Virginia Is For Lovers, But We Went There Anyway...

Deb and I let ourselves be lovers and we've certainly married our fortunes together. And, yes, we did count the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike and did come to look for America. This is a reference to a Simon and Garfunkel song which to my great disappointment, in our relationship, I'm Garfunkel.

The kids and Deb had spring break a couple of weeks ago so we packed up a car and headed south for what was our first real family road trip. Not to say that we haven't traveled as a family, but this was our first real classic family road trip complete with an over-packed vehicle, zero rear view mirror visibility and all of the "Are We There Yet" inquiries to last a lifetime.

I have to say that I had mixed feelings. We were looking at a 16 to 18 hour road trip in total with a stop over in Colonial Williamsburg. I've never driven that long or that far and I wasn't sure how our 15 and 14 year old kids would tolerate being on the road through a good part of the east coast. Would Zachary and Vanessa kill each other? Who would strike first? Would there be collateral damage? When would I lose my patience with Deb's driving instructions and constant directions? Speaking of my own personal driving instructor, for those of you who don't know, Deb has bestowed a Yiddish name upon me. In the Car I'm called, "Shoulda." She says, "Shoulda taken a left, Shoulda slowed down, Shoulda gone the other way, Shoulda gotten gas." To keep things equal, I've given Deb her own special road name. When she refers to me as "Shoulda", I respond with her nick name of "Frey-Cue. " We're so cute.


The first leg of our trip would take us through New England, New York, and New Jersey with our final destination of Williamsburg Virginia. Why Williamsburg you ask? The very first week and maybe our first date, Deb told me that she'd always wanted to go to Colonial Williamsburg. For nineteen years I was able to avoid this but now it was time. Speaking of timing, ours stinks. We waited until our kids became an unamused 15 and 14 before we stole them away from their friends to take them to a town where people lived through hard times and little comfort. "You mean they didn't have wireless, and Hot Pockets?"





Colonial Williamsburg is a special place that offers a glimpse of colonial times and all things revolutionary. You just don't get to see things like that here in New England. You know, places like Strawberry Bank in Portsmouth, Salem Massachusetts, Plimouth Plantation, Sturbridge Village, Lexington, Concord, or that nothing of historical significance town Boston. Don't get me wrong, Colonial Williamsburg is nice, but how many freaking candle stick makers, blacksmiths, and silver smiths can one see in a lifetime? "They used cinnamon, creme of Tartar and licorice root to brush their teeth? Whoa, You're kidding me? You wouldn't happen to have a small pox story in you, would ya buddy?"

Speaking of the blacksmith. I watched in awe as this artisan worked his craft. I took picture after picture as he kept the fire hot and hammered the metal until it started to take its final shape. Intrigued, I begged his pardon and asked what type of treasure he was making. "Nails", he said. Nice.

We walked around the grounds for a while admiring the reconstructed architecture and the authentically dressed reenactors complete with period dress and Ozzy Osbourne tattoos. We eventually got hungry. We stopped by one of the many taverns which didn't seem to sell tavern type drinks, and I was disappointed that I couldn't get a meal of authentic colonial fare. There would be no mutton, and no roast venison, but I could relive ye days of old with an authentic Colonial corn dog and a Puritan Pepsi. No wonder George Washington's teeth were in such rough shape.

Much to the kids' disappointment we left Colonial Williamsburg and headed out for a decent meal. We passed many fine looking establishments because of our desire to keep our family spirit and reach some type of consensus. This strategy led us to not speak to each other, and exasperated I eventually pulled into a decent looking non chain or franchise restaurant. The place was called Jefferson's steak house which was designed to give diners a taste of the past. No, the decor had nothing to do with the 18th century and there were no real references to Jefferson. The connection seemed to be with the diners as most of them had obviously been there at Thomas Jefferson's inauguration ball. I should have went with my instincts and turned us all around, but then I wouldn't have gotten to enjoy the blended sirloin steak which was so good that I was tempted to use a fork, but instead I used a spoon so I could get every drop. We were there for what seemed an eternity each of us watching the Titanic survivors eat their rice pudding and drinking their Manhattans. When our Eugene Levy looking waiter finally brought the bill, we scooted out of there and headed for our hotel. It was only 4:30.

Stay tuned for part two...

Please note that I am embellishing the Hell out of this story but not as much as you'd think. We really did have a great time together. Also, I let Deb read this before I published it. She laughed at a lot of it but mostly at the Garfunkel comment. Maybe I should have brought her to Scarborough Fair...

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Leg O My Ego

Last week a friend of mine sent me a link to a community 5k road race organized to raise money for a local children's museum. I've never run in a road race, but made the mistake of expressing interest. I thought, "What the Hell, it's only 3.1 miles, I can definitely swing that." I went out and bought new running shoes and special no friction, non binding, heat resistant, no moisture, extra cushioned running socks. I've never paid $14 for a single pair of socks before and I suspect I'll lose my mind when I see Zachary wearing them without shoes outside in the yard.

All of us runners gathered near the starting line yesterday to check in and get our numbers and timing chips. The participants varied in every way you can imagine: young, old, male and female, skinny, fit and those who are gravitationally challenged. I sized up the group and wished only to complete the course not finish last, and not look like a goof. This last wish was quickly dashed as I noticed people who were listening to iPods with arm bands and ear pods, while I was standing with my full size iPod and Jimmy JJ Walker coconut half headphones.

We all lined up at the starting line awaiting the signal, and with a blast of a starting pistol the race began, well it at least began for the people up front. I was well in the back of the pack and began bouncing up and down because everyone else was bouncing up and down. I had no idea why any of us were doing this but I suspect it's part of some ancient running ritual. So there we were "pogoing" while the more seasoned and competitive runners sprinted away. As the crowd thinned I finally found myself with enough room to move forward. For those of you who have never experienced a road race, the beginning is kind of like a travelling WHO concert with a thick crowd bouncing then collectively rushing a stage that is some 3.2 miles away.

The course began with a steady incline toward the center of town and I immediately knew I was in trouble. First I was already breathing heavier than expected, but to make matters worse, I felt a pop on my left heel and was experiencing a bit of pain. I figured I could run through it, but I felt every step as if someone was repeatedly taking a bat to the bottom of my foot. Boy what a fun experience. Is this the runner's high everyone talks about? I guess my body is like Nancy Reagan's 1980's wish about highs. My body "just Said No!"

Believe it or not even with the pain, I was running at a pretty good clip for me, but here's the thing I learned about running in a road race. There are a lot of people around you. I was frustrated by the slower people in front of me and the congestion of people that prevented me from getting around them, probably as much as I was frustrating the people behind me. The freedom of running was stifled by being aware of the crowd around me. I felt the need to spit and almost let it fly until I realized that the folks around me would probably catch some of it. Not a good thing to do especially in this time of all things swine.

I should mention that my beautiful wife came down to the race with our good friend Jennifer and cheered me on with a home made sign and a few blown kisses. the limits and length of their eyesight would be the quickest I would run.

As I continued running my mind started to wander: "How far have we run so far, would I make it all the way through and what the hell was I doing here?" I came back to reality when I noticed a lot of movement, people falling behind me and certainly many passing in front of me. These people consisted of fit looking athletic types, men, women, the very young and old, the infirm, and the occasional mother pushing kids in a stroller.


At mile two in my head I came up upon a sign that broke my heart. It said, mile one. Holy Crap! I kept going but contemplated stopping at the yard sale that I passed by. Maybe they would have an old oxygen tank I could try out. If I had had the foresight of carrying a few bucks, I may have dropped out of the race and relaxed looking through the family's old microwave cookbooks and Frampton Comes Alive album.

Now, I don't know who the sick b*st*rd was who created the course, but he or she had both a wide sadistic streak and a penchant for hills, and I mean hills. Every time we took a turn we seemed to be on an incline. One steep grade after another. I half expected we'd be collectively planting a flag to claim a new uncharted peak for all mankind.

At one point I came upon the classic marathon scene where volunteers held out small cups of water. I swung over and successfully grabbed a cup and drank while still maintaining my pace. I was unsuccessful in dispensing of the cup. Instead of throwing it on the ground, there was a young kid holding a large green trash bag. My throw was off and I hit the kid in the neck, dousing him with the half filled cup of cold water. He seemed really appreciative.

I had to stop once or twice to temporarily relieve the pain in my foot, but by this time I was well away from the starting or finish line and knew that I had to press on. Any desire to clock in at a decent pace had now waived bye bye. I was however inspired by the guy who I spoke to before the race who came up to me while I was walking, seeing that I needed a lift and inspired me to keep going and offered to run with me. It wasn't long before I waived him bye bye.

There was one part of the course that had us running through a cul-de-sac which seemed all up hill of course, and had a island that turned us back toward the finish line. Long before I reached it, I saw runners who had already made the turn. "Great", I said, the turn is just up ahead. To my disappointment I could not and did not find this point for another mile or so. I had these visions of finishing the last mile while the seasoned runners relaxed in their homes having already finished the run, the cool down, the award ceremony and the first two discs of the Godfather trilogy.

As I approached the last half mile of the course, I was inspired by the local supporters who were rooting us all on, especially the few who said, "C'mon buddy you can do it." These folks apparently inspired by my gate, pace, tears and drool, and must have thought I was a highly functioning, yet impaired individual.

The finish line finally came into view which didn't have me pick up my pace nearly as much as the sight of Debbie, Jennifer, my buddy Geoffrey and their daughter LuLu. I crossed the finish line and walked over to them asking, "Hey, you guys thirsty?"

A 5K is nowhere near a marathon and at this stage or maybe any stage I will not be venturing near the other 23.1 miles, but I did manage to finish and complete my goal, this despite the injury and the mental challenge that goes along with these types of events. People run races to push themselves, to validate themselves and to learn about themselves. I guess I'm no exception, as I did have to dig deep and push to finish. I was and am proud that I completed the course, but prouder that I actually decided to do it, then followed through.

As far as learning, I've learned much. Training for races is probably a smart idea. Proper stretching would be tremendously helpful, and proper sleep and hydration would be nice. Now I'm learning something else. The fatigue and pain of a running injury warrant no excuse and no dismissal from household chores. Man, I wish I had a riding mower.