MBA Cross Country Breakfast and Run

Yesterday, Jude and I hosted the 49th annual MBA Cross Country Breakfast and Run at our house.  Truth be told, I'd had my eye on hosting this event since JP was a freshman.  Part of the reason we wanted a screened in porch was to be able to comfortable host events like this one.

Traditionally, it's an event that officially kicks off MBA's cross country season and the start of school, which for JP and Joe, is tomorrow.  For the past week or two, we've been been working to get the house cleaned up and decluttered, no small task for us.  Friday night, all of us were up until past 11 p.m. taking care of a few final chores in anticipation of the 50 or so people that would be arriving early the next morning.

Yesterday morning, I got up at 6 a.m. and went for a quick walk.  After grabbing coffee to go at 8th & Roast, I went to Publix to pick up a few last minute items for the party.  More bags of ice, paper towels, etc.  Just before 8 a.m., Roderick Russ and Win Bassett arrived.  The boys began trickling in shortly thereafter.  They walked around back and set up shop in the seating area under the deck.  The boys dropped off their water, cell phones, and for a few who were driving, their keys.  

After they stretched, they ran in two groups.  JP, Gabe, and the older, stronger runners were in one group.  Joe ran with the underclassmen a junior varsity runners, who weren't going to run as long as JP's group.  Coach Russ and Coach Bassett - both in tip top shape - ran with the boys, as well.  They left about 8:30 a.m, which gave us a little extra time before the parents began arriving.

MBA Cross Country 2026

In my mind, I had hoped to be in good enough shape to run with JP and the guys a few times this summer and, maybe, on the breakfast run.  That didn't really happen, though, as I've not had the most consistent running year to date and, by far, most of my runs have been three, or may be four, milers.  On top of that, I don't want to get in JP's business.  Running with his teammates is special and something that belongs to him alone.  He needs that outlet, I think.

Parents began arriving a little after 9 a.m., bringing the food and drinks they had signed up for one the Sign Up Genius that Jude had created for the event.  Friday night, she had covered the ping pong table on the deck, and it worked perfectly as a spot for all of the food.  And it was a ton of food!  Sausage and egg casserole, 111 sausage balls (courtesy of Jane White), fruit, tater tot casserole, Chick-fil-A, donuts, bagels and cream cheese, and on and on.  

As the younger boys, including Joe, began trickling in, they grabbed a Gatorade or bottled water from the cooler I set out front on the driveway.  Orange slices and bananas, too.  All needed because it was damn hot with the temperature set to hit 100 degrees (again) later in the afternoon.  In the backyard, the boys began to play corn hold and toss the frisbee.  A few of the boys found the blitz balls and bat JP has set out the night before.  And, boys being boys, the back yard was quickly filled with shouting and laughing as the boys played together, seemingly without a care in the world (even though the start of school was two days away).

Coach Russ suggested the adults start eating as the older boys began to return to their house from their longer run.  Soon enough, the adults were standing in groups on the screened in porch, eating breakfast and chatting amiably.  The boys got their food and went downstairs where they could sit, eat, and talk about . . . well, whatever it is that boys talk about.

At one point, as all of the other boys played in the backyard, I saw JP, Gabe, Calhoun, and Win sitting together in the shade under the screened in porch.  All seniors.  Cool in the way that you can only be at the beginning of you senior year of high school, when the best of year of your life is staring you in the face.  It's a once in a lifetime feeling, in a way, at the very beginning of a once in a lifetime year. 

JP, Win, Gabe and Calhoun ('27)

About 10:30 a.m. or so, the party wound down as families departed to enjoy the last weekend of the summer.  It was a wonderful event that I'm so glad we got to host.

What I'll remember most, though, is a moment I shared with JP at the end of our driveway before the party, as we waited for his teammates to begin to arrive.  As he stool there, shirtless, in the best shape of his life, I told him I was proud of him.  Not only for his accomplishments but for the hard work, the practices, the dedication, the discipline, the leadership.  All of it.  

"Enjoy this year, JP," I said.  It's going to fly by.

"I will," he replied.  "I will."

  

Feeling 60

Thursday morning, after Jude got up, I rolled over in bed as I was waking up and as I turned my head, I heard a crunching sound in the right side of my neck.  Kind of like one of those plastic toys toddlers play with that they stretch and pull to hear the noise it makes.  I felt it, too, and worse still, my neck immediately began throbbing painfully.

My first thought was that I'd herniated a disc in my cervical spine.  That's still my fear, sine I'm still in quite a bit of pain, three days later.  If I want to look to the right - for example, when I'm driving - I have to turn my entire torso to the right.  I've been taking ibuprofen like they's candy, which has helped a bit with the pain.  Yesterday for most of the day, I wore a Salonpas patch on the part of my neck that hurts the most.  It loosened up some but, this morning, as I drink my coffee at 8th & Roast, there is a dull, aching pain in the right side of my neck.

So far, there is no numbness or tingling in my arms, hands, or fingers, which is a good sign, I guess.  Still, my right shoulder is a bit sore, which I guess is somehow related to whatever it is that I did with my neck.

I think what scares me is immediately after I felt, and heard, the cracking in my neck, it felt tired.  It's hard to explain but that's the way it feels when my low back issues flare up.  My back feels tired, then extremely sore, which can last for weeks.  I have low back pain every day, which I've learned to live with, because it's not been debilitating pain since the flareup I had a decade ago.  It's just something I live with.  I'm not sure I could live with pain in my neck, every day, like I have now.  

I suppose I'll make an appointment with a neurosurgeon next week to get my neck looked at, although I'd rather not.  I don't really have time and I sure as hell don't want to hear that I've herniated a disc and I'm looking at surgery.  A cervical discectomy and fusion at C-2/C-3 or C-3/C-4 is not something I want to deal with.  Not now, not ever, if I'm lucky.

I've been 60 years old for one month today.  Let's hope this is not a preview of what my 60's are going to be like.

The Firsts Shall Be Lasts

Yesterday, JP left for his fourth and final cross country camp in Alabama.  It's the first of so many lasts for him, and for me, this year.  

I vividly remember when he went to his first cross country camp - led by seniors, Mitchell Chaffin and Samuel Trumble - and ran well in the two mile time trial.  His performance surprised many - head coach, Roderick Russ, and his older, upperclassman teammates - but it didn't surprise me, not one bit.  Having taken a look at high school race times from the previous year, I knew JP (and Gabe Guillamondegui) would run with the varsity as freshman, and run well.  And that's exactly what happened.

JP's performance in the time trial, at camp, as a freshman, announced his arrival on the cross county landscape at MBA.  That's the way I see it, anyway.  I hope he runs well in the time trial this week, too.  I want JP's final cross country season to be everything he wants it to be, particularly after he was injured last spring during a large part of the track season.  

JP met his MBA little brother last week, a seventh grader from Brentwood Middle School.  When I went to junior high (7th - 9th grades) there in the late '70's, it was called Northside Junior High.  Still the Vikings.  Still green and gold.  A full circle moment to be sure.  JP, a senior, meets his little brother for the first time, much as he meet his big brother at MBA for the first time five years ago.

For every season, turn, turn, turn . . . 

JP's school books arrived in the mail the other day.  Even now, they're sitting, boxed up, on the dining room table.  I eye them suspiciously every time I walk by the dining room, knowing those damn books are doing to dominate his attention soon enough.  He's got, roughly, two more weeks before he begins the last year on the Hill.  It's all so hard to believe.

     

Down From the Mountain

Still processing the tragic death of Glen Hansard in a motorcycle accident two days ago, I'm sitting on the back porch of the house on Florida Avenue in Sewanee, Saturday afternoon, postponing my departure.  Jude and the boys left yesterday and, actually, I have the house until tomorrow, but I need to get home.  Reality awaits.

Our family needed this weeklong getaway to the Mountain, as the summer winds down.  I know Jude would have rather gone to Santa Rosa Beach but Sewanee made more sense.  Shorter distance to travel and the need for the boys - especially JP - to have a place to train for cross country made Sewanee a better choice, I think.  

We had a great week together, one I will remember for a long time.  I had to work more than I would have liked, especially yesterday, but we had plenty of down time.  We played hearts almost every day.  We played bananagrams (a first for me).  We watched movies - Good Will Hunting and The Town.  We all read, a lot.  The boys finished their summer reading for MBA, while Jude and I read for pleasure.  I finished The Topeka School (Ben Lerner) and Guide Me Home (Attica Locke),  both good novels.

Every morning, JP went for a solo run and Joe and I ran together.  What a joy for me, as a father and an avid runner, to see my boys up early and running every morning while we were on vacation.  Really, for me, it doesn't get any better than that.  Running with my boys in my favorite place in the world.    

Joe's cross country coach set a goal for the boys to run 100 miles this summer.  Joe left the Mountain, yesterday, with 94 miles in his pocket.  After his three mile run at home this morning, he's sitting on 97 miles.  Tomorrow, he will hit 100, and hopefully I will get to run the last three miles with him.  Quite an accomplishment for Joe.  

Joe's body has begun to transform this summer, as he's gotten taller, something he's been waiting to happen forever.  He's thinned out, probably due to the running.  On top of that, I can see him being more careful about what he eats, which is a sign of his growing maturity.  My youngest boy is growing up.

We ate at our favorite restaurants.  High Point, Shenanigan's (twice), Papa Ron's, Judith Tavern, and Shakerag.  The Mountain Goat Market was closed for two weeks of summer vacation, so that's the only one we missed, as it turns out.

As always, I can't get enough of the Mountain and Sewanee.  I would move up there tomorrow if I could.  This house on Florida Avenue is my favorite.  It's my third time staying here and it feels like, well, home.  It's around the corner from the football field, which was cool since MBA's football team was at Sewanee for camp this week.  It was nice to sit on the back porch and listen to the practicing in the mornings and evenings. 

If I could figure out a way to take a year off work and live her, on the Mountain, I would do it.  I really would.  

For now, though, time to pack up and head down the Mountain.

  

No More Friday Nights

A little over a month ago, I was at work one afternoon when I heard from my sister that Burger Up was closing.  It's not an overstatement to say that I was stunned, numb even, as I tried to process the news. 

So much has changed in my neighborhood, 12South, the past few years.  It has become less of a neighborhood and more of a destination for tourists who want to spend the afternoon shopping at overpriced boutiques and eating at upscale, soulless restaurants owned by out of town restaurant groups or investors.  It pains me to say this, but it's not really a neighborhood any more, at least not one that I recognize. 

Gone are Portland Brew and 12South Tap Room.  As of last night, Burger Up is gone, too.  In a few months, Epice will be gone.  

That's another story, though, and not one I want to write today.  Today, I want to write about Burger Up, and how much I am going to miss it.  

To me and to those of us in the neighborhood - the regulars, if you will - Burger Up was never just a restaurant.  It was a gathering place.  A place to take your family for dinner.  A place to meet up with friends.  A place to pick up takeout food on the way home from work.  A place to sit at the bar and strike up a conversation with someone from the neighborhood you hadn't met.  Burger Up was all of those things and so many more to so many of us in the neighborhood.

I have so many memories of Burger Up.  My boys, 18 and 14, practically grew up there.  My wife, Jude, used to read to Joe from the children's books that were up front at the hostess stand.  Later, when he was six or seven, Joe and I sat at a table and played Battleship while we waited on our dinner, much to the delight of Burger Up employees and other customers.  

Over the years, I ordered a thousand takeout meals from Burger Up on the way home from work.  My trick was to order as I pulled into the parking lot, so I could tell Jude, truthfully, that I'd ordered on the way.  This bought me a few minutes to sit at the bar and have a drink to unwind after a long day at work.  I needed those few minutes to myself, always.  A quick, friendly conversation with Troy at the bar.  A Friday Night to take the edge off my day, maybe two.

I recall sitting at the bar several years ago with Doug Brown and Mike Matteson, my two closest friends in the world, when Doug was in town for Labor Day Weekend.  Troy served us drinks, while we talked and reconnected with each other.  Strangely, it made me proud to sit with Doug and Mike at my bar, in my neighborhood, among my people. 

Before the pandemic, when Burger Up was still open until 10 p.m., I loved to stop by around 9 p.m. and have a Friday Night on nights when Troy was working the bar.  The dinner rush was over, things were more relaxed, and we talked about, well, so many things.  Music.  Books.  Plans.  Life.  Often times, Troy turned the music up as closing time approached and I sat there, content, listening, talking, and just being.  

During the pandemic, when the world shifted on its axis in a way that frightened us all, Burger Up provided a sense of normalcy by staying open and serving takeout meals to people in the neighborhood.  While so much had changed, it was reassuring to know that Jude and the boys could still order a Woodstock, a Bison Burger, or a Byrd, and I could bring it home to them for dinner.  That simple thing meant so much to my family and me in a time of great uncertainty.

I think Burger Up was one of the first places I returned to, in public, during the pandemic.  I vividly remember sitting at the bar when Troy was working - with customers only allowed to sit in every other bar stool - having a drink but feeling really, really nervous about it because of Covid-19.  Troy and the other staff wore masks.  I so needed the social interaction with others so badly after being isolated at home that I was willing to risk being exposed to the virus.  It all seems so silly now but I can assure you, it didn't feel that way then.  

The last few years, I almost always stopped by on the way home on Wednesday nights, after I taught class at Nashville School of Law.  While I waited for my takeout order, I sat at the bar, had a drink, and made notes in my laptop to capture what happened at class that evening.  

So often, a bar takes on the personality of someone who works there.  Usually, it's the manager or the longest serving bartender who sets the tone for other staff and creates the vibe for customers.  That was true during my run at Edley's more than a decade ago, when Julie, Ashleigh, and Cara were bartending there.  

It was even more true at Burger Up.  Troy Akers was, by far, the longest tenured employee of Burger Up.  Miranda Pontes, who conceptualized and originally owned Burger Up, hired Troy in the early days.  And he never left.  And because of that and, more importantly, because of kind of person Troy is, he became the heart and soul of Burger Up.  

As I think Troy will be the first to tell you, he grew up at Burger Up, and became the man he is today.  Through our interactions with Troy at the restaurant, so many of us from the neighborhood were lucky enough ride along with on his journey, to watch him grow up.  To watch him find himself.

Troy was Burger Up and Burger Up was Troy.  In many ways, they beat with one heart.  Many, many times, I drove by Burger Up, made the block, and peered in the front window of the restaurant.  If Troy was tending bar, I found a parking place, and walked inside.  Every single time, Troy's face lit when he saw me and we shared a hug or a handshake.  I was home, even if only for a few minutes.  Often times, before I could sit down at the bar, Troy already was making a Friday Night for me.

What's a Friday Night, you ask?  Good question.  It's a drink Troy and I invented on a night years ago, when I was sitting at the bar.  Uncle Val's gin, Jack Rudy tonic, a splash of soda, and a lime.  On that night long ago, I took a sip, and said, "damn, Troy, this tastes like Friday Night."  He laughed and replied, "that's what we'll call it, then.  A Friday Night."  

Thus was born my all-time favorite drink.  A Friday Night.  Over the years, I probably had a thousand of them at the bar at Burger Up.  

It's funny but every single time I sat down at the bar, there was a person, or a couple there together, whom I could tell were regular customers of Troy's.  Which, for Troy, is the same as saying they were his friends.  Always upbeat, always kind, always smiling, always giving of himself to to his customers.  Troy's aura permeated the bar and, really, the entire restaurant.  The employees wanted to be like Troy and to be liked by Troy, so they treated customers with the same love and kindness that he did.   

In the end, to me, that's what Burger Up was about.  Love.  It's what Miranda Pontes wanted Burger Up to be about when she opened the restaurant.  It's what she bequeathed to Troy when she left, and it's what Troy carried in his heart every shift he worked until Burger Up closed its doors for the last time, last night.

Love.  

Love of customers.  Love of service.  Love of co-workers.  Love of music.  Love of life.  

As sad as I am, and as angry as I am at Jim Lewis, the owner, for closing Burger Up, I take comfort in the fact that love can't be closed.  Love is too powerful to be contained inside the four walls of a restaurant.  

The love that was Burger Up will live on forever in the memories of those of us from the neighborhood who experienced it firsthand over the past 16 years.  It will live on in the relationships between co-workers at Burger Up, some still there last night and others long since moved on in their lives.  

Burger Up was never about the food, or the drink.  It was about love.  

And it always will be.

    

         

Dusted by the Kid

As a dad, there always comes a moment when your son is better than you.  He beats you for the first time, one-on-one.  He shoots a lower score than you on the golf course.  Or, in my case, when he leaves you behind on a run.

Like yesterday, I remember when it happened with JP.  We had been running together for a while and he was starting to push the pace, which I loved.  Still, I decided to let him know who was boss, so I began sprinting over the last half mile of a run through Belmont U.  As we turned on to Belmont Avenue a few blocks from home, I looked to my right and smiled because he was nowhere in sight.  The old man still has it, I thought.  Suddenly, I saw him on my immediate left.  He smiled, stuck his tongue out - like the Roadrunner and Coyote - and off he went.  Just like that, it was over.

Yesterday, after our 5-mile run, I gave Joe the talk.  The talk that every runner-dad has with his son at a certain point in time.  

"When we're running, if you feel good, just go," I said.  "Don't wait on me.  Don't feel bad for me.  Just go.  I'll catch up."

His response?  "Okay."

I had noticed, lately, that he was pushing the pace on our runs.  Chomping on the bit, so to speak.  He was ready to run faster - faster than me - and I needed him to know it was okay.  Just like his brother, Joe is a sweet kid with a big heart.  He doesn't want to hurt my feelings by outrunning me.

What he doesn't realize, of course, is that all I've ever wanted is for my boys to outrun me.  Running is a metaphor for life.  It always has been.  I want JP and Joe to outrun me . . . in life.  That's all I want.

So, today, on the Mountain Goat Trail, as we reached the turnaround point of our 3-mile morning run, I turned to Joe and smiled.  "If you're feeling it, go.  I'm fine."  

And off he went, like a young dog let loose from a leash.  Running joyfully.    

It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.  Me at 60, doing what I love most, running, and watching my 14 year old son's image grow smaller and smaller as he ran away from me under the canopy of trees on the Mountain Goat Trail, perhaps my favorite place in the world to run.   

In those moments before I lost sight of him, I felt so happy.  And . . . proud.

Watching my boys run stirs my soul in a way little else does.  For the rest of my life, I will remember this morning, when Joe ran away from me on the Mountain Goat Trail.  

 

Running with the Kid 2.0 on the Mountain

Much to my delight, I am back on the Mountain, two weeks after spending a few days up here for my birthday.  

For a week of vacation, time we're staying at the same house I stayed at on Florida Avenue - the family for the first time and me for the third time, counting last summer.  It's almost perfect for us, particularly the location.  Jude can walk to Abbo's Alley from the house.  We're also walking distance from McGee Field at Harris Stadium, where Sewanee plays football.  Coincidentally, the MBA football team is up here this week for camp.  In the mornings and evenings, we can hear them practicing from the back deck of this house, which is pretty cool.

This morning, shortly after JP left for a 12-mile long run, with progressions for the last six miles, Joe and I left for a 5-mile long run on the Mountain Goat Trail.  It was relatively early, about 7:30 a.m.  As we ran down University Avenue, we passed several of the football players walking to the Fowler Center to get ready for the morning practice.  Joe was absolutely terrified I was going to do something to embarrass him in front of the football players.  I held off acting stupid, although I did say hello to James Orey when I saw him.  He looked up, half asleep, surprised, and waved at us as we ran by.

It's a little more than a mile from the football field to the Mountain Goat Trail.  Joe and I ran it easily, then turned on to the trail and off we went under the canopy of trees on one one of my favorite running routes of all time.  Relatively cool, shady, and almost deserted.  It was the perfect time and place for an early morning long run (recognizing, of course, that not too long ago, a long run for me was eight or more miles).  

What's even better, though, is that Joe was the perfect companion, for me, for a long run.  We ran at nice clip - 8:30/mile - and I felt like he was pushing the pace a little bit.  I held him back, purposefully, because we were running long and the pace absolutely didn't matter.  In fact, the pace needed to be slower than training pace.  What's cool, though - and I can remember feeling this way with JP - is that Joe appeared to be running comfortably even while I was struggling a bit.  

With all of the running he's been doing this summer, Joe's body has transformed.  He's gotten taller, which is great for him, and he has slimmed down, not that he was ever heavy.  Still, his appearance is lithe and sinewy - lean, really - and he's starting to look like a runner.  He's been dedicated to running this summer and it's paying off for him.  He seems to enjoy it, too, which is key, of course.  He also seems more confident, which is one of many things running can do for you.

What I want, as a father, is for Joe to learn that being disciplined and working hard at something always pays off in the end.  I just want him to see how good he can be, to test the limits of his body, and find out what is there.  I want him to put the work in and do the best he can.

I think it took a tremendous amount of courage for Joe to decide to run cross country again and to train as diligently as he has this summer.  The shadow JP casts as a 3-time all state cross country runner is a long one, I know, and I don't want Joe to get lost in it.  I want him to learn to love running for the reasons I do and not to measure success by race results.  

All day, I've been on a bit of a high, thinking about running five miles with Joe on the Mountain Goat Trail at the age of 60.  I want him to take pride in taking care of his body, in running regularly, is staying in shape, in honoring the gifts he's been given by God.  It's all there for him.  I think he knows that.  

What I know is that it's a real pleasure to run with Joe.  It's a gift, as I always say, to run with one of my boys.  Every single time.

Coffee and orange juice at Stirling's Coffeehouse after our 5-mile run this morning on the Mountain Goat Trail.