How do they get away with it, Greg?

I was recently asked, "How do they get away with it, Greg?" 

Well, when Hillary declared her candidacy for POTUS, two of her "sycophants, toadies, and lackeys" immediately came out on the talking head circuit and pronounced her "the most qualified person ever in the history of our country to run for president."  Did you hear what I just said?  They--if I recall correctly it was Lanny Davis and Paul Begala but please don't hold me to that--they pronounced her "THE MOST QUALIFIED PERSON EVER IN THE HISTORY OF OUR COUNTRY TO RUN FOR PRESIDENT."  Now, even coming from one's closest friend, that opinion--and it certainly can never be described as a fact--is a pretty wild and far-out claim. More recently, President Obama himself made the same lame claim on the very day that Hillary was, for lack of a better word, exonerated of her high crimes by FBI Misdirector James Comey.

Their claim, that Hillary is "THE MOST QUALIFIED PERSON EVER IN THE HISTORY OF OUR COUNTRY TO RUN FOR PRESIDENT," is nothing more than a ploy.  I wouldn't even call it the power of suggestion.  It is a dishonest and deceitful trick to get The Gullible to believe something which is patently untrue.  It's not even merely false.  It is untrue.  It is a lie.  BUT, when The Gullible hear it from an "expert" on TV they believe it.  Then they tell two friends and the friends tell two friends and so on.  Before long, millions of sheeple are running around spouting the same bilge.

Let's take a moment to examine Hillary's "qualifications." 

• Lawyer.  That's not a qualification to be the leader of the Free World so scratch that.
• 12 years as first Lady of Arkansas. That's not a qualification to be the leader of the Free World so scratch that. 
• 8 years as First Lady of the United States.  That's not a qualification to be the leader of the Free World so scratch that.
• U.S. Senate Carpetbagger for 8 years.  Elected on the coat tails of her husband.  That's not a qualification to be the leader of the Free World so scratch that.
• Failed Secretary of State whose own spokesperson, when asked at a press conference, couldn't list even ONE of her "accomplishments."   That's not a qualification to be the leader of the Free World so scratch that.
• Prone to Vertigo/dizzy spells and double vision--despite prescription Coke bottle glasses--and chronic, debilitating coughing fits.  That's not a qualification to be the leader of the Free World so scratch that.
• Plagued by ethical and criminal scandals most of her adult life.  That's not a qualification to be the leader of the Free World so scratch that.

The list goes on and we know it all too well.  Suffice to say she is sufficiently ill-qualified to be President of the United States.

But, if enough people keep spouting the lies, then it becomes "true."  But true ONLY to them and not in fact.

Secondly, the same deceitful trick is utilized to condemn Hillary's opponent.  

Donald Trump is eminently more qualified than Hillary to be our President.  He is a highly successful businessman of World renown, an unmatched, expert negotiator, and a natural leader.  But, make up vicious lies about him and repeat the lies and outrageous claims minute after minute, day after day, for months on end and The Gullible will believe.  The lies are compounded by a complicit media. They harangue the passengers on the Trump Train.  Brow beat them, insult them, HATE them.  Tell them they're stupid.  Protest them.  Physically harm them, if necessary. Call them racist, sexist, bigot.  Tell them that they're angry.

Did you ever notice, in truth, most of the anger, hate, intolerance, bigotry, and whatnot comes FROM the Left.  I mean, I'm a Republican and enthusiastic Trump supporter and I'm none of those things.  I love my neighbor.  Race, religion and creed don't matter to me.  I'm not angry.  I'm pretty damn happy.  I'm so happy I'm ebullient.  And I don't mean happy about Trump.  I mean happy about life overall.

Not only that, but we here on The Right don't give two in a rain barrel what anyone says or thinks about us.  We're not going to be cowed into changing our minds, voices and votes by Leftist BULLYING.  That only works on the weak, whom those on The Left exploit to the fullest.  We are a much kinder folk than those on The Left.  We tend to be happier, more pleasant, gentle, level-headed, even-keeled, insightful, thoughtful, and loving.  Toward all.  

They--getting back to Hillary's "sycophants, toadies, and lackeys" again--create an environment which makes Mr. Trump someone to fear.  Fear?  What's with all this fear? They say Trump is DANGEROUS.  Sad.  They say they are afraid of Trump.  Pathetic.  They say their kids are afraid of Trump.  Even more pathetic.  Look...most kids don't know Jack Schitt about politics.  If kids are afraid of Trump it's because their parents taught them to be afraid of Trump.  Like Palestinian parents teaching their kids to hate Jews.  That's right.  I went there.  Shame on them!  They say Trump is going to start a nuclear war.  Now, I don't use the "I" word loosely, but that is IDIOTIC.  Where in his platform does it say he wants nuclear war?   Oh, that's right--NOWHERE.  He is committed to the safety and protection and success of every American.  He doesn't want anything to mess that up.  You really need a check-up from the neck up if you think a Trump presidency equals nuclear war.  

They say Trump is a narcissist.  Look, I don't know from narcissism or egomania or megalomania but obviously, anyone who wants to be President of the United States MUST believe that he or she is THE ONE PERSON in the U.S., out of hundreds of millions, who is best suited to govern everyone else.  Clearly, in reality, that is not necessarily the case but all candidates MUST believe that they are better than everyone else. YIPPEE!!  In Trump's case, he also happens to be a better showman than anyone else around and he plays it to the max.  

In any case, Trump's message is not one of hate but one of AMERICA FIRST.  What a terrific campaign slogan.  After all, what American is going to vote against that?  The Gullible, perhaps?

I welcome you all to join us on The Trump Train.  Open your minds and open your hearts and you will see it is a big train, a train of inclusion, a diverse train, a loving and tolerant train, a train of excellence.  Perhaps once you climb on board and see the light you, too, will say, "For the first time in my life, I'm proud to be an American." 

ALL ABOARD!

Marine Corps Marathon 2014

     So I ran the Marine Corps Marathon (MCM) last Sunday.  I've been wanting to write something about it.  I've thought and thought but there was just nothing there.  I like to write but I always need an angle--like finding the clave on salsa night.  I think I've got it.  It might be of interest to some but if you're bored simply stop reading.  But then you won't know how it ends.  Ultimately, I'm just going to tell you how it all went down.
     
     I'm an avid runner but not what you'd call a real serious runner.  I run because I enjoy it.  It makes me feel good, reduces stress, and helps me connect with nature and with myself.  I'm not big into technique or running nutrition--I just run how I want, when I want, and what distance I want.  I ran my first marathon last year in Hartford, Connecticut.  That's local for me and I never intended to travel for a marathon.  I'm just not that into it and it seems like it'd be more hassle than it's worth.  I planned on running Hartford again this year.  

     I'm not even sure if I had ever heard of the Marine Corps Marathon until this past March--2014--when I came across an article about it.  This year's field was to be filled by lottery instead of the regular first-come registration.  It's a very popular marathon and sells out quickly.  So in a "why not?" moment I entered the lottery, complete with providing my credit card information.  

     The drawing came and I got my congratulatory email.  My card was charged immediately.  There was no time to think about it:  I was in!  I was so pumped that I wanted to skip right over spring and summer and go straight to October.

     "How long is this one?"
     That's the most common question I got all summer long when the topic came up.  
     "How long is this one?"
     There's only one distance for a marathon:  26.2 miles. Any other distance is a different road race, not a marathon.

     Between March and October I still had to run my local half marathon in April and my local 10K in September and about another 800 miles of training/just for fun.  There was the vacation trip to Florida in July and 3--count them--3 health issues.  Without getting too specific, the first one sent me to the emergency room with crippling pain.  I thought that would knock me out of the MCM but I was able to put it behind me after 14 uncomfortable days.  Later, another ailment bothered me for about a week--may or may not have been related to running--and could have been serious but turned out not to be.  Lastly was the house painting injury to both calves which hobbled me for close to a week.  After each it felt so great to get back to pounding the pavement.

     Come late October, travel arrangements had been made, including 2 hotel switches, my travel party was packing, maps were being studied.  I was totally psyched, trained, and rearing to go. To my utter horror, I started to come down with a cold 3 days prior to marathon day.  No way I was going to let that interfere.  I was running no matter what.  I would have run if I had Ebola.  I was running in the 39th Marine Corps Marathon!  I was at work when it hit me so I swung by the Stop & Shop and grabbed a big jar of Airborne immune booster.  I had never used it before but had heard good things.  I started pounding Airborne and orange juice all day Thursday and all day Friday.  To my amazement it worked and I staved off the cold.  I was feeling fine on Saturday but kept pounding away--didn't want to take any chances.  Marathon day came and I was in perfect health.

     Up at 3:30, the morning was a blur as we ate in the hotel room, caught a shuttle bus to the North Lot of the Pentagon, and walked with the crowd through the dark to Runners' Village.  Not much there except about 500 Port-o-Johns and about 20,000 athletes stretching. Everyone made their way to the starting corrals out on Route 110.  A bunch of skydivers and a flyover later and the Howitzer report signaled the start of the race.

     After roughly 7 months of anticipation I was running in the MCM.  Or so I thought!  Due to the enormous volume of runners in the starting corrals, I was still standing still after the Howitzer went off.  The folks up near the starting line were able to run right away but everyone back in the pack went into a slow walk until reaching the start at which point they were able to run.  In my case, it took me 11 minutes to walk to the start line before I could start running. 

     A few quick miles through Rosslyn then over the bridge into Georgetown then a few more miles up and back through Rock Creek Park.  In a flash, at 10 1/2 miles, we were stampeding past the back side of the Lincoln Memorial with a brilliant sun shining in our eyes and a massive crowd cheering wildly.  Six more miles through the Potomac Parks (East and West) and we were fast approaching the National Mall.

     There was so much going on both in and around the race that the time and miles flew by.  I was reading as many spectator signs as possible--some inspirational, some funny or at least amusing, some general, some specific to a runner or team, all helpful.  There were runners in costume:  Mutant Ninja Turtles, a banana, a cup of DD coffee, Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, various super heroes.

Around the 11 I saw a young lady with an "Oprah" sign I had been speaking to prior to the start.  She remembered me and gave me a warm cheer.  I was looking for my own spectators but never did see them.  My son Nate saw me and chased me down around the 16 for a quick greeting but that was it.

     If I may, one of the weirdest things in a marathon is how many men and women peel off the course to answer nature's call.  I say it's weird because with all the Port-o-Johns all over the place AND the discipline and fortitude it takes to be a long distance runner you'd think they could all handle their bladders a little better.  A lot of the guys will at least take a bit of cover in a bush or whatever but there are also many who just take a few steps off the course and, with back turned, let 'er rip.  The women are a bit more modest and find a big tree or other barrier to take cover and cop a squat.

     There's a lot to see during a race which you just see and don't react to until you're thinking about it after you're all done.  One such thing which stands out in my memory banks is a woman who projectile vomited a bellyful of Gatorade right in front of me.  I know it was Gatorade because of the color.  She just stopped at curbside, evacuated spectacularly, then resumed running.

     A few more miles on the National Mall with a rather moving moment for me--somewhere around the Museum of Natural History a live band was playing The Isley Brothers' "Shout" with spectators singing along and wildly waving their arms in the air with each "shout."  

     I "Beat the Bridge" with hours to spare and made it back into Virginia for the 20's through Crystal City.  Nate said he saw me again at the 24 but didn't bother me because I looked like I was in a lot of pain.  He was correct.  It was agonizing.

     Back past The Pentagon where we had been walking in the dark some hours earlier.  I ran past a guard--I'm not sure if he was cheering on the runners--but he was in full gear with a machine gun at the ready.  His gun had like an 18- inch magazine in it and he had extras on his person.  This was Pentagon security but, of course, race security was tight and visible--and invisible--everywhere.  There were cops up the yin-yang.  Regular cops, bicycle cops, K-9 cops, SWAT cops, mounted cops, UC cops, federal cops, state cops, town cops, metro cops, park cops, etc.  Anywhere there was water there were cops in the water.  Police boats were patrolling and SWAT guys were riding PWC (personal water craft) along the shoreline.  Helicopters were flying overhead with snipers and spotters hanging out the doors with guns at the ready.  It was all very heartwarming.

     The 25.  The 26.  Then a hard left up a short, steep hill.  My kin saw me here and was calling out to me but I didn't hear them.  At this point all I could hear was noise.  Past the spectator bleachers and across the Finish Line!

     But there's something I haven't mentioned.  This was the Marine Corps Marathon.  Thousands of our country's Marines were present.  There were Marines in uniform everywhere--mostly in desert cammo.  And it's important to know that these Marines were not working under orders.  Every one of them was a volunteer on his and her own personal free time.  There were 2 Marine escorts on every shuttle bus; Marines directing runners to the start and manning Runners' Village; Marines lined up shoulder to shoulder at the start cheering on the runners.  If you wanted a handshake, high-five, or fist bump you could get it from a Marine virtually anywhere on the course.  Even on the most isolated stretches of the race there were Marines strategically located and making their presence known.

  Marines were manning every water station, every Gatorade station, every food and gel station.  There were 2 Vaseline stations with Marines passing out blobs of the petroleum jelly on tongue depressors.  I've never used Vaseline as it relates to running and didn't really know what it was for until I heard a Marine yelling out, "FOR YOUR LIPS, NIPS, AND HIPS!"  

     Now I know.

     Marine medics were situated throughout at aid stations and along the route.  

     Marines everywhere were cheering, clapping and yelling.  Some were shouting motivational "dig deep" and "push it" slogans.  
     
     "TWO MORE MILES!"  

     "ONE MORE MILE!"

     I didn't see any Colonels or above out on the course but I saw every other rank represented and working side by side.  The Major passed out the cup of water exactly the same as the Corporal.  I thanked and made eye contact with each Marine which I had a direct interaction with and some which I was just running past.  They all answered the same way--not with a "your welcome" but with a hearty "OORAH!"  Sometimes I just looked at our Nation's finest lining the course and smiled.  Other times turned out to be more emotional.  At the finish line there they were again--lined up on both sides greeting every runner with smiles, congratulations, handshakes, fist bumps and high-fives.

  I opted for the fist bump because I had a Challenge Coin clutched in my right hand.

     A group of newly-commissioned First Lieutenants from Quantico presented each runner with a finisher medal.  Mine was a young lady who greeted me warmly, congratulated me, placed the medal around my neck and asked me how I was feeling.

     Continuing, another line of Marines passed out water, food, goodies, thermal blankets and finisher jackets to the runners.  Marine medics tended to those in need.

     After meeting up with my party a Staff Sergeant gladly assisted my father (82) through the crowd to the shuttle buses and handed us off to the Marine escorts on the bus who assisted him on and off the bus with the care of those who have volunteered their lives to protect the citizens of the the United States.  

     God bless the United States Marine Corps.

     

     

     

     

       

         

     
     

Regarding School Bus Cameras

Regarding the issue of placing cameras on school buses to catch passers, as described recently in The Cheshire Herald, let me first say that the safety of our children is of utmost importance.  Secondly, let me say that our public officials using terms such as "no-brainer," "ridiculous," and "astounding" is most unbecoming and offensive.  These terms appear intended to humiliate, insult, and intimidate those who hold opposing views and that is totally unnecessary.  

I'm opposed to the cameras but I prefer a more rational look at the issue and I see several problems.

To begin with, and most disturbing, is this quotation from the article:  "The company also received approval from the State Legislature to administer the tickets as long as they receive the go-ahead from the local police...."  To me it is "ridiculous and astounding" that any town official, including police, would seek to cede ticketing authority to a privately run outside company.  Even if a police officer must review video evidence in question per ticket, what's missing is the officer's live observance of the event (passing the bus) which might color his decision whether a ticket should be issued at all.  For example, if the bus driver activated his lights when an oncoming car was too close to stop safely. On video that might look like a malicious pass while an officer's live observation might see it otherwise and not even make a traffic stop, let alone issue a ticket.  There are other reasonable examples.

Also, the article mentions a test with a borrowed camera-equipped school bus.  Cited is an average of 1.5 passes per day.  That sounds like a lot.  What's missing is how many passes were from behind the bus--going around it when the bus was clearly embarking or disembarking students--and how many were by oncoming traffic.  That's germane. Also missing from the article is how many total miles all buses in town drive on all routes on a given day.  That's pertinent information as well.  It's got to be in the hundreds of miles per day, maybe close to 1,000.....with only 1.5 passes per day on the test bus which may or may not have been deliberate.  And we can't extrapolate from the test an accurate average of total passes per day.  For example, if there are 20 buses total in operation every day, times 1.5, it is wholly unbelievable that 30 times a day in Cheshire a motorist passes a stopped school bus.  That simply defies credulity.  And then the best case scenario is the Town MIGHT reap $126 per pass?   Don't forget, a ticket doesn't guarantee the fine is paid.  Tickets are routinely dismissed in court and fines reduced.  

The article also makes no mention of the official Police Department position on the issue.

On a personal note, I've driven over one million miles in my life and I've raised 2 kids in Cheshire.  I want nothing but the safest possible conditions for everyone on our roads.  All things considered, this just seems to be an unnecessary and misguided endeavor designed to make a little money for a private company and even less for the Town.

And so what if it doesn't cost the Town anything?  There's plenty of stuff in life which is free but we don't do.  

The Life of a Saint

If you wrote "St. Patrick" or "St. Nicholas" on a piece of paper and showed it to a group of people 100% of them would know what it said and be able to pronounce it correctly.

My last name is St. Martin and for some reason, for my entire life, seemingly literate folk have struggled with how to pronounce it.  Street Martin, St'martin, Martin--like the St. wasn't even there--etc.  This has always baffled me because we are all exposed to any number of "Saints" in our every day lives.  Notwithstanding virtually every Catholic church and hospital being a St. Somebody, we've got towns and cities all over the world:  St. Louis, St. Catharines, St. Albans, St. Croix, St. Petersburg, St. Maarten--seems everyone knows what and where St. Maarten is but not St. Martin.  We've got the Charles Bronson movie St. Ives--everyone knew how to pronounce that.  We've got Jill St. John, the lovely actress who most notably starred as Tiffany Case in the James Bond movie Diamonds Are Forever.  Phone books the world over are filled with Saints. Not to mention, the St. Bernard is one of the most famous and recognizable dog breeds in the world! 

Still, folks who don't know me regularly refer to me as Mr. Martin.  This has come in handy when a telemarketer calls and asks for Greg Martin ("Sorry.  No one here by that name.")  But mostly I find it insulting.  I mean, if I meet a guy named Fitzgerald I don't call him Mr. Gerald.  

Where I've had the most difficulty is with computers which can't recognize a last name with a space or a character in it.  Some can.  I can enter my name as St. Martin and there's never any trouble.  Others I can leave a space with no period, like on Facebook, and still others require all the letters run together.  In the Navy I was STMARTIN and on my driver license I'm STMARTIN.  In school and on the job It was always St. Martin.

As for computers, allow me to share two anecdotes.  Not too long ago the parishioners at my church were asked to go online and register with the Hartford Archdiocese to receive email updates on legislative activities affecting Catholics.  I went to their site and, guess what.....that's right:  I could NOT enter my name as St. Martin--had to use STMARTIN.  My immediate thought was, "Well, just how the hell do they enter the names of all their churches if their computer doesn't recognize "St."  Hellooooo....."

Next, I recently needed to rent a car.  I first signed up for the rental company's reward program under the name of Greg St. Martin. They accepted that as my name and my membership card has that name on it.  HOWEVER!  When I tried to actually rent the car the system wouldn't accept it, saying I have an invalid character in my name.  The system then, apparently just to stick it to me further, wouldn't allow me to edit my name in my profile.  When I called in to customer service I was told that even they couldn't edit my name.  Ultimately, I came up with a clever work-around to circumvent the system and still have my name as St. Martin on the reservation.

So that's my rant for now.  Any other Saints out there wish to share any name-related anecdotes please do so.

Farewell, Muffin

Farewell, Muffin

"A smaller death has just occurred in my lap and now it's buried in the yard."   

--G. Hearn, Time Apart

We got Muffin in 2003 from the puppy rescue center down in Monroe.  Maryann thought "rescue" meant "free" and she damn near had a coronary when she found out I had paid $295 for the pup.  But Muffin came spayed and with all of her puppy shots so I saw it as a reasonable cost.  Maryann was key in naming her.  As we got home and sat around the dining room table discussing options Maryann came up with, "Well, she looks like a chocolate chip muffin."  We went with that--only just the muffin part.

I always thought Maryann was Muffin's favorite.  They bonded instantly, I think mainly because at the time we got her the kids were in school most days and I was at work.  Maryann worked second shift so she was home all morning and initially gave Muffin a bath in the tub every day.  Well, apparently, coming out of the rescue center Muffin had some kind of mites on her which jumped off of her and right onto Maryann.  Not realizing what was causing the "rash" on her arms, Maryann went to a dermatologist who took a biopsy from one of the many little red welts.  Once the doctor knew it was some sort of mite reaction the proper medicine quickly solved the problem.  Maryann later asked one of her nurse co-workers to remove the biopsy stitches from her right forearm but they had either been inserted or removed incorrectly and left an ugly scar which we still refer to  as "Mommy's Muffin scar."  Oh, and by the way, Muffin's daily baths also came to an abrupt halt as quickly as they had begun.  

  

One of my fondest memories of Muffin goes back to when she was just a few years old, still a feisty and powerful young beast.  We had taken her to obedience school but it didn't take so when walking her she constantly pulled mightily on her leash.  For years I was the only one who could walk her.  One summer day we took her on a long walk over toward Doolittle School then over Oak, Ives, West Main and back on to Warren.  The entire time Nattie kept pestering me:  "Can I walk Muffin?  Can I hold the leash?  I can handle her.  I'm big enough."  Nattie was only 9 at the time and I kept putting her off until I noticed that Muffin was getting tired, slowing down, and losing her pep.  As we turned onto Warren, our home street, I gave Nattie the leash and implored her, "Hold on tight." She was so proud and pleased to be finally walking Muffin as we sauntered together down the sidewalk.  Everything was going well until we got to Tracey Post's house.  Muffin saw a squirrel and hilarity ensued.....for me, anyway.  It looked like something out of a Marmaduke cartoon as Muffin turned on her afterburners and exploded into a full gallop in the blink of an eye, Nattie holding onto the leash with both hands as she took a faceplant onto the grass and got dragged swiftly across the yard.  Fortunately, the squirrel found a nearby tree and Muffin came to a stop at the base of the trunk.  A shocked Nattie slowly climbed to her feet, brushed  herself off and said, "Whoa...she's strong.  Can you walk her the rest of the way home?"  I didn't learn until years later that proper leash-holding technique is with the fingertips only for just such an occasion.

Muffin was an outstanding watchdog.  She loved being outside so we had rigged up an area for her such that she could hang out in her kennel in our garage to watch the world go by and step out into our yard on her tether as she saw fit.  She had an uncanny knack for knowing who belonged on our property and who didn't--and if you didn't, then you'd best not come 'round.  I can't explain how she knew but she just knew.  If you were a friend or neighbor or relative then everything was cool.  

She had an excellent memory.

It was simply precious how she loved to hang out with the kids--laying in the grass in the back yard overseeing a pool party, laying at Nate's feet while he sat on the couch reading, sleeping on the floor alongside a bed, or sitting politely in front of Nattie, watching and listening to her as she sang while playing her guitar.  

One of her most endearing habits was what we referred to as her "pretending to guard the house."  As I mentioned, she spent a lot of time in her kennel looking out through the open garage door.  Whenever she was there and we would pull up in a car she would quickly jump up and run out to the corner of the house, look around the side of the building and maybe woof once or twice before coming to greet us.  She was just putting on an act, letting us know she was on top of things and holding the fort in our absence.

Predominantly a Chow Chow, she loved the snow and loved the cold.  She would romp through the deep snow, lay down, and roll around.  Sometimes she'd just circle around to tramp down the snow then lay down and curl up in a ball, as dogs do instinctively.  If you were to reach under her belly it was like an oven--easily well over 100 degrees.  When sunning in the winter, having a choice between laying on the driveway, for example, or on a pile of ice, she'd always take the ice.  Sometimes she'd refuse to come in out of the snow and I'd literally have to drag her inside--she'd have her brakes on the whole way.  There's a small hill at the side of our garage and she loved to sit atop the hill, pointing her nose into the cold wind, and keeping an eye on her neighborhood.

One other amusing habit Muffin had was that she never wanted us to walk away from the house without her.  If we did she would whine and carry on.  This was most noticeable if one of us went down the street to my father's house who lived three doors down on the other side of the street.  What I would do to trick her is instead of walking down the street I'd ride a bike.  She would never whine if I rode away because she knew she couldn't ride a bike so she wouldn't be able to go with me anyway.

Muffin's health deteriorated quickly.  One day she seemed to be fine then we noticed she was limping slightly and having trouble getting up from her bed pillow.  At one point she was struggling to stand so I helped her to get up but when she stood it seemed she couldn't get any purchase on the laminate flooring in our portico and she tumbled over into the wall.  I don't know if it was a loss of equilibrium or her legs hurt or what but soon she couldn't stand at all.  Finally, it appeared she couldn't even move her limbs.  We were able to pet her and comfort her but her legs were giving her much pain.  

I called the vet.  

  When we arrived, the vet was running late so this gave us an extra 20 minutes or so to pet Muffin and comfort her.  When the doctor finally arrived I explained the situation.  He said he could give her a complete exam to see if there were any other options but he didn't think it would be worth putting her through the additional pain.

At first, I presumed that Maryann and Nattie would not want to be present for the final procedure but Nattie piped up, "I'm not going anywhere.  I'm staying.  Muffin wouldn't leave me."  Maryann agreed, "We should all stay to be with her at the end."  So we did.  We were all petting her as she slipped into sleep and then passed away.  

When we got home, we talked burial spots.  Maryann suggested under a spruce out in the back yard.  Nattie said, "She belongs in Gaga's Garden."  Of course, Nattie was correct.  Gaga's Garden is a hosta and perennial garden in the front yard under a maple tree.  It is a memorial to my late mother (Gaga to her grandchildren) and comprised completely of flora transplanted from her yard after she had passed away.

To break through the frozen earth I needed to use a huge steel pry bar which had been left behind in the garage when we bought our house back in 2000 from the estate of the late Lilian Burns. What a 90+ year-old woman was doing with a 7-foot, 50 pound pry bar I've no clue but this was like the fourth time I've needed it since we moved in.

It took me close to 2 hours to dig an appropriate grave.  This included sawing through several large roots and removing a 100 pound stone from the bottom of the hole. The stone needed to be removed.  Not only would it help to make the perfect shape for Muffin's final resting place but it was also perfect for a headstone which we'll be able to paint and inscribe appropriately in the spring.  I was in an awkward position in the hole trying to lift the heavy rock and on my first attempt only got it a few inches off the ground.  On the next attempt I got it about up to my knees.  The stone needed to come out so I re-gripped and said out loud, "This is for you, Muffin," then lifted it clean out of the hole and up to ground level--lifting entirely with my back which, I know, is totally against protocol.

After lowering Muffin in, pillow and all, I summoned Maryann and Nattie for services.  We each said a few words and shared a few memories before covering her over and placing her stone.  

The wind picked up and over night there was a torrential rain storm.

Farewell, Muffin.

MUFFIN CRUZ BUSTAMONTE ST. MARTIN

September 2, 2003-January 30, 2013

Couch Potato to Marathon: My Life on the Run

I recently completed my first Marathon, due in large part to Facebook and a young girl named Mari.  

Now, as you're reading, please don't take my story as bragging or showing off or anything like that.  It's quite the opposite, actually.  I'm just telling a personal story about an adventure in my life--how it benefited me and how it could benefit others.  I make no claims of fitness expertise. I'm just saying this is how it worked for me.

My story--this story--starts out about 5 1/2 years ago.  I found myself overweight and out of shape, largely from a sedentary job and lifestyle, a complete lack of exercise, and a hearty appetite for junk food.  At work, it was not uncommon for me to consume a dozen Oreos and a can of Pepsi at a 7:30 AM break.  OK, you got me...I did that every day, actually.  I'd have more soda and cookies with lunch and after work I might have half a bag of Doritos

Doritos

or Fritos for a snack before consuming a huge supper packed with massive carbs.  I live in an Asian household, if you will, so there was never any shortage of rice on my plate.  Later in the evening I'd have more chips and soda or maybe some ice cream.   The fast food drive-through was a staple in my life. Ultimately, I had ballooned up to 225.  I looked grotesque.  Physically, I would get winded simply standing up from the couch or walking up a few stairs.  

I was a couch potato.

Couch Potato (not me, an actor)

One night I woke up gasping for breath.  I don't know if I had stopped breathing or just dreamed it but it didn't matter--I believed in my heart that I almost died in my sleep and I blamed it on my own poor diet and lifestyle choices.  I tossed and turned the rest of the night--actually it was pre-dawn on a Saturday in June.  When I got up I immediately wrote out a determined and do-able diet and exercise plan. 

For starters, I committed to reducing my food intake by more than 50%, eliminating all junk food (pizza, ice cream, chips, cookies, soda, etc) as well as high-carb foods (pasta, rice, etc).  I went out and bought a treadmill and immediately began walking on it every day, without fail. 

That is:  EVERY DAY, WITHOUT FAIL.

Two miles a day turned into 3 then 4.  I set it up so I could watch TV while on the treadmill which made walking for an hour almost like I wasn't walking at all.  It was mid-baseball season at the time so I would usually walk the treadmill during a Red Sox game.  

Sox

When the season was over I became a fan of syndicated television hits such as Bones and NCIS.
  

The NCIS Team

After about a year on the treadmill, walking inside turned into walking outside--four miles every day, rain or shine. Literally every single day, rain or shine.  More than one day found me walking the Linear Park at night, in the rain, holding an umbrella while the tunes of Dagwood or the Big Fat Combo or the like played through my iPod.
  

Big Fat Combo

(The Linear Park closes at sunset so please don't squeal on me.)

By then I had lost 35 pounds.  I felt great and I looked great.....uh, at least people told me that I looked great....I mean, I'm not just saying that on my own.....uh, uh, uh....you know what I mean.  The funny thing is I had numerous people ask me how I lost so much weight and when I told them my system they all, without fail, said something like, "I don't want to do that.....I like soda.....I like ice cream.....I like pizza....."  You get the picture. Well dammit, I like all that stuff too.  That's why it's called a sacrifice.  I'll have a soda about once a year now but honestly I can live without it.  I really have no desire to drink soda, I don't miss it, and I'll only have it in a dire pinch.

I would have been content to go on walking like this probably forever.  I had no interest whatsoever in jogging or running.  I had run a bit of cross country in middle school

Dodd Cross Country 1979--I'm back row, third from right

and high school and had run in the Service (because I had to) but nothing too serious.  I think back then it was more of a chore than anything.  

BUT.....in 2010 my CHS '84 classmate Matt Hall and his wife Lisa inaugurated a charitable foundation named after their young daughter and devoted to Autism Spectrum Disorder Early Intervention--The Mari Hall Family Foundation.  Their main fundraiser is a 10K road race in Cheshire.  

MMOS

This is where my opening line meshes up with history.  Had the Halls created their foundation pre-Facebook I may well have not given it a second thought--or  first thought, for that matter.  It would have been announced with a small blurb in the local paper--I would have read it or not--and I may or may not have reacted to it.  However.....since we did have Facebook by then, I got a Facebook invitation to attend a charitable fundraising 10K named after a little girl in need.  It's called Mari's Miles of Smiles.  

I clicked the "will attend" button and was at that very moment committed 100%.  (Side note in parenthesis and italics:  I would like to point out at this time that one of our other classmates also committed to attend, commenting on FB that he was going to start training for the run but then didn't and to this day remains his same old doughy, out-of-shape self.

No names, and I say this with the fondest admiration of this gentleman.)  So I registered for the 10K and my daily walks turned into daily jogs in order to train-up for the race.  My first 10K was my first road race and was more of a painful run/walk.  I was not adequately prepared.  I finished in about an hour and a quarter.  I think it was 1:13.  While I was satisfied with completion, I was also determined to "do better next year. " It was at that time I made running a focal point in my life.  

In the ensuing years my regular training run has turned into a minimum of 5.2 miles--usually every other day.  If I do anything less I feel like I haven't done anything at all.  I'll do a 6.2 once a week and throw in an 8.5 or a 10 every 2 or 3 weeks.  It never ceases to amaze me that at my age stepping out in the afternoon to run 10 miles is a breeze and it feels great! 

Let me say that again: IT FEELS GREAT!  

Sometimes I bring my iPod, sometimes not.  Sometimes it's dark, or cold, or hot.  Sometimes not.  Sometimes it's raining or snowing, sometimes not.  Sometimes my legs feel heavy, only to find at the end of the run that I've bested my regular time.

Other times, I feel like I'm flying only to find at the end I'm behind my regular time by minutes.  But always, it feels great.  I've been blessed with good health throughout this journey, having only a couple of minor injuries or pains. Even the soreness which accompanies my running feels good.  It's hard to explain but I guess the movement and the rhythm is soothing and relaxing.  It's peaceful.  It feels like my mind is just along for a ride on my body and it generally doesn't even feel like I'm exerting any effort.  I'm not even tired when I finish a regular training run.  It's a craving. Sometimes I'll be at work thinking, "Man, I can't wait to get home and go running."  If, due to schedule, I go a couple of days without running, my knees start to ache.  That's just my body saying, "Hey, jackass!  What's more important here?  Get back out there and run!"  In a pinch, I'll jump back on the treadmill if I need to but it's not the same as the great outdoors.   

Since the 2010 10K I've bettered my time in each subsequent year with my most recent finish at 49:38.  The last 2 years my home town has also hosted the Cheshire Half Marathon.  

Lady finishing Cheshire Half

I've run both with times of 2:05 and 1:59.  I remember thinking after my first Half Marathon, "There's no way in hell I could ever do a Marathon."

Nevertheless, the next logical step was to run a Marathon. Luckily for me the Hartford Marathon is less than 30 minutes drive from my home.
  

Hartford Start

As a first-timer, I gave myself the modest goal of finishing in "under 5 hours."  I was psyched and pumped leading up to it and it did not disappoint.  It was a thrill.  A painful, numb thrill.  It turned out to be one of the top five experiences of my life.  Yes, I keep a list.    

On race day, in keeping with my strategy, I ran as far as I could without stopping, which turned out to be 15+ miles before my knees began to hurt.  I quickly descended into a run-walk-run-walk routine as my knees would permit. Everyone who finished around my time was utilizing the same strategy.  At times I could run for 5 or 7 minutes before going back into the walk and at other times it was only a minute or two. 

In the high teen miles and into the twenties the pain was excruciating, particularly in the ball of my right foot, my left knee, and my left groin.  This puzzled me because leading up to the Marathon my right knee and right hip had been bothering me but turned out to be non--issues during the race.

Near the end it got weird.  With about half a mile to go (the course comes over a bridge from East Hartford and right into downtown) I guess I started thinking about my accomplishment and how far I'd come not only on this day but over the course of the last several years.  A sudden wave of emotion came over me.  For reasons still unknown to me, I burst into a sprint.  I don't even know if "I" was in control.  It was like my body took over without conferring with my brain.  The pain was gone as I blew down the last hill and around the corner to the finish line, passing a bunch of hobbling racers along the way. 

Actually, I'd say I couldn't feel anything in my legs during the sprint--no pain, no numbness, nothing.  It felt like I was flying.  It was euphoric.  Then, as soon as I crossed the finish line (4:55) and went into a walk, the pain came rushing back and I could barely stand, let alone walk. I limped very slowly through the chute--receiving my thermal blanket, medal, and water bottle--and into the food tent where I took some much needed nourishment.

I must say that this adventure in running has been life-changing for the better.  And if I can do it, you can do it.  I continue to run and look forward to many more Miles of Smiles, Half Marathons, and Marathons.  Now that I know I can do it, I'll do it as long as I can.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  Will you join me?  It's worth every step.

Couch Potato to Marathon.  

Facebook. 

Mari.