly hard but still, it was nice and consistent hitting.  He fielded a ground ball at shortstop and threw the batter out at first base on the play late in the game.  At age 9, not a lot of boys in our league make that play.  Joe loves baseball, for sure.  He's set to start at pitcher in the game this Saturday, which should be fun to watch.

After Joe and I got home, I dropped him off with Jude and JP and went to Burger Up to pick up takeout.  Mostly, I wanted to sit at the bar for a half hour, have a drink, and unwind.  For me, that's always enjoyable after a Saturday full of coaching baseball or, occasionally, basketball.  It helps me decompress after being "on" all day.  I got our dinner and it was back home for some Saturday night football.  

Sunday morning, JP and I went for a 5 mile run in the 'hood, finishing at Portland Brew.  We ran a quick pace, 7:50 per mile.  He could have gone faster but it was a good training pace for him.  For me, it was a tough run.  The Kid can run.

Now, as I finish my Monday morning coffee at Portland Brew, it's off to the races, with a 7:45 a.m. call to a new client and an 8:30 a.m. meeting with a current client.  Maybe it's another Manic Monday after all.

I found this in my bucket of baseballs while pitching the boys batting practice weekend before last.  One of my coaches - Tom - had his son, Riley, sign it when he was first learning to play baseball.  He'd lost it - probably because Riley brought it to a practice at some point and it found its way into my bucket of baseballs.  Tom wanted it for a keepsake and it made me happy to return it to him.  

It's funny, the things we remember as parents - the moments that are so special to us - our kids often don't think twice about them.  One day, when they're parents, they will.  The world turns and life loves on.  

The Gift

Yesterday morning, J.P. and I got up early and drove to Shelby Bottoms for what was to be an easy, five mile trail run.  He's only run the trails with me once, maybe twice, so I was looking forward to running with him there again.  

We parked at the Vinny Links clubhouse, stretched on the porch in front of the rocking chairs and wooden benches, and walked down the short set of stairs to the road that runs between the nine hole golf course and the driving range.  There was a hint of a hint of fall in the air as August turned to September over the long, Labor Day Weekend.  Maybe, just maybe, the long hot summer is nearing an end.

As J.P. and I ran down the road toward the railroad trestle and the first short trail that runs along the Cumberland River, I glanced to my left.  Where four city softball fields used to be - fields my friends and I played many city tournaments games on in our younger days, when those type of things had outsized important in our lives - is nothing but green space.  To look at it now, you would never know that for many years, softball games were played on those lighted fields virtually every night of the week from March - October in summer and fall leagues and tournaments.  It's all gone.

J.P. eased into a comfortable rhythm as we normally do when we run together.  He ran to my left, just off my left shoulder.  We didn't talk much.  We just ran, comfortable together with the sound of our breathing keeping us company.  

Quickly, I discerned it wasn't going to be an easy run, as I had planned.  It was impossible to tell if I was pushing the pace or if J.P. was pushing the pace.  A little bit of both, I guess.  

When I run with J.P. - now, as opposed to a year ago - he's like a young colt who has grown into his body and is just beginning to realize how fast he can run.  I can feel that in him.  It's a real thing, this energy, almost an awakening of sorts.  It's magical and it's beautiful.

As always, running the trails at Shelby Bottoms didn't disappoint.  When we reached the turnaround point at the 2.5 mile mark on the wide grass trail covered by the tree canopy, a shadow of disappointment crossed J.P.'s face.  He wanted to run farther, I could tell.  I wanted to keep our run at five miles, since he'll have cross country practice this week and I had run six miles the day before.

As we ran back toward the starting point, we pushed the pace even faster, neither of us breathing hard.  How lucky I am, I thought, to be able to run this hard and to do it with my 13 year old son.  How lucky I am to have this ability and the health to run hard on these trails I have run on so many times over the years  and to have a son who wants to do run there with me.

As we emerged from the last trail and on to the bike path, I told J.P. I wanted him to kick it hard the last quarter mile, to work on his finish.  At the 4.75 mile mark, I said "Go!" and off he went, almost at a sprint.

I picked up my pace a bit, then smiled as he easily pulled away from me.  He has a gear I don't have any more and one I'll never have again.  I kept smiling, with pride, because I know what it feels like to run the way he does.  Effortlessly and naturally, to lose yourself in the run.  He finished and was walking toward me, cooling down, as I ran up to him at the end of my five miles.  We nodded, fist bumped, then walked back to my truck together.

It's strange but J.P. is inspiring me as a runner.  His growth and success has made me see my running in a different light.   Obviously, I love running and it's a huge part of my life.  Somehow, though, my love for running is different - deeper, even - when I share it with him.  J.P. makes me want to run more and for a different reason - for him, as well as for me.  

What a gift he's given me, my oldest son.  A deeper appreciation and love for running, even after all these years.  A gift for which I can never repay him.           

Back to Shelby Bottoms

With the cancellation of Bonnaroo 2021, I found myself with some time on my hands.  Not necessarily free time but time I had set aside for myself after a jam packed August at work.  I was supposed to be in Monteagle Wednesday night through Sunday night or Monday morning but, alas, it wasn’t to be this year. 

Truthfully, it might be for the best, given the rising explosion of Covid-19 cases due to the Delta variant.  All of the guys in our ragtag Bonnaroo group had voiced concerns - Huge, Bonnaroo Matt, Bill, and Seve. A couple bailed early and I was having second thoughts, although there was a possibly it might have been an epic Bonnaroo w/smaller crowds a beautiful, cooler weather after the remnant of Hurricane Ida blew across Tennessee.

This morning, I dropped JP off at MBA, then drove to Shelby Park to run the trails at Shelby Bottoms.  Those trails are my happy place, for sure.  By far, the majority of my Saturday or Sunday long runs have been on the Shelby Bottoms trails.  In some ways, those trails helped make me the runner I am today, because I’ve done so many long runs there.

I ran seven miles today, starting at the clubhouse for the Vinny Links golf course.  The trails were a bit muddy but not to the point where I had to run through mud and water.  I was able to skirt around most of it.  The weather was nice with the temperature under 70 degrees.  My background music was a Blue Mountain playlist on Spotify.  Listening to Blue Mountain while trail running at Shelby Bottoms is almost a perfect morning for me.  

The trails are different now, with two tornadoes touching down at Shelby Park over the last decade.  Last year’s tornado did a lot of damage and destroyed many old growth trees.  Sadly, the Cornelia Fort trail hasn’t been cleared yet.  The .8 miles on that trail is my favorite part of a long run there, so I hope it’s cleared eventually.

Crime, where I’m having my post-run coffee, is starting to fill up, too much so for me to feel comfortable. Very few people are wearing masks, so I’m going to leave sooner that I’d planned.  

Labor Day Weekend 2021.