The Fattman Cup Chilly Half Marathon

Whoa. 13.1 miles is f-a-r-r-r. ...and I enjoyed (nearly) all of them.

I ran my first half marathon today! The race was in Newton and the start time was 7:30a so I was out the door at 5:45a. When I arrived at the start area, the temp was a brisk 32 degrees. This Fall has been very mild so I shouldn't complain about the temp but this meant that I was likely to start with more layers than I'd finish. No one likes to carry more than they must, so I opted to start light and dress for the warmer part of the race.

The cold just compounded my nerves. For the past 4 days, I've been sweating the Newton Hills because my training routes are almost entirely flat. Actually, I should clarify; if it weren't for the structural benefits that an arch lends to bridges, my training routes are completely flat. The Newton Hills are famous for one Boston Marathon hill in particular: Heartbreak Hill. As it turns out, Heartbreak Hill isn't much of a hill at all. It's the fourth hill in a set that spans 2.5 miles and climbs nearly 150'. Fortunately for me, it's placement in this half marathon is much more friendly (miles 5.75 - 8.25) than in The Boston (miles 21 - 23ish).

My goal for the race was admittedly modest: finish with an average pace of 9-10 minutes per mile. I'm happy to report that I accomplished my goal. My final time was 2:04:38. Excluding a pee break, I didn't once walk or stop running. Moral victory! Granted, this isn't the kind of time that gets one to the front of the pack BUT I still got a medal!

The first 10 miles weren't difficult; however, my body ran out of fuel around mile 11. The last two miles were all will power. Here's what I've learned:

• don't make fun of those runners with the little energy gel packs
• hill training makes a big difference
• the longer the race, the better the shirt
• my knees and hips aren't as awesome as I thought

I was tempted to sign up for a full marathon in the Spring and have since wised-up. I think I'll stick to halves for the next 6-9 months.

Mills in Mass – Part Deux

Back in September, Matthew and I decided to get together for a couple of days in Boston.  Despite the thoughts that still weigh heavy on our hearts and minds, we didn’t want to change our plan.  Being separated from the family for most of the year is tough for me – I’m especially happy that Matthew didn’t want to cancel our mancation either.

Living in the city offers loads of entertainment.  Matthew was on the ground for no more than a couple of hours before we were on the T headed for the original Samuel Adams Brewery.  It’s not really in the best part of town, so we only stopped long enough to snap this pic on our way to the Brewery.

It wasn’t long before our pace slowed and the tour began.  By Brewery’s standards, this one is small.  Only about 1% of the total Sam Adams production comes from this brewery.  At 1% of production, they don’t produce enough beer to supply Boston!  The only way to be sure that you’re getting the freshest Sam Adams (the way it was intended) is to come to these hallowed halls.  We paused for another pic on our way into the tasting room.  Checkout the goofball behind us.

We sampled three beers: Sam Adams Boston Lager, Octoberfest, and Harvest Pumpkin Ale.  It was hard for me to believe that this was the first time that Matthew EVER tasted the Boston Lager.  If you click into the photo album, you can see the exact moment where the Lager meets taste buds.  On the way out, we also bought three beers from the Barrel Room Collection.  Matthew’s ranking was Thirteenth Hour, American Kriek, then New World Tripel.  Mine, on the other hand, were the exact opposite!  My opinion?  …chocolate and coffee have no place in a beer.

When we got home, Ali was well on her way to finishing Dad’s pulled pork recipe for dinner.  Ain’t she special?

We had an even busier day on Saturday (which included A LOT of walking exercise).  The Fenway tour started on the other side of Yawkey Way at the Red Sox store.  I tried, but I couldn’t convince Matthew to buy a Red Sox hat.  I suppose we’re both stuck in our ways; he didn’t convince me that the MLB should have an equivalent salary cap for all teams either.  The tour took us from the Press Box at Fenway Park, to the Green Monster, and finally to the super-cozy Grandstand section.  Here’s the view from the Press Box.  Even the Press Box doesn’t compare to the view from the Green Monster.

When we got to the Monstah, Matthew and I found front row seats!  But there was something wrong.  Birds had congregated on the lights (above).  We evacuated the premises immediately.  A bunch of fools snatched up the seats after we left.  …like shooting fish in a barrel.  After Fenway, we headed to the piers for Lobster Rolls.  My preference is for a hot lobster roll but James Hook only serves them one way: cold with a deceptive amount of lobster meat.  The sandwich looks like it’s mostly filling and mayo.  No, no, my friend.  That’s mostly tail meat with some claw mixed in.

We also went to Cheers and spent some time playing FIFA 2011.  Can you guess which one we did more?

Rest Easy Now

My dad passed away earlier today.  He developed a heart condition 20 years ago.  Unfortunately, it reared its head one too many times.

When you’re a young boy, your father is your first and preeminent hero.  Understandably so, I suppose.  He can open any jar, lift any object, brave the closer full of monsters, use any tool, wear a suit, drink coffee, eat the gross foods (e.g. pickled eggs), and revel in them.

Dad was my first hero.  One of his superpowers was an ability to delight his children at will.  I can’t explain why this is the case but one of the memories that has stayed at the forefront of my mind this week is the memory of walking down the steps on an unassuming Saturday or Sunday morning to find a Yoohoo and a pack of baseball cards next to my cereal bowl.

Dad was my hero.

Dad was a good teacher.  There’s a long list of things that I learned from him.  I couldn’t possibly realize it then, but now, I have a real appreciation for the quantity and diversity of the various skills that he passed down: how to shoot, hot to tie a tie, how to camp, how to drive, and the list goes on.

He taught me how to hang drywall.  Anyone who’s raised sons would place an equal level of importance on the ability to repair drywall.  There’s on notorious hole in a wall that appeared on Needle Drive.

Mom & Dad were at a party that night, Hollie was similarly gone, and the boys were home along.  The night’s entertainment was the recently released to VHS, Karate Kid.  One thing led to another and, before long, my foot was in the wall.  Matthew and I devised two cover-up stories, both failed miserably but Mom & Dad let them slide.  Matthew held true to the stories for some period of time (years).  Eventually he cracked under the pressure.  I on the other hand, have stuck to it for way longer.  The truth is that Matthew wasn’t even in the room.  He was two staircases away.  He had nothing to do with “the kick heard ‘round the neighborhood.”  It was just me and the wall; pie y pared.  Shortly thereafter, dad taught me to repair drywall.  I doubt dad fixed many walls from that day forward.

Dad was a good teacher.

Dad had a unique sense of humor.  You knew it when you saw it.  “Dry” was an understatement.  He also liked to keep me off-guard.  I remember being accused of having too much fun one weekend in college.  It was the kind of fun that warrants the revocation of one’s car privileges.  Dad delivered the verdict and sentence by phone, “David, be home no later than 3 hours after your last class on Friday.  I will return you to campus in time for your first class on Monday.  Forget about the car for the rest of the semester.  I’ll give you more details when you arrive.  …oh, and David, one more thing.  Bring home the microwave.”

All of the punishment was expected, except for the microwave bit.  What did a grown man want with my microwave?  It wasn’t until later that I understood why he wanted the microwave at home.

Dad was always thinking ahead.

That was dad.  I have a million positive things to say about him.  Those will be my memories.  I loved him dearly and that’s how it will continue from now until forever.

'Tis the Season (For RIBS!)

Temperatures have dropped, football season has started, leaves are falling off the trees, and it’s dark at 6:30p. Still, Fall hasn’t officially arrived until wifey pulls out the Nesco for an appearance. Guess what. Fall just arrived. Behold, the glory of the Nesco Roaster.

That’s just about as good as it gets. Believe it or not, they’re even better than they look. The smell alone is enough to bring everyone to the kitchen. The ribs simmer for 2.5 hours in a stew of seasoning and brown sugar.

Note: Brown sugar is not part of the rib recipe. However, my quest for the perfect steak has led me to an important revelation: brown sugar makes everything better. I can only imagine that, in some world, bacon and brown sugar are close relatives. …mmmm, brown sugar bacon.

Afterwards, they get another dose of dry rub seasoning, a drenching of BBQ sauce, and another 30 minutes in the Nesco. The choice of BBQ sauce is up to the home team. I brought home two BBQ sauces from the Groc today.

1. Stonewall Kitchen Honey Barbecue Sauce: Simply delicious. A fine mix of sweet honey BBQ with just a touch of spice.
2. Chinese BBQ Sauce: Simply awful. This is the first BBQ sauce that I’ve ever tasted and then thrown away. It’s gritty with salt and the consistency resembles a jelly. I threw it away so quickly that I don’t even know the brand name. Once I figure it out, I’ll update the blog.

If we (by 'we', I mean wifey) were to change anything next time, I might consider finishing the ribs in the oven (broil) to give them a bit more crisp on the top. But, truthfully, they can’t get much better than today’s meal. It’s time for a nap.

The Stairway to Relief is Located in Chinatown

Several years ago, I was diagnosed with allergies to cat dander, pollen, and dust mites.  Starting in college, each September 1st brought a sinus infection.  Once I moved to Boston, both September and March 1st brought a sinus infection.  Fortunately, my allergies aren’t nearly as bad as Hollie’s.  Still, ugh, what a pain.  For the past year and a half, I’ve been taking one Claritin per day and have been (relatively) allergy free.  Yahoo!  Still, it’s a bother to take a pill every single day.

I’ve heard of various different allergy treatments that ‘cure’ an individual of their allergy and it’s finally time to get started!  Now is the right time to ponder how much trust should anyone should bestow in their colleagues.  Would you take a recommendation for a beer, a restaurant, or perhaps a financial consultant?  Of course!  But, would you trust them to recommend a Chinese Acupuncturist armed with a limitless supply of needles?  Eh, why not!?  I’m game.  Let’s try acupuncture!  Off to Chinatown we go! 
As you can see, my faith in my colleagues was put to the test relatively early in the experience.  Still, I pressed forth.

Once inside the temple of doom, I learned my fate.  Sigh.  My qi is blocked.  Yup.  My qi.  Another sigh.  My liver meridian is lacking balance and is easily agitated (hence the allergic reaction).  Further, an imbalance in my stomach meridian is causing me to store stress in my jaws(!).  The man in the white coat prescribed two months of acupuncture (starting immediately) and three diet changes:

1. Replace water with lemon water
2. Replace coffee with special tea
3. No dairy

The diet changes are easy.  They’re closer to a continuation of my recent diet than anything else.  I was sweating the acupuncture, though.  I did it anyhow.  I ended up with about 30 needles.  I couldn’t feel some of the needles.  The other, however, felt exactly like having a needle driven into my body.  Go figure.  There was a tie for the worst needle.  It was either the one in the webbing of my two littlest right toes or the one that went in the front muscle of my left shin.

So what do I have to show for it?  Puncture marks on my face and an appointment for next week!  I’m totally skeptical but will give it a fair shot.  If this doesn’t work, I might try the western type of medicine (and needles).

Honey, I Shrunk the George

Meet the Georges: George Senior (larger, of metal) and George Junior (smaller, of leather etc).

One, the namesake for our weekend getaway, bares the pleasure of Nantucket year round.  The other, a warm memento of days gone by, is destined for Back Bay.  This was a great weekend; the stuff from which legends are made: great weather, a new hotel, and an agreement that neither of us would check our e-mail.

We were expecting this to be a quiet weekend but the Cranberry Festival, Columbus Day holiday, and unseasonably warm weather ensured that the streets were crowded and all the stores would be open for business.   The White Elephant was a new hotel for us.  We stayed in The Residences which are really just a failed condominium project.  We liked the quiet of the detached location that is still within reach of the hotel room service and other amenities.

We never run out of things to do on the island.  We tried a new (to us) deli, rented a Jeep, hit the beaches, ate our fill, and helped the economy live another day.  Our favorite roadside find was the Salt Meadow Antiques stand on the side of Union St.  It turns out that Tony Mello, 87, was a mechanic in the US Army Air Force during World War II.  And with that, the door was open.  The four of us talked about the WWII literature that we’ve read, Tony’s experiences, and that which I have uncovered about my Granddad’s.  We shot the breeze with Tony and Tom for at least 30 minutes and finally purchased a handmade whale piece.  Tony creates pieces using the barn wood that’s located only a short distance from the roadside shop.  He’s responsible for keeping the inventory full while Tom runs the business.  We had to laugh because the cost of this original one-of-a-kind piece was $50 and came with a cool story.  Conversely, everything sold along the strip is 1000% more expensive…and made in China.

My Ancestry.com

In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve taken a recent liking to Ancestry.com. I’ve dabbled in years gone by, but it wasn’t until November 2010 that I started taking it more seriously. The thought of lineage intrigues me. It’s hard to comprehend that Hans Meisel lived from 1531–1586 in the Bayern region of Germany and that I’m related to that guy!

Hans Meisel
Stephan Meisel
Barbara Meisel
Andreas Pfaffenberger
Johannes Pfaffenberger
Johann G Pfaffenberger
Johann P Poffenberger
John Poffenberger
Daniel Poffenberger
William Poffenberger
Fannie May Poffenberger
Great Granddad
Granddad
Dad
Me

1531! One thousand FIVE HUNDRED thirty one! FIFTEEN THIRTY ONE! That’s 480 years ago. That’s closer to William Wallace than it is to William Clinton. In 1531, Henry VIII was the king of England. In 1531, the Church of England had not yet been formed.

Staring into the annals of Ancestry.com is one way to track my lineage. The more trustworthy way is to pack a bag and head for Maryland. I always knew that there were loads of family pictures sitting in Mom & Dad’s possession but, until Wednesday, I didn’t have a real understanding of just how much stuff there was. Dad and I spent a day and a night sifting through some of Dad’s family history. The pictures are wildly fascinating. Here’s one of my favorites. Granddad loved to talk about this softball team. Can you find him? …I’ll put the answer at the end of the post.

Photos weren’t the only thing that we researched. We also found a Thomas genealogy book (which is a HUGE help), numerous newspaper clippings, and meticulous handwritten notes that document the historical significance of each piece. There's the mirror, for example, from the living room in the Line household. Clellie Line’s claim to fame is that she was born in a farmhouse on the Antietam battlefield during the Battle of Antietam. General McClellan was using the Line farmhouse for his own personal quarters during the battle (hence Clellie’s namesake). And then there's the phonograph.  I don't think anyone knows what to do with this...but you've got to admit that it's one of the cooler things you've seen.

At the end of the day, I walked away with about 50 new people in my family tree, portraits for even more, and far more accurate dates for each member's major life events. I hope that I can return someday soon to continue to digitize the collection of our family archives. There’s still A LOT left to scan, transpose, photograph, and document.  When the project is complete, I have a feeling that I might be headed for a road-trip.  A pilgrimage of sorts, to visit those places of gerations gone bye.

Answer: second row, second from right