DEJA TWO: THE CRAZY ROAD TO ANOTHER IRONMAN FINISH

"What the hell am I doing?"

I muttered that to myself at just past 4 a.m. as I was waiting for my ham, egg, and cheese
sandwich at a convenient store just outside of Lake Placid, N.Y. In two and-a-half hours
I'd be starting a 140.6 mile journey through the breathtaking Adirondack region.

I'm sure the clerk muttered to herself, "What the hell is this guy doing?" as I stood there
in spandex shorts, fire-engine red tank-top, and a pack of gummy bears in my hand.

Yes, at the age of 51, I was fueling up for the iconic Ironman, an event I successfully
completed nearly a year ago to the day. I was back to test myself for more than 12
hours in ways that only Ironman know. The race is more a battle of the will and the
mind than physical talent.

And it's amazing what can go through the mind during such a long and arduous journey.

It all begins with a 2.4 mile swim that is kind of like Black Friday at Best Buy. Competitors
are all lined-up 10 deep and as soon as the green flag drops, it's absolutely mayhem.
Mirror Lake is a mile long and a half-mile wide and everybody wants to swim in a 10-yard
lane but there are no iPads, iPhones, or big screen television to buy. Just a 2-plus mile
swim in a blender of feet, hands, arms, and legs.

Some of these people try to make like it's water polo where a lot of sinister things take
place below the surface. "Oh, thanks for that foot to the mouth, buddy. And that elbow
to the cranium really felt great!" It can be quite insane, really.

After completing the swim, the sprint to the transition area nearly 600 yards away begins.
The heart is pounding and you're almost a bit dizzy as if someone spun you around five
times and told to run a straight line. Not happening.

I'm amazed at the effort of some people make to get to the bike for the 112-mile portion
of the event. What the hell is the rush? Are those 35 seconds you saved really going
to make a difference?

I just kind of chill, relax, and get mentally ready for the mind-numbing ride through
the challenging, but absolutely breathtaking ride through the Adirondacks. You can get
a high off the scenery, but it's still an absolute bear, bitch, or whatever nasty adjective
you care to use to describe a ride that burns your legs and sucks almost all the
oxygen out of your lungs.

But it's also a great time to people watch and figure out their story is. You see riders
with these $1,000 helmets and wonder if it's really worth it to pay so much to shave
a few minutes off your time. With their Oakley glasses, arm sleeves, and tear-drop
helmets, they kind of look like aliens in search of a new planet.

Everyone has their age marked on their right calf before the race, but seriously, what
I'm trying to figure out is why the organizers do it. I mean, it's not like the spectators
have a program to match the number with the competitor. If a competitor drops dead,
will it be easier for the EMT's to blurt out, "Man, this dude was 72. At least he had a full
life."?

Perhaps, it's because they want everyone to know the age of the person you just
dusted or got dusted by. I love it simply because when I say to myself, "Aren't I too
old for this crap?", somebody who is 17 years older than me passes me and I get my
answer.

Near the 100-mile mark when I started seeing double, I heard feet behind me pedaling
furiously, followed by a soft but experienced voice that barked out, "Keep it up, Paul." 
My bib number with my name affixed to it, was on my back so I was not surprised my
name was blurted out. This little old lady with the number "61" on her right calf staring
back at me, was passing me by.

She might've said, "Keep it up, Paul", but what she really meant was, "I'm
61-years-old and I'm kicking your ass, bitch"  Yeah, I even got a chuckle out of
it especially when I battled back to pass her. I didn't get any satisfaction out of
it, though, just a sense of relief.

I got relief when I finished the 112-mile without popping a tire. That's what
every biker dreads. Heart pounding through chest, sweat coming out of every
pore in the body, mind lost in space--yes, changing a tire under those conditions
is only slightly less than water-boarding torture.

Going from the bike to the run was torture as well. Your legs burn and
feel like 100-pound bags of concrete---and now you have to run 26.2 miles?

What the hell am I doing?

I was determined to run a good marathon, but that went out the window at mile 3.
After 112-miles on the bike and baking under the hot sun, I was cooked.Totally cooked.
Every competitor goes through trials, tribulations, aches, and crazy-type of pains, but
nobody wants to hear any excuses. I realize that, but I knew was cooked---but I kept on
moving forward.

The Ironman is just a microcosm of life, really. It's an ultra-marathon, not a sprint. You
face immense obstacles, great challenges, and things don't always seem fair, but you just
keep plugging away and moving forward. If you stop, life, not to mention, other competitors
just pass you by.

And as Hall of Fame football coach Lou Holtz famously said, "20 percent of the
people don't care about your problems, the other 80 percent are glad you have them."

The only thing you can do is fight on and tell the mind you are going to finish
no matter what. There was no way I was going to see a "DNF" posted after my
name. DID NOT FINISH. That was not an option.

I really didn't get my legs under me until mile 13 and it was already a long day by then.
I just kept picturing in my mind what it was going to be like when I could stop and not feel
bad about it.

My mother, sister, brother-in-law, and all their beautiful kids were there cheering
me on and they inspired me. And just like the year before, they were at the finish
line when I completed the 140.6 miles required to be called an Ironman last Sunday.

When I came down the finishing chute looking like death warmed over, I got a final burst
of energy and a big smile washed over my face. Through all the miles, aches, and pains,
 there is nothing better than sharing the moment with the family.

My time was 14:16 which was two hours off my time from last year.

It did not matter. It was all about finishing this time around.

The finish, the family, well, it was jut spectacular.

Less than 12 hours finishing the race, I signed up to do it all over again next year.

What the hell am I doing?

THE COMEBACK OF PETE BOCK

Last February, Pete Bock lay motionless on the ground outside his home in North Carolina.
His yard morphed into a thick patch of ice thanks to a wicked storm that put the region
in a deep freeze.

Bock slipped, and as anyone who has had their feet pulled out from under them knows,
that moment of being helpless in the air, turns into a conglomeration of danger, fear,
anxiety,  and the uncertainly that comes when gravity pulls you back to something that
doesn't give an inch, no matter the opponent's size, shape, and in Bock's case, impeccable
character.

Bock hit his head on the ice-covered ground. His wife, Cindy, rushed to his side, only to
slip and fall, breaking her hip.  If this was a test by someone of a higher-power, it was a
hard and cruel one for two wonderful people who are deeply religious.

Cindy shattered her hip in the fall,  suffered a traumatic head injury, leaving him paralyzed
below the waist . His injury left him so debilitated, it wasn't certain that he'd live, much
less walk again.

But through his faith, family, and small miracle, Bock battled through his injury and survived.
He went through surgery, setbacks, and a tough rehabilitation program to get a good part
of his health back. But the man considered to be the "Mr. Baseball" in North Carolina, was
still bound to a wheelchair, the feeling in his lower extremities yet to return.

However, in late May, Bock returned to the game he so dearly loves. He showed up for
the opening game of the Holly Springs Salamanders, the team he owns in the Coastal
Plain League, which just happens to be the one he founded and brought to life.

“We’ve got a long way to go, but I think God that I’m here today and able to see this," 

 Bock told a North Carolina television station. "It was one of my goals from the time I

woke up in the hospital.”

A bad thing happened to a truly good person, but that good person, through his faith
and an iron-strong family, helped Bock overcome a horrific thing. He may still have
a long way to go, but he is certainly headed in the right direction. Anybody who knows
Pete Bock, knows he is a beautiful person and a man of great character. If you don't
like Pete Bock, then you probably just don't like good people.

The rest of the journey will be a challenging one with changes to Bock's normal everyday
routine. A ramp for his wheelchair was built to make things more a little more convenient
for him.  There is more rehabilitation ahead and with it, comes expenses that will be sure
to accumulate at a mind-boggling rate. His daughter, Clara Grace, and son, Jeff, set up a
GoFundMe account to help out with expenses. www.gofundme.com/tmnsas

Clara Grace noted in her in on-line journal, "We still know and believe that God has a
big plan for all of this even if right now it is so unclear. We are weary, but our God
never grows weary, never sleeps, never lets go of his children. Our prayer is for
endurance and wisdom."

I met Pete Bock on the set of "Bull Durham" where he was the baseball coordinator.
We became friends for life that day and I consider him one of the best ones I have.
It's great to see him back in the game and doing the thing he that he loves dearly.

Yes, he has a long way to go, but he bulldozed his way through a big test and has a
big smile on his face to prove it.

And that's a beautiful thing.

 

FLAG DAY AND THE GREATEST SAVE OF OLD GLORY

Few things instill as much pride in our country as Old Glory.  With 50 stars, 13 stripes, and
the best-looking color combination in the spectrum, she is nearly perfect and quite powerful
It is raised for Olympic champions and a staple of nearly every college and professional
sporting event in the country.

Today, we celebrate Old Glory and the 238th birthday of it with flag day. It will always
be considered sacred and everyone who has one is responsible for taking care of it, protecting
everything that it represents.

However, that wasn't the case during a baseball game on April 25, 1976 between the
Los Angeles Dodgers and Chicago Cubs. A father and his 11-year-old son ran onto the
field and attempted to set it on fire as a protest to the United States, which was reeling
in crisis. Rick Monday, a centerfielder for the Cubs as the time, sprinted toward the duo
and snatched it before they could torch it.

It was a great moment for our national pride, baseball, and Rick Monday, who became
somewhat of a hero for doing the right thing at the right time, preserving a piece of
perfection.

After the game, Monday said, "If you're going to burn the flag, don't do it around me.
I've been to too many veterans' hospitals and seen too many broken bodies of guys
who tried to protect it."

With the social media, talk radio, and 24-hour new channels the way they are today,
I'm fairly certainly Rick Monday would be a household name if he saved that flag in
2015 instead of 1976.

Ironically, Monday was traded to the Dodgers the following Winter and Los Angeles
had a real hero to celebrate and honor.

Happy Birthday, American Flag, and thank you, Rick Monday.

ALISSA BIGELOW, I AM SORRY. I DID NOT KNOW

 

Throwback Thursday floods Facebook with pictures of the past, most of them showing
styles that are out of style and big smiles that seem to last forever. When I was browsing
through the news feed yesterday, I noticed a picture of a former co-worker, face beaming
while embracing a friend.

The caption was written by her friend: "Good times with Alissa. I miss her everyday.
I know she's smiling up there."

My heart sank and jaw hit the floor. The words "smiling up there." could only mean
one thing. I quickly went to her Facebook page and saw other phrases that confirmed
what I was thinking.

"Lord knows how many angels are celebrating up there with you."

"I picture you eating red velvet cake and smiling down on us." 

I couldn't believe it. I quickly Googled her name and up came the headline in the Boston
Globe that drove a stake into my heart.

                                 Alissa Bigelow, 38; hosted cooking show, taught yoga.

Sweet, beautiful, funny, and bubbly Alissa Bigelow was gone at the age of 38. She was
tiny in size but big in personality. We worked together at NESN in Boston where she
was loved by everybody. She edited many of the features I wrote, produced, and reported
on. We spent countless hours in the editing bay laughing hysterically while trying to
make deadline every single night.

She always had a great story to tell and it often came before finishing up our work. One
night Alissa failed to complete a three-minute feature another reporter had done on the
Celtics and I was forced to ad-lib as an anchor for three-minutes, which in television
seems like three hours. But how could I get mad at Alissa, she was the sweetest girl
in the building.

Through our long hours in the editing bay, we discovered we had more in common
than the place we worked. She was from Darien, CT., which bordered my hometown
of New Canaan. They are virtually the same type of town with the same type of people.
There's only a border there to separate the BMW's from the Mercedes'. She also
graduated from the University of Southern California where my sister attended.

As I continued to read her obituary, I saw the words I feared searing. "She took her
own life."

Alissa Bigalow seemed to have it all. She was smart, beautiful, funny, and as bubbly
as the champagne uncorked on New Year's Eve. Alissa also had a precious young
daughter that is a carbon copy of her. Her then-husband Ned, is a man's man who looks
like something on the cover of "Men's Health" magazine.

Behind that pretty face and effervescent smile was the type of pain that became too
unbearable to endure. We are all shocked when a person so young with a brilliant
personality takes their own life, but we can't see the inferno and chaos that tears
a person up inside. We see the mile-wide smile and figure everything is all
right.

It wasn't for Alissa.

She just couldn't overcome her personal demons.

In this day and age with social media and instant information, I was surprised I
missed the news of her passing. The NESN family is a strong one that is connected
strongly on Facebook and nobody had mentioned it. I asked several former co-workers
and they didn't know about Alissa's passing, either.

The date of the article on Alissa's death said November 2013.

How did we all miss it? I feel terribly that I couldn't say good-bye to her.

I do know this: I will miss her dearly. She is the type of person you meet once
and remember her forever.

Alissa Bigelow was a wonderful person. I know she is up there free from her demons,
smiling down on all us.  Alissa, I just wish you knew how much you were truly loved.

A TRUE CHAMPION NAMED JOSH

 

I've never met this kid named Josh, but feel like I've known him forever. I've seen his
soulful eyes and mile-wide grin on Facebook a lot over the years and every time I do,
a smile washes over my face and I get a big chuckle. It's a great way to start the day.

Josh is the 7-year-old son of Kim Agostino, a former co-worker of mine at NESN, a
wonderland of sports with a collection of talented, wonderful, and pretty darn cool people.
Mom is extremely proud of her son and is always posting pictures of her little bundle of
pure joy on the mother of all social media networks.

There is Josh with Wally the Green Monster. There he is with the Red Sox are number
1 foam-finger. The cool kid is pictured with unbridled joy after getting an autograph from
his favorite player, Mike Trout.

When I see pictures of Josh, I see a kid just being a kid, loving life and enjoying the
incredible experiences and opportunities his mother has provided him with. The special
bond between mother and son jumps off the page and can melt a glacier in a
matter of seconds.

Last week, his mother was as proud as she's ever been of her beautiful child when he
got to share the sacred grounds of Fenway Park with his favorite team, the Boston Red
Sox. There was Josh pictured side-by-side with Dustin Pedroia and Brock Holt standing
at attention for the national anthem.

On a perfect sun-splashed afternoon, the little kid was a giant on the field, the envy of
millions of kids across Red Sox nation. Josh was also the center of attention for "Autism
Awareness Day", which cast a feel-good spell over Fenway Park.

Josh is autistic.

To see Josh and his mother at Fenway Park on this glorious spring afternoon was
truly heartwarming. This special bond mother and son have formed was on display in
the cathedral of baseball as they tried to spread the message about autism.

About 1.5% of children in the United States (one in 68) are diagnosed with autism as
of 2014^[update], a 30% increase from one in 88 in 2012.

I don't pretend to know everything about autism, but I realize there are big challenges
to deal with. Every day is not a rosy one for parent or child. To see Kim and Josh smile
and battle through the tough times and try to do something for others, is truly heartwarming
and inspirational.

To see Kim shower Josh with all these opportunities and give him these wonderful
experiences is a beautiful thing. To see Josh smiling from ear-to-ear, whether it be
on Facebook or television is a great thing, too. Mom and son are true champions and
most of all, an amazing team.

I often contemplate deleting my Facebook account, but that would mean missing the
smile of Josh and everything great that mother and son stand for. I won't do it.

What a team!

Go Josh!. Go Kim!

THE PATRIOTS ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL

As soon as I found out Tom Brady was suspended for four games and the New England
Patriots were heavily fined by Roger Goodell, the NFL's prince of clowns, I checked to
see where the 2015 Super Bowl is being played. The Patriots will be in it and I wanted to
make reservations early.

San Francisco? Nice. It will make for  one helluva story.

That's right, you read correctly. The New England Patriots will represent the AFC (again) in
Super Bowl 50. What makes the story even better, Brady was raised in the Bay Area and
idolized Joe Montana, the Hall of Fame quarterback with four Super Bowl rings---just like
Brady.

Why do I think the Patriots will get to the Super Bowl with Brady forced to sit out the
first quarter of the season? Simple. No team in the history of sports plays the "Us against the
World" card better than the Patriots under Bill Belichick. Nobody.

Remember when the Kansas City Chiefs throttled the Patriots in front of national audience
last year. Fans said Brady was done and Belichick couldn't draft, make trades, or sign
quality players. Trent Dilfer of ESPN proclaimed the Patriots "just aren't good anymore."

Yeah, how'd that turn out?

No team uses controversy to fuel them like the Patriots. Remember what happened after
Eric Mangini turned in his mentor for spying after the first game of the 2007 season? Yeah,
they embarrassed just about every team in the NFL on the way to the Super Bowl. They
were  an Asante Samuel interception drop and an out-of-this world catch by David Tyree
from going a perfect 19-0.

Remember when the Patriots lost Brady in the first game of the 2006 season to a knee
injury? Yeah, they went 11-5 with the immortal Matt Cassell under center. Cassell didn't
start a single-game in his career at USC, but Belichick coached him up and the Patriots
did fine.

The Patriots don't use injuries, not even to Brady, as an excuse. They plan, prepare, and
execute better than any team in the league. Oh, I heard that "nobody cheats like them
either," under your breath, but you can stick it and save it.

Hello, Jimmy Garappolo. The former signal-caller out of Eastern Illinos is now the
current QB of the Patriots.  Many people felt  he was a reach as a second-round
pick in 2013 simply because the so-called experts felt Brady had a few good years
left before retiring. How those experts looking now? A stroke of genius by Belichick
again. Oh, sure, nobody expected Brady to be out for cheating, but you can bet
Garappolo will be ready to step in.

Under the Belichick, the Patriots have won 72 percent of its games, been to the
Super Bowl six times, winning four of them. Now, he has more fuel to fire up
his team. The world thinks the Patriots are the biggest cheaters in sports, Don Shula
mocks them, and they are the butt of a lot of late night television jokes.

Good luck with that NFL, the Patriots are on another mission.

Brady will be back to face the Indianapolis Colts in week 5. Yes, that's the same team that
turned the Patriots in for taking a little air out of the footballs. Brady had steam coming
out of his ears when his own fans questioned his ability after the Kansas City massacre,
you can bet fire will be coming out of his nostrils after the football world questions
his character and credibility for the next five months.

Man, I can't wait for the football season. This is going to be good---and painful
for opponents of the Patriots. I'm not saying they'll win the Super Bowl but I wouldn't
bet against them from getting there.

A SPECIAL GIFT ON MOTHER'S DAY

On the eve of Mother's Day, I produced a feature for the television station I work for called,
"What do moms really want for Mother's Day?" Flowers, chocolate, and a Hallmark card are
always nice, but I'm sure receiving them year-after-year can get, well, kind of old.

When I hit the street for my report, I found some interesting and entertaining answers from
mother's looking for something different on a day honoring them. "Sleep," said one woman
from Greenwich, CT. With three young kids to raise, it's easy to see why she'd opt for a
gift that can't be bought. Another woman I interviewed jokingly said (I think), all she wanted
was "a non-golfing playing husband." I did not pry for more information.

The best answer I received came from a mother of four who was looking a bit disheveled,
most likely the result of driving kids to lacrosse games, buying groceries, dealing with
allergies, folding laundry, cooking lunch, and cleaning the house---all in the past four hours.

With a microphone and camera in her face, I asked her what she really wanted for Mother's
Day. She paused, looked to the sky, and quickly returned to the subject and a red-light
blinking on the camera.

"What I'd really like is a letter from my kids saying how much I mean to them and the
things I do to make them happy," she said.

There was a pregnant pause that seemed nine months. That was special. No flowers, Godiva's,
a day at the spa, or even a few hours of extra sleep. Just a handwritten note. It brought a
smile to my face. That was heartfelt and I also knew it'd make my report all that much better.
And it did.

Monday morning, I woke up to a text from my sister, Kara, who lives on the west coast.
I get a lot of texts from her, most them accompanied with a picture of her fifth child, Emma.
Well, Emma is really a small Boston Terrier, but my sister treats her as if she bore the
dog herself. I kid with her about being obsessed with it, but we are all dog lovers and
I get it.

I opened the text and much to my surprise, it wasn't a picture of Emma, but rather a
letter from her daughter, Sophie. Sophie is 7-years-old going on 17. She is so sweet,
thoughtful, and most of all, independent. Sophie makes coffee every morning and brings
it upstairs to mom and dad in bed. She is a pure bundle of joy, void of temper tantrums
and selfishness. Sophie zoomed past the terrible two's and always wakes up and goes to
bed with a big smile on her face.

On Mother's Day, Sophie put a mile-wide grin on the face of her mother. Without a
nudge from her father or anyone else, Sophie penned a letter that will stay on the
refridgerator door for a long, long time.

 A "Thank You" note from a beautiful little girl with a big heart, melting the one of
her mother. How sweet, kind, and thoughtful. Five days before her mother's special day,
she authored this short but very special letter.

The "kisses" the "hugs" and a stand alone, "I love my mom."  How great is this? Sophie
had a little trouble with the last line, "you bey me cut clows", (you buy me cute clothes)
but it makes the note all that more special

I can now see why the woman I interviewed pined for just a note from her kids on Mother's
Day. No store-bought Hallwark card, no cheesy chocolates, no flowers that will be dead
and gone in four days.

A note like this lasts a lifetime. Words like these get engrained in a mother's heart, mind,
and soul forever. I was moved by this. I know my sister was, too. That is love.