Running the Mini!

26 miles per hour sustained winds in our faces for the first 5 miles! A WIND CHILL IN MAY! 37 degrees after it was figured in. Everyone around me complaining, making me feel colder and colder with each pronouncement of "Wow! It's cold!!!" DUH, I SAY,.......DUH!!!!!!

And yet the Star-Spangled Banner is sung, the port-o-potties are dutifully filled to overflowing with,...I digress. Gatorade is guzzled, sipped, slurped, puked, spilled, poured and inhaled like power gels and energy bars we all think will miraculously catapult us all to the finish line in record time, or at the very least keep us from keeling over.

Through a maze of blowing paper bags and 5th grade heavy metal boy bands playing "Werewolves Of London" so disgustingly that they had the inadvertent side effect of speeding up everyone's time who came within earshot, we ran. Through 70-year old Circle City Cloggers stamping their way to the shrill sound of Alvin and the Chipmunks, regaling us with their version of "Single Ladies", we trudged. Through puddles and potholes and pain, (OH MY!), we soldiered on. Around the Indianapolis 500 track we ran,....and ran and ran and ran and where the hell do we exit, huh?

When the wind hit our backs instead of our front, we knew we were gonna be alright, and we sensed a great finish over the last 4 miles. The great part didn't really pan out, but we sure did finish. Out of almost 35,000 that started, almost 31,000 finished (the rest are obviously strewn about the streets of Indianapolis, waiting for the street cleaning crew to sweep them up come Monday). I ran a 1:59.32 and finished in 6,933rd place. Beaten by a town, but victorious over a small city!

And now I hurt in places that don't like hurting. Sore muscles, blistered feet, a 2-day headache, and a day-long argument with my left calf concerning whether its decided to go into full spasm or just keep the low "maybe" tension going for a few more days. Problem is, I've been dumb enough to do it 20 times. Next year, count me in for number 21.

Senior Prom

As she glided down the stairs to meet the awaiting Prince Charming

I saw eighteen years pass in a flash before my eyes.

Gone was the little girl watching Barney the Dinosaur and using the show to measure time.

Replaced, in bittersweet reality, by a beautiful, golden-tanned member of the prom court.

What happened to the 3rd grader who stuffed homework in her desk until it over-flowed?

The giggling girl who wanted oatmeal and called it "al-pee-no"

She's pinning a white orchid on her special man, ready for a night of laughter and slow dances

In a gorgeous blue gown, with fancy new heels and perfected hair and make-up.

Pictures are taken,......and taken,....and taken,...as if these precious memories could ever

be in danger of fading away into a fog of no remembering.

Each smile must be caught. Each look preserved. Each friend recaptured on a camera

that will serve as a tiny porthole into never forgetting the night.

Mommy presented a special touch, as fresh strawberries and sparkling juice in wine glasses

served as couture embellishments to the two-hour getting ready processional.

Daddy kept dropping by to watch the lady becoming a princess, then ducked out to avoid

being a distraction to a series of moments best shared by the ladies of the house.

And then they were off to Senior Prom. To memories that will be all her own.

I used to be a bigger part of those moments, but my role as caretaker became provider.

Provider became advocate. Advocate become disconnected father looking for ways to talk.

And finally assuming my role of friend, advisor, and shoulder that will always be there.

The shoulder of a father that will always long to stay close to his little girls.