A Certain Bromance

I’d always been mystified as to why combat veterans rarely talk about their experiences in war.  Veterans that had been psychologically affected by what they heard and saw should benefit by speaking about it, right?  Call it catharsis.  Those that weren’t adversely affected should love talking about the incredible, intense things they did and witnessed.  No?  NO.

With all due respect to veterans, I think I get it.  On a much smaller level I finally get it.

A number of months ago I made a lofty goal to run a half marathon.  13.1 miles.  It had been many years since I’d traded my sneakers for slippers and tennis balls for hot pockets.  The last time I did anything active I was 40 lbs lighter and George W edged Al Gore thanks to the hanging chad.  I was going from 0 to 60, but I was going dammit.  I was determined.  I talked my good friend Steve into running it with me and we started our training.

I was humbled quickly.  I didn’t have proper respect for the process and the process brought me to my knees.  I tried running two miles my first time out.  I walked the final three quarters and could hardly move for several days afterward.  But I quickly repented, invested in some gear, and started again.  Slowly.  Three weeks into training, a second friend decided to join Steve and me.  Jayd laced up.

My sister Ashley has always said “everyone that runs a marathon has a story.”  You don’t simply say, “Sure, I’ll run 13-26 miles.  Sounds like fun.”  Because it’s not..  Important, yes.  Invigorating, yes.  But fun?  No.  It hurts.  It’s exhausting.  Shins splint, toe nails turn black and fall off, blisters form, groins chafe, nipples bleed.  The process is punishing.  But the payoff is pure.  You learn things about yourself during training.  You push yourself beyond your perceived limits and find strength you never knew you had.  Some mornings you have to literally force yourself outside, just to hobble through three miles of hell.

When race day arrived we all felt ready.  We’d handled our final long run with ease, banging out 11.5 and feeling good afterward.  We weaved our way through the 35,000 people participating in the San Antonio Rock ‘n Roll events and found our corrals.  It was an odd morning…abnormally warm and balmy, but overcast.  The throng of people was overwhelming.  It was shoulder to shoulder as we waited for the gun.  And then we were OFF.

I was immediately frustrated by the sheer mass of runners, walkers, and waddlers.  Everyone was pacing dramatically slower than their corrals represented and I was constantly dodging slower runners.  There was a ton of lateral movement as I cut around, through, and sometimes over the cattle.  I ran up hills, on curbs, over sidewalks, on grass.  I bumped into people.  It was literally impossible to pick a lane and establish a rhythm.  There were just too many freaking people.

Jayd and I ran together (within 10 yards of one another) for the first eight miles.  I hydrated at mile five and dropped a few shot bloks at mile seven.  I saw Jayd grab some water at mile six.

At mile eight, Jayd started to pull away.  In training I was typically 15-30 seconds per mile faster than Jayd, so I maintained the pace that I was able to manage, figuring Jayd would eventually flame out.  He didn’t.  He continued to weave and dodge obstacles and limping fat people at an impressive pace and at mile 10 I decided I needed to kick it up a notch.  No way was I going to allow this guy to finish before me. 

I caught up to him at about 10.5 and made some snide comment like, “hey dude, I’ll give you $10 if you carry me the rest of the way.”  He didn’t respond.  Jayd was in a zone.  He was focused and he meant business.  After a few hundred yards of running together, Jayd pulled away yet again.  “No way” I thought to myself.  But I was really feeling it now in my legs and I had no ability to keep up with him.  I fell back and ran at my own pace.  At 11.75 I started to see bright bursts of light.  The sun had been out for 30 minutes and the combination of extreme fatigue, 97% humidity, and 80 degree temperature was besting my Spaniard.  I knew I was in trouble.  I stopped and rested against a metal fence separating the halfers from the marathoners.  When the bright lights stopped, I walked until mile 12 and started running again.  I was determined to finish this race running.  And I did!  I finished with a somewhat disappointing time of 2:19.

After I got my munchies and fluids I worked my way through the craziness to get my stuff at gear check.  There were a number of missed texts, one of which informing me that Jayd had collapsed just after 13.0 and was hauled off in a stretcher.

WHAT?!  No way.  With 1/10 of a mile left, Jayd went down.  He was rushed to the hospital.  And it was serious.

He was admitted with a temperature of 106 and a heart rate of 170.  He was not responding and had had seizures.  We got a call from his wife, Tauni, telling us to get to the hospital ASAP.  Jayd needed a blessing.

I am an elder in my church, and with that title comes certain responsibilities and authority.  One of which is to administer to the sick and afflicted through the laying on of hands, otherwise known as “a blessing.”  I sprinted from the parking lot to the ER

I’ll never forget what I saw when they drew that curtain.  There lay Jayd, stark naked minus a small towel to hide his junk, with wires and electrodes all over his body.  He was a sickly pale yellow color and his arms and legs were bound with leather restraints.  I was looking at someone that appeared to be on death’s door.  That is no exaggeration.  I was petrified.

I have a lot of respect for Jayd’s wife, Tauni.  She is a very “collected” person.  Quite analytical, never emotional, and very understated.  But she is intense.  Not in an overt, frightening way.  It’s subtle and small.  But very real.  When I looked at Tauni she was straight-faced and stoic.  She was somehow managing the situation with quiet grace, but her intensity was still there.  She told me she’d been asking doctor-after-doctor and nurse-after-nurse if he was going to be “ok.”  Naturally she got no straight answers…just “medispeak.”  I get it of course.  No medical professional is going to go out on a limb and say, “suuuuure honey, he’ll be just fine” when there’s a solid chance that he’s brain-dead at best. After a brief rundown of what was going on there was a moment of silence.  She looked at me and asked, “Ty, he’s going to be ok, right?” 

I didn’t know what to say.  The God’s truth is that I did not think he was going to be ok.  How could anyone think that pasty, yellow man hooked up to all the machines could possibly be ok?  But Tauni’s typically intense, smoldering eyes had a hint of panic in them.  So I said, “Yes Tauni.  He’s going to be ok.”  I didn’t believe it, but I felt I had to roll the dice and say it.  I could actually see a physical change in her posture and a softening in her face.  It was as if she just needed to hear it from someone….anyone.  She looked stronger.  I felt good.

I positioned myself behind Jayd’s bed and took a few deep breaths.  I was terrified.  It was hard to swallow.  Just as I was timidly placing my shaking hands on his head, a nurse walked in and looked at me like I was a mafia hit man about to ice an informant with a pillow.  Tauni assured her that I was going to give him a blessing.  After casting me a sideways glance she reluctantly left.

The circumstance was not ideal for performing a priesthood ordinance.  The ER was bustling with runners and other odd folk that day.  There was the sound of curtains being drawn/closed and loud voices.  Machines were blipping and beeping like an epic game of multiplayer Pac man.  But I was confident that I could filter out any distraction and blaze a trail for divine inspiration.  I was wrong.

When my hands met Jayd’s head I felt nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  I felt no inspiration.  I had no vibe…positive or negative.  The floodgates of Heaven were not opening….and I was scared.  I needed some time to gather my thoughts, so I took it.  My mind raced while I paused.  What do I do now?!  I didn’t want to put off any kind of negative energy.  That was the last thing Tauni needed at this point in time.  Finally I decided to start with simply citing the things I know about Jayd and building on those things.

I let Jayd know that his Father in Heaven loves him.  I know that’s true.  I believe that with all my heart.  I am confident that God loves all His children.  I told Jayd that his family loves him and needs him.  And they do.  He is a stellar father and a genuinely great person.  I confidently spoke to Jayd’s great faith and how that faith is what would make him whole.  If there’s one thing we know from the Bible it is that people were healed through a combination of Christ’s power and their faith.  Whatever Jayd’s spiritual shortcomings may be, faith is not one of them.  We’ve had many conversations over the past couple of years that have had religious undertones, and Jayd is legit.  He is a believer.  He is a man of faith.

Then it came time for me to flex my own paltry faith and go out on my own brittle limb.  Without any specific divine direction, I blessed Jayd with a peaceful mind and a still heart.  I asked God, and blessed Jayd, that he would wake up quickly.  I prayed for the doctors and nurses to perform their duties with inspiration and intelligence.  And finally I told Jayd that one day soon we would be able to look back on this experience and laugh.  Because that’s what Jayd and I do.  We banter and laugh.  Then I quietly ended my blessing and removed my hands.

I stayed in Jayd’s curtained space for about 15 minutes speaking with Tauni.  During that time he woke up a handful of times as we visited, but there was nothing behind his eyes.  I believe his basic primal instincts were taking over.  All he knew was that he was in a bad situation and his body was restrained.  Every ounce of energy he had was being routed to his need to get out of those restraints.  I was dumbfounded at how STRONG he was as Tauni and I tried to get him back onto the bed.  After a few of these fits I elected to go wait outside and leave the two of them alone.

The only place I could find to sit was in the hallway just outside the ER waiting area.  I was sitting, collecting my thoughts, analyzing what I’d just witnessed when a woman in her early fifties approached me with what appeared to be her husband and two grown children.  “Excuse me, could you tell me where I could get some information?” she asked.  “Information about what?”  “About one of the runners that would have been brought here from the marathon.”  “Oh, you can just go ask at the ER desk around the corner.”  She thanked me and they casually walked around the corner.  About two minutes later, a hospital staff member brought them back to where I was and knocked on the door directly in front of me.  The door opened and the family went inside.  And then came the screams.  I’ll never, ever forget the sound of those screams.  Their runner, a 32-year old super-fit military man, collapsed after he finished and was rushed to this hospital where he was pronounced dead on arrival.  DEAD.

As we got the vans situated to get Tauni’s kids home so she could stay in San Antonio my cell phone rang.  It was Tauni.  “Jayd just woke up” she said.  WHAT?!  It had been less than an hour since the blessing and he was already awake.  She told me the first words that came out of his mouth were “I know who you are.”  The next words were “Did I finish the race?”

After myriad tests and scans and probes and who-knows-what, the mystified doctors discharged Jayd after four days in the hospital, two of which were spent in ICU.  He’s home now, with a new lease on life.

I think about this experience a lot.  Many times daily.  For a few solid days it haunted my thoughts, even while I slept.  Words cannot do justice to what I heard and saw in that San Antonio ER on November 13th, 2011.  And this is why I identify (on a microscopic level) with the combat vet.  It’s a useless story to tell to someone that wasn’t there.  You may get it on some level.  You might have even gone through a similarly traumatic experience in your life.  But you weren’t there.  It’s the ultimate “guess you had to be there” scenario.  You didn’t see the horrors or hear the screams.  It was a singularly unique experience to you and the people you fought with.  Those are the only people that truly “get it.”  I can see through the hollow nods and vacant “wow”s that I get from people I tell the story to.  It’s a story worth telling and it needs to be told, but I bloody-well hate telling it.

I’m very grateful.  The honest truth is that I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to Jayd.  He’s a crucial friend that I value and admire tremendously.  Kind of like Art Garfunkel’s harmonies.  The world is better with him in it.  It’s a bromance.  I’m stoked to have him back. 

 My magic blessing worked you know.  His mind was calmed, his heart was stilled, he woke up quickly, and now we’re able to look back on the experience with some degree of whimsy.  No jokes yet.  But they’ll come.  It’s just a matter of time.  And that’s ok.  Time we have.

(Left to Right) Ty, Jayd, Steve

Revenge of the Nerds

Online social networking has been a fascinating and highly entertaining experience for me for a variety of reasons. First, it’s interactive. It isn’t “read only.” I can actually speak with or share things with people I know. Or knew. Or figure I should know since we share 85 friends but can’t remember who the hell they actually are. Secondly, it exposes people’s nuances, intricacies, weaknesses, and talents. I never knew I had so many friends that were brilliant artists, gifted writers, angry activists, and political soapboxers. I know who is grammatically challenged. Some have aged well. Others have done something to piss off Father Time. I have a bone to pick with that grey-bearded bastard.

More than anything, though, I think online networking gives insight into the nature of karma and/or the chaotic, natural flow of life. Let’s face it….we are all pinballs in the wizard’s game, knocked hither, thither, and yon. Where we end up is pure chance. Or luck. Or is it? Is there some element of karma involved? Are hard work, perseverance, and difficult patience through formative years rewarded with glory, riches, and love later in life? On the other side, have the cruel and indifferent been punished with misery and woe?

Throughout time there have been legendary battles between fierce rivals. Palestine and Israel. Green Bay and Minnesota. Fire and Rain. Cake and Pie. Age and Cher. Plastic Surgery and Kenny Rogers. Hippies and Metalheads. Jocks and Nerds. Some rage on, i.e. Palestine and Israel. Others have been tragically but emphatically decided, i.e. poor Kenny Rogers. And lately the Jocks suffered a crushing blow, much like Kenny’s face, which ended their war. The Nerds have prevailed, courtesy of Fantasy Football.

Look, I’m a sports guy. I’ve played several sports and was pretty decent at a few of them, so I can identify with the jocks. I’ve also bumped pocket protectors with the nerds. Hell, I have hundreds Phish concerts on CD, meticulously labeled and cataloged chronologically on Japanese-only compact discs, stored such that no man or child could possibly reach or damage them. I played EverQuest for years, spending hours of my day as Rutherforrd Gnarlyarmour….barbarian warrior in Norrath. THAT is nerdy. But, my friends, nothing I have ever done in my life on earth has been as nerdy as playing fantasy football this year.

My neighbor Jeb invited me to play Fanasy Football with him and some of his friends. I was loathe to do it, but I saw myself slowly (through little fault of my own) becoming “that guy”….the one that always has an excuse to not participate in anything he’s invited to do. I like Jeb so I reluctantly agreed. How involved could it be, right? I just get a few players and let them rack up points for playing well. No? HELL-tutha-no.

I knew I was in trouble when I went to Jeb’s brother’s house for “draft day” and we sat around in a group of 12 with spreadsheets and expert forecasts as to who would be the best players to pick. We went through 16 individual rounds of a draft. By pick #9 or so I’d had it. My butt was sore from sitting and I had no clue who the remaining players were. We rushed through the last hour, taking the total to THREE, and finally finished the draft.

That was the easy part.

There’s no sitting on your laurels in fantasy football. Each week you have to look at projections, compare stats, and manage your lineup. There are complex algorithms involved in calculating points after a performance. (Catches+Receiving Yards) – Dropped Balls / Yards After Contact x Touchdowns. Or some nonsense.

Did you see that, jocks? I just said “calculating” and “algorithm” in a paragraph that is talking about YOU. You all have triumphantly BECOME the NERDS!

Memo to FF-playing jocks. You are nerdy. Professional cup stackers think you are nerds. Anime manga collectors wouldn’t be seen with you in public. Star Trek conventions would ban you from the premises. You can retire the jersey and don the hammer pants because you are nerds. Sheldon Cooper is jealous. And he can build Tesla Coils and speak KLINGON. And I don’t want to hear, “it’s not even the same dude, we’re talking about sports!” No you’re not. You’re talking about MATH. True football fans are the ones that lock themselves in their man caves and violently cheer for their team to beat the bloody hell out of whoever dares line up across the ball from them. They don’t cheer for Brett Favre to throw touchdowns just because he is on their fantasy team. They know he’s a filthy loser and want him to throw countless interceptions before having his knee folded back by Julius Peppers. Hoping enemy players do well goes against the grain of logic and is foreign to the lifeblood of the true sports fan. Bottom line, the word “fantasy” should clue you in that you are in nerd territory. Do you know what lives in fantasy? Hobbits. Dragons. Unicorns. Spiderman. The Easter Bunny. Beautiful women in fur bikinis that fan you with palm fronds and grill a mean steak. And YOU if you think you are anything but a nerd. A true fantasy team would have Juggernaut at tailback, Legolas and The Flash at receiver, a Minotaur kicker, Darth Vader at tight end, an offensive line of Golems, and Moses under center.

The circle is now complete.

Nerds-1 \\\///Jocks-DONE

My Hero Retires

The sky darkens, the sun disappears, and the earth stops spinning for 4 long minutes.

Brett Favre has thought about, and even announced, retirement before. In fact it's kind of a guaranteed winter event. Will he or won't he? However this time I feel it's real. While I truly believe the man has at least two more solid years of good football left in him, I believe he is legitimately retiring this year. And even though it hurts my heart and pains my soul to see him go, I'm happy for him and I believe he is making the right choice. He'll be going out on top.

Favre is a legend. He is a true warrior. An iron man. Favre holds many records, having broken several this past season. But none speaks more highly of the warrior than his consecutive starts record. Favre has not missed an NFL start since September 27, 1992. That is 275 football games. 16 years. He has been battered, bruised, and bloodied and continually comes back for more. I remember watching games where he'd get hit and injured and think, "well that's it for Brett." But he'd get up, wince twice, and go back to business. I distinctly remember watching a game where he hit a player's helmet with the thumb of his throwing-arm hand on the followthrough of a particularly nasty pass. Favre was notorious for throwing the ball HARD. The camera panned to his thumb shortly after the injury and it looked like a gourd on a stick. It was swollen to about 3x its normal size and was bright red/purple. He went back into the game and played like a warrior. That injury bothered him the entire season but he sacked up and got it done.

I'll also never forget the game he played the morning after his father, Big Irv, passed away. I believe it was the greatest single performance by a professional athlete ever. Certainly a defining moment for Favre. He threw for four touchdowns in the first half and 399 total passing yards. There were specific plays that seemed to be divinely guided. Now I'm not silly enough to think that God has any interest in football, although he'd be a Packer fan if he had, and I don't think Big Irv was an "angel on the football field" throwing blocks and steadying the ball in flight. I do, however, believe that humans are capable of great things when inspired by an emotional event. The camera occasionally picked up Favre's tear-streaked face through his facemask. He finished the game, winning 41-7, and then went to his dad's funeral. Why did he play? Because Big Irv loved football, loved his son, and would have wanted him there. And I believe Brett felt his dad there with him in spirit. This video clip highlights that performance:



Today's NFL is full of a-holes. Players that do celebratory dances after making routine plays. Quarterbacks that kill dogs for fun. I am terrified that before long we will have exhausted our stock of true heroes. Role models for our children. When my sons are old enough to appreciate football I can only hope they can find someone that is hard-working and classy to idolize. Someone that plays the game because they just love it. And if that day comes, and our NFL is devoid of such character, I'll be able to tell my boys about #4. The one and only Brett Favre.