"How We Spent Our Summer" by Brent and Maggie (An Email Reprint)

(This is from August, 2010)

I can sum up how I spent a majority of my summer in two words: "truck ride".

After a long summer training run, it would usually be so hot that if I was to shower right away I'd just be sweating again as soon as I stepped out of the stall, and I hate that. So instead, I'd cool off first by taking our dog Maggie for a quick drive around Saylorville Lake.

I don't know how it is at your house, but every saying we have for our pets gets shortened down to the bare minimum over time. Instead of hunting down Maggie and asking her, "Hey big girl! Do you want to come along and go for a ride in the truck with me?" I now just yell, "Truck ride!" from the garage. It's not like word choice matters, you put those two words anywhere near each other in a sentence and you'll be soon tackled by an overexcited, 95 pound, four-legged hitchhiker.

Although it's not the safest picture to take, I wanted to show you what I see in the passenger door mirror when I'm driving Maggie around:

Since my shedding passenger doesn't care about conversation or music quality, I'll pass the drive time with a random sampler or library CD. (Really, is there a better place to listen to music than in the car?)  Amongst the audio junk, I'll usually find some cool song - proving my theory that most records have at least one interesting track. Let's say these songs come from my "Dog Days of Summer Soundtrack".

Here's one Maggie and I listened to a lot while cruising through the Saylorville campgrounds:

Link: Chasing You Around

It's Not a Contact Sport (an Email reprint)

(I wrote this a few years ago when Char was one and a half and my knees were in better shape.)

While running in the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick 5K road race last Sunday, I noticed that a lot of the runners are people I recognize, but I don't really know them. I like to create names for these people based on what I see and hear. They all sound like mobster names for some reason. For instance, I spotted "Johnny Tourettes" (he constantly swears to himself as he runs), "The Mouth Breather" (the man sounds like a slow locomotive forever moving uphill), and the self explanatory "Hairy Back Boyd."

Now I get to add two more names to my list.

Sunday's record high temp prompted a lot of men's shirts to be shed (sadly, I got to see the rug Hairy Back Boyd wears from the shoulders down), and there were quite a number of tattoos on display. Like the cereal box at breakfast time, I'll stare at these tattoos as if they're the most interesting thing I've ever seen. I'll admit to being ink-free and out of the tattoo loop, but I thought only girls got tattoos centered at the base of their spine. Apparently not: this guy had a stylized globe adorned with two tribal lightning bolts.

New Name #1: "Tramp Stamp Terry"

Around the second mile marker I caught up with a runner who had sprinted the first mile, but was fading fast. As I was safely passing him, I felt this guy put his hand on my tramp stamp, if I had one, that is. The contact wasn't a bump or the result of his arm swinging in stride either, he had his fingers on me for about two seconds. That might seem like a brief amount of time, but it's not if somebody has their unwanted, sweaty fingers on you. "Hey! Watch it." I growled over my shoulder, but he didn't even react - he just kept plodding along looking at the road beneath his feet.

New Name #2: "Bennie the Bad Touch "

Hands Off! Music Link

Update 2017: Found video footage from this day. Char was also anxious to get in on the running action after watching all the runners. Her little legs carried her from Daphne, past me, and stopped at Grandma Deb who asked, "Are you running the race?" 

These races were a family affair. I miss those days, and I know Daphne does, too. 

Stupid knees.

Reality Check

Daphne, her sister, and a friend ran the Hot Chocolate Race at Principal Park last Sunday. Charlotte and I came along for support, and Char eventually decided to run in the children's fun run.

I've written about this before, but I'll repeat that I used to be a runner. Taking time off from the sport gave me more time with my family, but my wheels got rusty. I've tried to reboot my training, but my knee isn't going along with the plan. I believe my running days are over.

Daphne's been getting up at 5:00 a.m. to do her training runs, and Charlotte doesn't even know that Mom is gone. Daphne earned every step she ran on race day. I wasn't jealous of her. I was jealous of everyone else, though, if that makes sense. It was really hard for me to hear the starter pistol and then walk away in the opposite direction.

Since Mom's race was at 9:00, and Char's run was at 10:00, Char and I had some time to hang out. I didn't feel like cheering for anyone, so I entertained her by looking for things to pose with.

We're still excited about the Cubs' win!

We found some sidewalk chalk, so we scribbled on the pavement for awhile.

Someone had placed a cat face sticker on the stadium, and since that's graffiti, I didn't feel guilty about peeling it off. I have no idea if the cat sticker has a hidden meaning, but I thought the face was funny. I suggested that we could put it on Mom's car as a joke.

I wanted to put the sticker somewhere discrete, but Char insisted that cat face should be placed on Mom's front hood. For the record, Daphne didn't mind, and the cat's still there.



Posing with statues is always fun.

What my pictures can't share with you is that Charlotte held my hand while we encircled the stadium.  We teased each other by bumping hips. We sang songs and changed the lyrics at the other's expense. Char would "hide", and I'd be "scared" when she jumped out. The sun was bright and my daughter's giggles danced around our heads before floating into the sky.

It's too bad that I was feeling too sorry for myself to appreciate the magic.

While I was going through the motions and the runners were passing us by, I stopped to read this plaque.

I didn't know Christopher's story until I read his father's words.

I felt like a character in an old Looney Tunes cartoon that looks at his reflection and realizes that he's been acting like a heel.

Michael Gartner's words were my mirror on Sunday, and I thank him for that. I was concentrating on the race that I was missing instead of the gift that I was holding. How could I be so unappreciative? How many people are out there who'd love to spend time with their happy and healthy kid? 

I wiped the tears from my eyes and gave my daughter an unexpected hug.

"Dad!" she howled in embarrassment, "What was that for?"

"Oh, nothing. I just love you." I bent down and looked Char in the eye, "You know, Mom should be finishing soon. Let's see who can get to the finish line first and start cheering." Char snickered and sprinted off before I could move. 

I followed, but I wasn't in a rush. I was already a winner. 

16 Days to Go

K is for Kickball, but I didn't get a picture of that.

I was able to get two pictures of Char walking to the high school track with her teacher and classmates. Today Olmsted Elementary is having their first ever Fun Run!



I wouldn't be able to watch her on the track; the gun goes off at 1:30, and my open period ends at 1:36. But I was able to wish her luck and give her a high five.

Someone was pretty surprised to see Dad.





I pledged $3 per lap, so we'll see how much this is going to cost me...

That was Me. This is Me.

I used to be a runner.

You don't know how strange it is for me to write that sentence.

The only high school sport I was any good at was track. When I quickly put on my "Freshman 15" (and then some) in college, I ran to lose the weight. I experienced the same weight gain when I moved to Des Moines and rented my first apartment. I didn't know how to use the kitchen, and microwave meals are chock-full of calories. A summer of running trimmed me back down.

It's been 23 years since I've lived in that first apartment, and my typical afterschool routine was to run five miles before going home. It's not impressive. Running just gave me time to sweat and think. I ran with my friend Dawn for several years, and it became a time to sweat, think, and talk.

I eventually stepped up my game and signed up for some organized races. I ran the Dam to Dam 20K nine years in a row. Sometimes my Dam to Dam training extended into the fall so I could run the Des Moines marathon. I've run that race four times.

I wasn't the only runner in our family. Daphne has run the Dam to Dam five times, and she has also run the Des Moines Marathon. We were both members of the Capital Striders running club. We traveled all over central Iowa to run races together. In fact, in most of the pictures of us as a couple, we are wearing bib numbers and finisher medals.

I tried the Chicago marathon in 2007. I was told that if you write your name on your shirt, then the people of Chicago will shout encouragement while you run. That was true. Two or three times per mile I could hear someone yell, "Good job, Brent!" That was very cool.

The rest of the experience wasn't so cool. The '07 Chicago Marathon was a mess.


I was at mile 23 when an ambulance's speaker announced that race was over. I didn't quit, though. I had gone too far for that.

It was so hot and miserable; I was all but walking by the 25th mile. I stumbled past a trio of spectators: two girls and a boy sitting on the concrete curb. The boy looked to be about twelve, but he made eye contact with me and spoke with a voice that was surprisingly mature, "You can do it, Brent. You are going finish." I nodded in appreciation and thought that might have been the most encouraging statement that I had ever heard.

When I crossed the finish line, I announcer yelled at the crowd of runners behind me, "Slow down everybody! This is no longer a marathon. It is now a fun run!" I thought that might be the dumbest statement that I had ever heard.

I ran the Dam to Dam in 2010. Daphne was seven, eight and nine months pregnant during that summer, so she wasn't running. I wanted to be home in case there was an emergency, so I stopped training, too.

Charlotte was born on August 18 (she and Daphne share the same birthday). Two months later, I was sitting in church on the morning of the marathon. Actually, I was stewing in the pew while Charlotte slept in the baby carrier between us. I kept checking my watch and mentally calculating where I'd be on the course if I had been running that day. It almost hurt to miss that race.

I started running again a few months later. I ran the Dam to Dam and the Des Moines Half Marathon in 2011. We all ran Dam to Dam races the next year. Charlotte was old enough to run with the one-year-olds, and Daphne ran the 5K.



Charlotte and I also ran at the Dam to Dam in 2013.

Daphne brought Charlotte downtown on race day so Char could run her race and they could cheer me on, but I knew Daphne would rather have been home with her mother. Deb had been recently diagnosed with cancer, and we didn't know how much time she had left (sadly, it was less than two months.) For the first time, crossing the finish line was an empty achievement for me. Running had become a selfish priority.

I realized that every time I left the house to go for a run, I was leaving Daphne alone to take care of our daughter. Parenting a little one is hard work, and I was literally running away from that responsibility under the guise of keeping myself healthy. I could be gone anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours. And it wasn't like I scooped up Charlotte off the floor the moment that I walked into the house, either. I had to cool down, change clothes, maybe take a shower... None of that was fair to Daphne.

Yes, I was a runner long before I met my wife, and I was still a runner when our daughter was born. But when the world around you changes, you have to change with it.

I walked away from running.

I briefly considered early morning runs, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. It is hard enough for me to get up at 5:45. I can't imagine taking a 4:00 alarm seriously. I know my limitations.

I haven't run in three years. My weight fluctuates, but it's not too bad. My knees feel better than they used to, but when I chase Charlotte up the stairs I can feel it in my legs. They're not as strong as they once were.

Do I miss running? Not really. I miss stopping. I miss that sense of accomplishment when a run is over. The thing is, I could start running again. Daphne usually picks up Charlotte after school. They don't get home until 4:30 or 5. There's plenty of time for me to go for a quick run. I just don't do it. Honestly, that doesn't even occur to me. I'm not a runner anymore.

I plan to buy a tag-along bike for Charlotte this spring, and then the three of us can exercise together on our bikes. Maybe in a few months, I can write a post about being a biker.

Until then, I'll be the guy taking a quick nap on the couch until my girls get home.

I'm cool with that.

Taking Flight

The only high school sport I was any good at was track. But even that success was limited. My short legs kept me out of the high and long jumps, I wasn't big enough to "put" the shot anywhere, and I was about as quick as the month of January.

When I was a freshman I even tried to pole vault. It was after a winter practice in the gym. I ran the pole down the floor, but I missed the metal box that the pole plants in, and the end of the pole was instead wedged behind the box and against the thick, red mat. The pole was bent, but I could see it had no hope of lifting me. I released my grip, and to my horror the pole sprang into flight, did a midair flip, and then crashed into the electronic scoreboard. Sparks and shattered bits of light bulbs exploded from the wall. I can't remember how many bad words my coached used, but it was a lot. I wasn't even allowed to carry the pole vault bag to the bus after that.

That scoreboard was broken for a month, and every time I walked into the gym for P.E. I tried to not look at it. The dent and empty bulb sockets were glaring reminders of how pathetic I was.

So, why did I say I was good at track? Well, as far as athletic talent goes, my only strength was that I could endure pain. And that's what made me so well suited to be a long distance runner. I've got terrible eye-hand coordination, but to be competitive in long distance races all I had to do was remain upright and make subtle left turns. I could do that.

I didn't have any real strategy when I began running races. I'd just set my pace so I'd be near the front of the pack. If it was painful, I'd just put up with it. When the time came to make the final turn, I'd crank up my pace to where it was almost intolerable and then I’d see what would happen. That didn't work for every race, but I did win quite a few.

My problem was I'd get so nervous. I was afraid I'd let down my team, disappoint my coach, and embarrass my parents. It's not like I hadn't done that in other sports. Then there was that pain. Yes, I could endure it, but I also dreaded the enduring. On track meet days I couldn't concentrate in class, and I wouldn't eat anything at lunch. By the time I stepped off the bus that afternoon I'd be sick to my stomach.

The 3200 meter run was always the first race of the meet, the 1600 was in the middle, and the open 800 was near the end. By the time I was off the track and off the hook, the concessions were closed. And by the time I got home around 10 pm, I'd be starving.

That's when I could count on my dad. He'd never tell me that he was proud of me; we didn't have that kind of a relationship. But as soon as I walked into the house there would be a steak dinner waiting for me. Sound fancy? Not really. We had a permanent gas grill in our back yard that was hooked up to an underground gas line, and Dad grilled dinner three times a week. Every year he'd buy some large package deal from the Rock Valley butcher, and we always had a  freezer full of meat. Dad's way of telling you he loved you was to make you dinner.

I'm the same way with my family, but I say the words, too.

Back then the Monsons always ate on trays in the TV room, and Mom, Dad, and I would watch the end of the news while I scarfed down my meal. Soon they'd go to bed, but I was too hopped up on adrenaline and protein to hit the sheets, and so I'd turn the TV to the USA Network. At 11:00 that station would start airing my favorite TV show of all-time Night Flight!

And that's what I'm going to write about tomorrow.

Dam to Dam 2013 Recap

For me, summer doesn't start until I've crossed a finish line. in front of my daughter. I like to begin the season by setting a good example for Charlotte. She knows what's on my chest, and she gets really excited when she gets to put on a bib number, too.

Unlike Dad, she didn't have any pre-race jitters.

Last year the youth run was well organized. They lined up the kids by age, and each age group ran individual races. The one-year-olds, the runners with the shortest attention span, went first.

This year it was a bit of a mess. They started with the oldest age groups. Then they grouped the ones and twos together for a single race, which only doubled the confusion. By the time they yelled, "Go!" other age groups (and their parents) also entered the fray. Charlotte was almost knocked to the ground by an overzealous mother, and the little cheater girl who won was six.

Despite the confusion, Char was pretty excited to see the welcoming committee of team mascots at the finishing line.

She liked her finisher's ribbon, too.

Later Char bumped into Olympic gymnast Shawn Johnson.

Char was particularly impressed with Shawn's Great Dane, Titus. Here he is eating somebody's Powerade.

Char got to see her dad run. She ran a race with her mom. And she spent the rest of the morning with family, athletes, and big dogs.

See? I really am setting a good example for her.

Sole Mates

When you run in large, organized road races, companies like Marathonfoto.com will have photographers stationed throughout the course to take action photographs of you.

I'm usually in a lot of pain when the shutter clicks, but I try to smile. Lord knows why; in every photo I look like I have a stick up my wazoo. At first I thought it was just bad timing, but after running in several of these races, I've found that all of my photos look like this:

My chest sticks out too far, my head is tilted at a weird angle, and I look like I'm being pulled by a rope attached to my chin. It's hard to admit to myself, but I must look this awkward when I'm doing training runs, too. No wonder neighbors eye me suspiciously.

Last night Daphne pointed out how Char has already worn down the soles of her tennis shoes. Charlotte may not yet be a runner, but like most kids her age, she runs everywhere she goes. What I noticed was the excessive wear on the outside of the heel of her shoes. You can see the raised hearts on the inside of the sole, but on the outside the hearts have been worn away:

I wear down my shoes in exactly the same place. This is called oversupination, and it's a problem for runners because the foot is far less able to provide shock absorption when it is landing on the outside edge. Ankle sprains, shin splits, and stress fractures are all problems associated with oversupination, and I have experienced all three.

Poor Charlotte, she inherited my step and all the troubles that come with it. I just hope she doesn't get my goofy gait, too. But if she doesn't escape that fate, then maybe the two of us can be running partners. We could look awkward together.

Actually, that would be pretty awesome.