What is Christmas? It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present, hope for the future – Agnes M. Pahro.
Note to self – My second and perhaps last Xmas missive. Based on those I have received over the years from the likes of Jack & Donna Scaff, Jose Cruz, JOJ, Rick & Charlotte Rubin. Recall all those tales of exotic places visited and famous events attended and old friends reunited. ‘We river-cruised all year, jumping on shore only to run a marathon weekly in PR-time. It really is the shoes.’
Let’s do this again next year!
Remember those from your own relatives. ‘The kids are all doing great except for the special one and Mom, sweet Mom, is happy in that place upstate wherever. Joe Bob’s gettin’ a job soon as the ankle bracelet’s off, Lucy is preggers and the dog ran off.’
Let’s not!
January
Miss Lily, our dowager Shetland Sheepdog, was on her last legs, far too ill for the kennel. So, we put her in hospice, which meant I stayed home alone with her, while Nana made a belated Christmas visit to the kids in Charlotte. Started rehab on my IT-band injury.
February
I went to Orlando and covered the USA Olympic Marathon Trials for Mystical Miles, that iconic Dutch publication. Amazing weekend with a shout out to Craig Virgin and Mr. Castro at Puma America. Finally got my picture took with Celebrity Running Journalist Jeff Benjamin. Got home from the Trials just long enough to take a nap and awake to learn our chronologically-number-two grandson had killed himself. His mother – our daughter – came home from Sunday services church and found him dead in bed, still warm, bottle nearby. Hank was eighteen and brilliant. Miss Lily suddenly no longer too ill for the kennel. Like to think I nursed her back to health, but then there’s the context. Final Rehab Therapy session.
March
Tom Raynor invited me to go kayaking, which I don’t normally do this time of year – alligator mating season – but he said the legendarily reclusive John Parker was coming, so I said, okay, I’ll be there. Parker wasn’t and, of course, I’m thinking what you’re thinking, he has a gator allergy. We might have gone to a track meet. Sciatica real bad.
April
Semi-annual doctor’s visit; bloodwork super-spectacular except for a slight increase in PSA. Got dragged to the DAV for “A Night of Black Country.” Evening ended with all standing and singing at the top of their lungs – me lip synching like I don’t know the words – Lee’s Greenwood’s ‘God Bless The U.S.A.’ I won’t be going back.
May
SEC Championships in Gainesville with Raynor, Parker, Greehan, Harper, Reinhart & Benson, some combination thereof. “The Coaches.” Liquori was there and I finally got to meet Byron Dyce. Toured the Gatorade Museum. Put on a new pair of Nike Win-Flo 10s and ten minutes later felt like I got shot in my left foot. Missed a week’s worth of walks; plantar fasciitis real bad.
June
On the 4th, running journal entry: “SHARP PAIN STRUCK LEFT KNEE.” All CAPS, double-underlined, almost like a red flag. New termite activity, nothing new. Roger Tragesser announced his cancer, no surprise. Both of us wish we were in Eugene at the USA Olympic Trials. Thought I should see the hand specialist before I am crippled. “You’re already crippled,” first thing he said.
July
On the 5th, my left knee blew up. Pain, like I’d been slugged with a wooden baseball bat, with agony that came on much as a sneakily-delayed hot pepper. On the 22nd, finally got to see the knee whisperer. Doctor says my knee became “infected” basically to save itself. Something like that, he doesn’t know and was nice enough to say so. Refused a cortisone shot. ‘Not a candidate for a replacement’ and I can ‘resume normal activity.’ Of course, I immediately began contemplating my comeback. Rode in a Cybertruck at night, very space age.
August
Hurricane Debby. You people who visit ‘exotic places’ come stop by the Nature Coast, when you are lame, in pain and the Weather Channel’s Jim Cantore, clad in waders, is standing at the end of your street. ‘Are you going to evacuate?’ It’s all I could do to make to the bathroom. More termite activity.
September
Hurricane Helene. Comeback coming along. Ten-minute warmup, followed by a ten-minute cool down. Feels like an hour. Actually almost hopeful until left knee broke down again, just in time for rehab for previous blowup. First home hospice visit for Roger. Craig lost & found in Asheville.
October
Hurricane Milton. Semi-annual doctor’s visit; my PSA climbing worrisomely. Meanwhile, ‘let’s keep an eye on that suspicious growth.’ Roger Tragesser died. To be honest, when he passed, I was relieved. He was out of pain and I could stop worrying. Tearing up right now thinking about him – the right stuff. My left knee blew up for the third time. Each time the pain is worse. MRI for knee, finally. Torn meniscus – “that’s not the problem.” Happy to have a cortisone shot.
November
Prostate MRI. About as much fun as a hurricane. Now that I think about it, this journey with my aging body is not unlike a adventurous sea voyage. Suddenly your radar’s broke and the radio has limited reception and after a while you start thinking you hear a siren’s call and maybe you should head over to those rocks where the red-haired fish with the pale breasts are beckoning. Before you can get to them, you are attacked by a ravenous shark, which is American health care. Results? “Likely benign.” Still got an eye on that suspicious growth.
December
Ragnar got his teeth cleaned. I am currently shuffling for twenty minutes with two canes. Fearful every step, that she blows! Not to get ahead of myself, I turn seventy-eight, with older friends. So, I have certain aspirations of octogenarianhood. Meanwhile, I took early Social Security betting against myself I wouldn’t last this long. Hey, I needed the money and I never win a bet.
The best thing I did all year? First thought, providing home health care for Miss Lily, so Nana could get in that last hug. Trying to cheer up – weeks and months – Roger, a best friend for whom there was little cheering. Our last run together.
But that wasn’t on the bucket list. THIS was…
“I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow