Going to State!

I've not written about too much but track season has not been what I hoped it would be for J.P.  The injury that kept him from running for six weeks derailed his season before it got started.  Although he cross-trained his ass off while he couldn't run - elliptical, stationary bike, weight lifting, swimming - it turns out that you can't get in prime running shape without . . . running.  

Since he's been released to return to running, he's been running on alternate days for the most part.  He's not doing too much distance, weekly or on any given run.  He's still cross-training, too.  

When I saw JP run in the Scott Hartman Invitational, I knew it would be a longer road back than I had hoped.  He didn't have the sustained, top level speed and stamina that he normally would have.  Late in the race, runners passed him, which is not something that ever happened before.  To me, it was like watching a sports car drive that didn't have a fifth gear or a bird try to fly with a damaged wing.  

It was incredibly painful for me to watch runners pass JP at the end of races - at MBA and Harpeth Hall for the Metro Championships - when he ran out of gas.  I was emotional and my heart hurt for him as I watched him struggle.  Runners, from his school and other schools, passed him late in the 3,200, 1,600, and 800.  JP's was still posting respectable times in these races, particularly compared to an average high school runner.  What is hard for him, though, is that he's never been an average high school runner.  He's always been outstanding.

When he ran in the 3,200 last Monday in the Region Track Meet, the hope was that he would qualify for State.  He ran with his teammate, Gabe, the entire race.  On the last of eight laps, however, Gabe outkicked him and won the race, as JP finished in second place.  Again, the fifth gear was missing.  The next night, after West and East Tennessee ran their Region Track Meets, we learned that JP had finished in 9th place in his division, one spot short of qualifying for State in the 3,200.  Still, JP's 9:29:38 was a PR for him in the 3,200.  

He was very, very disappointed.  Again, my heart hurt for him.  It was small consolation, really, that the runner who grabbed the eighth and final spot beat him by seven or eight seconds.  That's an eternity, really, in a race like the 3,200.  On Friday, he still had the 1,600, followed by the 800.  I was hoping for a miracle of sorts.  And that just what I got.

JP and Gabe quickly moved to the front of the pack in the 1,600, with their friend, Clark S. close behind.  The three of them ran together for the first couple of laps before it became clear that the race was between JP and Gabe.  JP actually took the lead, briefly, in the third lap.  When the boys hit the first turn on the final lap, though, Gabe surged ahead and stayed ahead.  JP just didn't have the last lap speed to stay with Gabe, who crossed the finish line more than five yards ahead of JP.  

What was encouraging, though, is that JP's 4:19:17 was  PR for him in the 1,600.  Not the 4:18 he was hoping for but still damn fast and still a PR.  The question, though, was would it be fast enough to qualify him for State?

A few minutes later, JP walked up to me on the infield at MBA with a huge smile on his face.  "I'm in," he said.  "Qualified eighth."  

"Are you sure?" I asked.  "Yes, Coach Russ said I'm in," he replied.  My heart soared as I hugged him.  My heart soared higher, if that was even possible, as I watched teammates walk up and congratulate him.  Coach Perry walked up to me and gave me a hug, too, then told me how proud he was of JP.  "He's such a great kid," he said, which meant a lot.  He knows how hard JP has worked to get back to some semblance of his running self. 

How did I feel?  Relieved for JP, of course.  Proud.  Mostly just incredibly happy for him.  His hard work had paid off.  At last.

An hour and a half later, JP ran the 800.  Surprisingly, he stayed right with the leader, Ryder O., for the first lap, which they ran in a blistering 55 seconds.  As they started the second lap, Ryder hit the gas an pulled away, finishing just over 1:51, which is a smoking fast 800.  JP ran through the tap, which we had talked about leading up to the race, and finished second in 1:56:78, just slightly off his PR of 1:56:52 from last year.

For the night, JP ran two PR's and almost had a third.  He's not there but he's getting there, I think.  It looked like he raced with joy again, with a little more confidence.  He  ran free, especially in the 800.  No pressure.  He just . . . ran.  I hope that continues next week at State.  I think it will.

  

 

Old Friends in the Bluegrass State

As I sit her in a coffee shop in Shelbyville, Kentucky (Sixth & Main Coffee House) on Sunday morning, I am struck by how deep old friendships can be.  

After we lost one of our own, David Easterling, a little over a year and a half ago, our group committed to trying to be more intentional about getting together and seeing each other, as a group or two or three at a time.  To tighten the circle, if you will.  In some ways, it has worked and in some ways, it has not worked, at least in my view.  

JP and I had a delightful visit with Neil Lynch and his wife, Cindy, in Columbus a year ago December, when we visited Ohio State and watched Tennessee get trounced in the college football playoff.  I went to a Braves' game last fall with Doug Brown and stayed overnight with T.B., which was great.  My family and I just missed Greg Westfall when we stayed at his  house in the mountains outside Brevard, North Carolina, when were on spring break a couple of months ago.

Doug, ever the organizer, put together a trip to Louisville, Kentucky, and surrounding areas, in part because Louisville is relatively easy for all of us to get to.  Plus, Mary Easterling, David's wife, lives here and it gave him a chance to visit with her.  In attendance from Thursday - Sunday were Chris Reber (Fort Wayne, Indiana), Jay Miller (San Francisco), Neil Lynch (Columbus, Ohio), Mike Matteson (Nashville), Steve Buzzell (Nashville), Mike Corley (Sarasota, Florida), and Greg Westfall (Hilton Head, South Carolina).  Those are some of my oldest friends dating back to junior high school at Northside.

It would have been easy, very easy, for me not to make the effort to drive up to Louisville, because I was not going to miss JP running the 1,600 and the 800 in the Region track meet on Friday, especially after he just missed qualifying for the State meet in the 3,200 on Monday night.  Since the 800 was not scheduled until 8:20 p.m., my choices were to drive up after he ran, which would put me arriving well after midnight due to the time change or leave at 4:30 or 5 a.m. Saturday morning, so I could arrive in time for the 9:30 a.m. departure for the bourbon trail tour.  

I chose the latter, as I did not want to miss a chance to see my guys, even if it was only for 24 hours.  You know what?  I am really glad I did, because it was so good to see everyone and it was great fun.

Doug rented an Airbnb - nine or 10 bedrooms - on the outskirts of Shelbyville, Kentucky.  It has a swimming pool, unused by us, a gaming barn (pool table, ping pong table, darts, golf simulator, etc.), and an entertainment room, complete with a karaoke machine.  

Aided by Chat GPT, Jay designed a round robin pool tournament over two days, which matched all of us up with different partners.  Chat GPT kept up a running commentary after each game, which was hilarious.  After winning my first two games - including one in which I unscrewed my cue stick and used to top half to make a difficult shot late in the game - I played poorly in the semi-finals and lost.  Neil won the tournament, quietly, because of course he did.

As I mentioned, I arrived in time to depart by shuttle - shout out to our driver, Holly Wells - for a guided tour of Bourbon Trace.  Now, my idea of fun is not to sample bourbon at 10:15 a.m., but the tours were relatively interesting.  The early highlight was Doug being cut off during the tasting at the second stop on the tour, Four Roses.  Somehow, he was already reasonably drunk but, mostly, just acted silly.  

Holly quickly figured out that our group, with the exception of Jay, was less interested in touring actual bourbon making facilities than have a drink or two.  Once that was established, we had a fantastic time sitting outside in Adirondack chairs at one stop whose name escapes me, talking and drinking mint juleps - my drink of choice for no apparent reason - beers, etc.  At our next stop, we sat outside on the covered patio, talked more, then ordered four giant pizzas to take home for an early dinner.  After we realized that Holly loved a lot our "our music" from the 80's in spite of our age difference, she played the Cars, exclusively, on the 30 minute drive home.  Tremendous!  

We ate an early dinner, finished the pool tournament, listened to music, and joked around with each other, like we've been doing for 45 years.  It was damn near a perfect late afternoon and early evening. 

As the sun set, and day turned to night, we settled in for the evening and, well, just sat and talked.  We reminisced about the way things were and shared memories - a lot of memories - of times gone by and friends we have lost, by death or because they had drifted out of our lives.  We gave each other a lot of grief in the comfortable, playful way old friends do, and we had serious talks about our families and lives, too.

A highlight of the evening was when I telephoned Tommy Campsey to confirm the details of a story Doug had told about Campsey, on patrol, catching him making out with Anita G. in a dead end in our subdivision in the early 80's.  Tommy also regaled us with stories about policing in Brentwood in the late 70's and 80's, including a blow-by-blow recounting of the time he arrested George Jones for drunken driving on I-65 after receiving an anonymous tip.  It was priceless!

Maybe the biggest highlight was when I was able to reach Rip Pewett, who is on a two-month trip to New Zealand.  For sure, he's had his ups and downs the last few years, so it was a special moment for all of us to talk with him. 

I ended the evening with a couple of bourbons (O.H. Ingram River Aged) on the back patio, sitting in front of a fire that Neil and Matteson built in the outdoor fireplace.  I convinced Doug to have a serious conversation for 30 minutes, much to everyone's delight.  I kept him on the clock and in spite of his heightened state of inebriation, he managed, for the most part, to talk seriously for a half hour before he began asking someone, anyone, to get on his shoulders.  

For me, it was a needed respite from my incredibly busy personal and professional life.  A chance to reconnect with the friends who have known me the longest.  In many way, none of us have changed that much - or so it seems to me - in terms of our personalities.  Everyone is pretty much the same, in the way, as they were 40 + years ago.  

In the river of life, as you travel downstream, floating comfortably or, sometimes, paddling like hell, it's nice to to stop at an island every now and then, and spend some time with old friends.  Time to reflect, to recharge, to remember, to laugh, to live.  

That's exactly what we did, in a large, somewhat secluded house in a dead end in a neighborhood outside Shelbyville, Kentucky.  

It was perfect.

Another One Bites the Dust

Late in the week, word leaked out on social media that 12South Taproom was closing the end May after a 20 year run.

I mean, damn.  One of the last OG's in 12South, soon to be gone in puff of smoke after some heartless developer razes the building and erects an ugly building housing 12 condominiums or apartments in its place.  The 12South I knew and fell in love with ceased a long time ago but at least there were remnants - Portland Brew and the Taproom - that were reminders of what the neighborhood was like before tourists and bridesmaids took it over.  No more.

When the Taproom originally opened on June 6, 2006, owner Will Stuff was married to Christy Shuff.  She owned and operated Rumor's Wine Bar, which was a couple of doors down the Taproom.  They later divorced, Rumor's relocated to the Gulch (due, of course, to the construction of an early residential/retail development), then quite closed a few years later.  

Originally, the Taproom was a gourmet market with a small bar that served craft beers and filled customers' growlers.  (Growlers!  That's actually was a thing back in the day.). There was a hand-painted, blue sign outside on the front of the building - 12South Taproom - and picnic tables on the front patio.  In later years, Will renovated and covered the front patio and hosted trivia and live music there every week.

The Taproom found its footing when it pivoted away from the gourmet market concept, expanded the kitchen, and began serving food.  The menu always was eclectic - burritos, sandwiches, and entrees - and craft beer selection was the best in town in the heyday of the craft beer renaissance.  

After JP was born in 2008, on weekend afternoons I often strolled him up from our old house on Elliott Avenue to the taproom.  While he slept contentedly in the City Elite stroller, I read the New Yorker, worked the crossword puzzle, or talked to the bartender, Sweeney.  He was the son of a lawyer and former judge I knew in passing, and once hit two or three home runs off me at East Park, playing for his dad's law firm softball team.

Things were so different then.  As I recall, the Taproom had followed the lead of many other restaurants and stopped allowing smoking, inside or out.  There was a mild backlash, I think, as the smokers stayed away.  Those Saturday and Sunday afternoons in the Taproom with JP were quiet, peaceful, and memorable, especially when he woke up and I gave him his milk and snack.  

For a while, I arranged for special guests to meet me there while JP napped.  Matteson drove up from Franklin one Saturday afternoon.  Another time, Rip Pewett drove over and had a beer or two with me while JP napped.  Those were the days, for sure.  I remember trying to convince Jude that JP and I had been to get ice cream after his nap, which worked until she saw a photo of him sitting on the bar with the beer taps behind him.

Side note:  Right on time, two women from a bachelorette party just strolled in for coffee at 8th and Roast.

The Taproom was a place where business meetings happened at lunch, couples on first dates when to dinner, parents took kids for a family dinner, and youth baseball or soccer teams had after game get togethers.  Just last year, I took my law league softball team there for beers after the end of season tournament.  

Over the years, our family got takeout from the Taproom a thousand teams.  The Salmon BLT, and early favorite of mine, became one of JP's go to meal, too.  We always ordered the hummus and pita, too.

The Taproom was (I am already speaking of it in the past tense) a neighborhood anchor for 12South, a reminder of what the neighborhood used to be like before it became crowded with weekend tourists shopping in high end boutique clothing stores.  No more.

Because I've not drank beer much at all the past several years, the Taproom hasn't been a regular stop for me, not like it was in the early years.  Still, it was comforting knowing it was there and we've always enjoyed the food.  

I'm going to get by the Taproom, maybe as soon as this weekend, and get a beer for old times sake.