Boy, that escalated quickly.
If last night’s commute home is any indication, we may be in for a bear of a winter. In this part of Ohio, it’s not often that winter makes such an early and strong statement of its intent, but this was fairly convincing. I’m hoping for a couple more warm spells before the year is out, but maybe I shouldn’t count on them!
Kerry (seated) poses on the Birthday Saddle. And some other dude makes it even funnier.
Today was another hill climb workout, for me. I went alone this time, and was surprised at how much less motivation I had, without Katie there. I rode almost 17 miles and set a PR on one of the hills, but I still just didn’t feel the urge to attack and hammer like I did when she was there. I guess part of me still likes to show off for my girl!
After I was done pedaling and Katie was done at CrossFit, we headed over to Texas Roadhouse for a surprise birthday party for Kerry, one of the owners of Katie’s gym. It was a lively time with a bunch of cool people, and Kerry seemed genuinely surprised and moved at the turnout. I got to meet a couple of Katie’s CF friends, which was nice, and one of them even bought our table shots of tequila!
I was ravenous by the time we finally got seated and ready to order, so I called for a 16 oz sirloin. It was cooked and seasoned well enough, and in fact was impressive for a national chain. But I’ve grown accustomed to the beef from Innisfree, so I thought it lacked some flavor. After the dinner rolls, margaritas and appetizers, I put down the whole steak and left happily stuffed. More of my post workout meals should follow this pattern!
Yep. That’s a pound of steak.
It’s that time of year, again. time for raking leaves, dressing your kids up as scary/cute things, breaking out your favorite hoodies, and screaming slurred expletives at college football games.
And growing moustaches.
That’s right, boys and girls, it’s almost Movember, the time of year where I allow a hilarious little fuzz strip to inhabit my upper lip, for your amusement and for charity! And not just any charity. Movember’s purpose is to raise money specifically to fight Man Cancer. We’re talking about prostate and testicular cancers. They aren’t pretty, and so they don’t get as much attention as, say, boobs. That’s understandable. But ignoring Man Cancer isn’t.
My maternal grandfather had prostate cancer, and it eventually claimed his life. He taught me many things as a kid, but the most important lessons were those of character and integrity. He worked hard every day of his life, and for the whole time I knew him, did it sporting a fantastic moustache.
So in his honor, starting 1 Movember, I’m declaring a thirty-day hiatus on shaving in my upper lip region. I’ll be posting regular, hilarious updates as to my… er… “progress” for you to follow, like and share. And this year, I’m upping the ante.
Last Movember, I ran a little contest each week to let people name my ‘stache when they donated. While that was humiliating for me and fun for you, I don’t think it involved enough pain and suffering on my part to keep you all engaged. So this year, I’m going to match you, mile for dollar, all month long.
That’s right. You donate a dollar, I run, ride or row a mile. I’ll post proof of my mileage on here along with updates on my fuzzy little lip friend. Now because you people have surprised me before, and because I may occasionally have to go to work this month, I have to cap the mileage total at 500. But that ain’t nothing. It’ll represent my single biggest total in a month all year, and fully 1/4 of the miles I’ve posted so far. But if you’ve got the cash, I’ve got the time.
Let’s do this. Click the link below to donate, share this page with your friends, and let’s team up to help stop Man Cancer in its tracks!
Is a big, spoiled softie. And also a ladies’ man. It’s embarrassing.
Somebody wanna tell me why they need two ‘M’s? Never understood that.
I’ve had to do an inordinate amount of clothes shopping this year. I don’t normally enjoy it, since it involves, well, shopping. I’m fond of telling my wife that I don’t go shopping, I go buying. But for clothes, you usually don’t have much of a choice. Anyway, when it comes to shopping for clothes because my old ones are too big, I’m willing to make an exception.
Last summer, as I trained for my first half marathon, I discovered that XL t-shirts had become baggy on me. This was underlined when I picked up my packet and shirt for the Air Force Half. I registered early in the year, when XL was still the norm. But by the time the race rolled around in September, the shirt hung off me like a nightgown.
This year, as shorts weather has given way to jeans weather, I’ve found that almost none of my fall clothes fit me any more. I’m down two pants sizes from 2011, and it seems that now I’m down two shirt sizes as well. I have to shop carefully, so I can get medium tops that are long enough in the sleeve, but I’m starting to swim in some of my Large stuff. Never did I imagine myself wearing a medium anything, since I haven’t since High School. But a growing portion of my wardrobe now sports an M where there once was an L, from bike shorts and boxers to t-shirts and sweaters. It’s the sort of thing that can make shopping fun.
It’s no surprise to me that the most popular posts on this blog often involve the three most important girls in my life. My wife Katie, my sister Rebekah, and my niece Hannah are all talented athletes, hard workers, and beautiful people. As much time as I spend writing of my own efforts, I enjoy telling of theirs more, because I am so proud of them and because they are so dear to me.
But this post is about a whole host of great people, most of whom I’ve never met. This post is the story of a high school in rural Ohio, full of staff and kids with big hearts, mature heads, and bright futures. It’s about people setting aside themselves and their ambitions, to do something beautiful.
The Homecoming Court
My sister was born in 1993 with Trisomy-21 Down Syndrome. There are a lot of details that come along with the extra chromosome, like heart defects and learning delays and health complications. Rebekah’s life has been a challenge for her and those around her literally from the moment of her birth. In her first few weeks of life, she was so small and weak that we weren’t sure if she’d live. Her first year was a blur of doctors, surgeries and intensive care units. Before she could crawl, her medical file was thicker than most people’s will get in a lifetime.
With a Down Syndrome child, every phase of life takes longer, every obstacle is higher, every new thing is harder. Teaching her to crawl, to use sign language, to speak, to care for herself. Things that are brief or almost automatic in the rearing of most children are deliberate with Rebekah. When she was very little, there were no shortage of “experts” trying to lower our expectations for her, and but for a lot of hard work and more than a few remarkable people, they may have been right.
Over time, we learned to never doubt Rebekah’s potential. What she lacks in innate ability, she makes up for in determination. Where she wants in physical stature, she abounds in outgoing personality and genuine love for her fellow man. Since she was introduced to an early intervention program at the age of two, she has won the heart of every war weary teacher, every salty administrator, every aide and classmate and coach she has come across. Struggles with walking and talking gave way to piano lessons and basketball practices. Worry for her life gave way to celebrations of it, every triumph made sweeter by the struggle to achieve it. She has taught all of us what things are important in life, and made us all better people for having come across her. From her, we have learned that it is best in life to measure others not by their appearance, but by the size of their heart.
Rebekah and her escort, senior and starting outside linebacker John Bellomy. Great kid.
By that measure, the staff and students at Greenon High School in rural Clark County, Ohio are among the greatest people in the world. Prior to Rebekah’s Freshman year, we had every reason to be concerned. We’ve all been through high school. We know what a confusing, tumultuous time it can be. We remember how cruel and judgmental the kids can be. But we needn’t have worried. The student body unanimously accepted her as their own, following the example of a staff of teachers and coaches determined to show, by their example, how to live a selfless and honest life.
We three older siblings can only look on in awe of her high school career. Twenty years ago, never would anyone have guessed that, of the four of us, Rebekah would be the most popular, best liked, most successful student. She’s a perennial starter on the girls’ varsity basketball team, and has scored actual points in actual games each season. She manages the girls’ volleyball teams, and at this years’ senior night, each of the graduating players spoke tearfully about what Rebekah has meant in their lives. She’s been elected by her peers to Homecoming and Prom courts, not because they had to, but because they actually like her that much.
That brings us to last week, and a brilliant and crisp autumn evening outside of Springfield. Mom received word that Rebekah had been elected to the Homecoming court, and that part of her job was to secure her own ride for the parade before Friday night’s football game. After a flurry of text and Facebook messages, my buddy Tom’s boss Jeff Vehr volunteered his Mustang convertible, complete with fuzzy dice, for the job.
The Queen (not yet crowned) waves to her adoring fans (who were going absolutely wild when this was taken).
I showed up early to share in the photo and video duties with Dad, and stood back for awhile, watching the pre-parade formalities. Rebekah was to be escorted by John Bellomy, a senior and starting outside linebacker for the football team, who had volunteered to do it. From everything I’ve witnessed, his character is typical of the sort of young people produced by this high school and the community that surrounds it. We kept trying to get pictures of Rebekah with her escort, but that turned out to be something of a challenge, as every kid who showed up for the game seemed to stop by to say hi to her and give her a hug. This wasn’t a scant few kids who had taken her under their wing. This was the entire student body. Jocks, nerds, skaters, cheerleaders, everybody. If there had been any more, we would have had to form a receiving line.
I took stills and video until the cars were all lined up for the parade, and then sprinted across the field to film them coming around the track. The PA guy announced each court member and read a short bio, including their varsity letters and future plans. When he called Rebekah’s name, the crowd went from polite applause to raucous cheering. After the parade had rolled by, I crossed the track and took a place in the stands, to film the homecoming court presentation.
You’ll never meet a better bunch of kids.
It would be dishonest of me to say that the thought of Rebekah being crowned Queen hadn’t crossed my mind. But I had dismissed it as improbable. The kids had included her, brought her into their circles, and that was more than we could have ever asked. To think that they would give yet more of themselves, sacrifice their own desires for recognition and popularity, do something so selfless and mature, was just unrealistic.
Except that it wasn’t. With the court assembled on the stage, in front of a grandstand full of students and families, the announcement came over the speaker like a shockwave. “Your 2013 Greenon High School Homecoming Queen is…. REBEKAH HITZEMAN!”
I would not have thought a crowd of such size was capable of such a noise. It was pandemonium. People screamed and clapped and jumped from their seats. For more than a few of us, our eyes got misty. My baby sister, who once seemed unlikely even to survive, was now a High School Homecoming Queen. If you gave the story to Hollywood, they’d dismiss it as unbelievable. There are not words to convey to the staff and students at Greenon how thankful I am for their role in Rebekah’s life. Our family has been immeasurably blessed by their actions and attitude towards her. If you ever feel as if there’s no hope for the future, I encourage you to look at them, and be reassured.
Rebekah isn’t done teaching us yet. Just when we think we’ve figured her out, never to doubt her, she shows how she can change the world around her, just by being herself. Thanks, little sister, and congratulations. You deserve every moment of it.
John and Rebekah share a dance. The look on her face tells what an exceptional guy he is.
See? We can be civilized if we want!
Tonight, Katie and I had the chance to do something we rarely do: get all dressed up and go to a nice dinner. We attended a formal dining out for the Order of the Musket, an award given by the enlisted members of the Ohio Air National Guard to persons who have dedicated their careers to the advocacy and welfare of the enlisted force. This year’s recipients were Major General Gregory Wayt (ret.) and Chief Master Sergeant Christopher Muncy. Before this evening, there had only been a handful of previous recipients, including former Congressman Dave Hobson, so it was a fairly big deal.
My unit was hosting the event in downtown Springfield, at Clark State’s Hollenbech Bayley Creative Arts Center. Dinner was good, the ceremony was impressive, and Chief Muncy’s turn at the podium was especially motivational and inspiring, despite my usual skepticism at such events.
But the highlight of the evening for me was seeing Katie, all dolled up for the first time in what seems like ages. Hair done up, dangly earrings, high heels and everything. We’re used to seeing each other in workout clothes or bike gear, sweating and red-faced. To be fair, I find that Katie entirely attractive, but there’s something about getting all cleaned up and going out formally that elicits a skipped heartbeat or ten. She’s very dimensional, my wife. I should make a point of taking her out like this more often.
With the race cancelled yesterday, I had an unexpected free morning. After church, we headed to The Meadowlark for brunch. I felt strange within myself, like I had walked into the wrong party. I had been mentally gearing up for the final MTB race of the season, trying to harness all of my aggression and readying it to be unleashed on Sunday afternoon. Instead, I found myself in a rather posh and hipster brunch joint, sipping a coffee cocktail and exchanging polite conversation with the sort of people who regularly eat Sunday brunch in posh and hipster brunch joints, most of whom were twice my age and several brackets above my income. It’s not a situation in which I would normally find myself uncomfortable, but it was such a departure from the way I had expected to spend my day — drenched in mud, sweat and adrenaline — that everything else seemed a little surreal.
Existential crises aside, the meal was actually pretty good. My mushroom and Gruyère omlette was well cooked and supremely tasty, and the quality of the mushrooms used was apparent. I paired it with a cocktail they call a Grasshound, which is coffee, rum, cream and mint. It was interesting, if a little earthy, but worth ordering again.
Katie’s French Toast, on the other hand, was a disappointment. They tried to use some sort of artisan bread for the toast, and it ended up just being a mushy mess. The toppings were cold, which made the whole dish cold, and they finished the trainwreck by adding a cheese that Katie found entirely too strong for the dish. One wouldn’t think that French Toast would be easy to screw up, but I guess this is what can happen when you try to get too fancy. For a restaurant with such a sterling reputation in the local foodie community, we were surprised that they’d mess up something so evidently easy.
So no race, and brunch on a rainy Sunday was 1 for 2. Not exactly the roaring Sunday we had hoped for.
… is an open gate.
I would be remiss if I didn’t recount, for the purposes of this blog, at least some of the shenanigans that I took part in while in Vegas for the week. While I mostly avoided the strip, we did go down there a couple of times, and took in some of what Vegas is known for.
A good beer to drink whilst watching other people gamble. Not $14 (?!) good, but good.
I think I found this way more amusing than Caesar.
Surprisingly good Memphis-style barbecue, right outside the gate. Who’d have guessed?
I’m a wiener!
This constitutes a break in a yearlong fast food prohibition. But I mean, c’mon. It was In N Out.
The electric acid trip that is Fremont Street.
Obligatory picture is obligatory.
After the wall-to-all thrash that was yesterday, I found myself at an airport early this morning, boarding a flight that would take me to Las Vegas (via Chicago) for work. In stark contrast to so many other airline trips I’ve taken for work and pleasure, this trip was marked by pleasant and helpful staff on the part of both the airline (American) and the TSA, upgraded seating on one flight, and a generally easy overall experience. It was completely weird.
When in Rome… Or Chicago.
I took my backlog of bicycle magazines with me, and actually found the enforced solitude of the flights to be relaxing. I was able to read in relative peace and quiet, without the distractions of notifications on my phone or chores needing done. Words I never thought I’d say, but I should fly more often!
I got to spend the day with my niece, today. We didn’t do much of consequence, just hung out, watched some TV, played some video games. We walked her dog around the block and rode bikes down to the local sushi place for lunch, just relaxing on a beautiful summer day and enjoying each others’ company.
She’s at an age now where she’s fun to have around as a friend, not just a kid. I’m not sure when that happened, or if there was ever a distinct line, but it did. She’s smart, and capable, and loves to tell and hear jokes. She’s eager to share her (admittedly brief) life experiences with you, in the sort of intricate detail that only a young mind can capture. She’s remarkably mature for her age, which isn’t a surprise, but still is so very good at being a kid that it makes you feel younger, just being around her. She’s in a beautiful place in life, after the limitations of early childhood but before the tumult of her teens, and she seems to get that more than most kids, and embrace it.
I’ve had to do more than a little travelling for work since she was born, and so missed out on spending as much time with her as I wanted for a few years. But the result has been that I appreciate afternoons like this more than maybe I would have otherwise, and I think she does too. Perhaps more than the bike races and track meets, I’ll always treasure these simple, happy pictures of my niece, and her puppy, chilling together on the couch.