Yeah I been running a little...

A year and a half ago, I was atop the world. I had just finished running the Army Ten Miler as the race's official 9:00 pace group leader, having completed my running club's fifth consecutive 10-miler training program as a site director and certified running coach, a program I had formerly directed and largely developed. I was president of my running club.

I got injured in the race and haven't raced since then. I haven't run since then. I was unsupported on the club's board, running afoul of some young Alpha Dog twenty-somethings in the club's IT department, one of whom in my opinion is an actual paranoid schizophrenic with narcissistic affectations, and this crew, with the active participation of a young disgruntled club VP and the hands-off acquiescence of the other VPs, literally ran me off the board (I resigned when I could not get any requested information from them, especially about suspicious transactions in the club's payment-receiving account). I let my club membership lapse, and 95% of my "friends" from a decade of running don't have anything to do with me anymore.

In a year of injury-induced inactivity, I put back on practically all of the weight I had lost and kept off during ten years of running. I almost died in an accident. I stopped blogging.

Well, I'm trying to come back from "there." I check in regularly with my family (meaning my five siblings, my children are alienated from me as a result of my Western-style nuclear divorce). I attend church regularly.

In January I started participating in a walk-to-run 5K program which has caused me to drop a little weight and get my running schedule up to 16 miles a week (my injury still bothers me). I have my target 5K race coming up in three days.

Four days ago I ran four miles on the race course in 40:35 (10:09 pace), a slow time for me back in the days of old but still my best outing in a year and a half. My 5K time would have been about 31:50, a far cry from my PR set a decade ago of 21:58. I have run dozens of 5Ks and not one has ever been over thirty minutes.

Things change. Or perhaps the more things change, the more they remain the same.

We'll see.

Dear Children

I posted this fare-thee-well recently on Face Book to my three sons, all now adults, who have rejected for years all of my attempts to re-connect with them after a contentious divorce. During the nuclear litigation, these minors were the supposed plaintiffs in a secondary lawsuit brought against me that the court found to be an unconscionable harassment petition, an attempt by their Mother to interfere with my relationship with my children.

The court sanctioned and assessed costs against her of nearly $50,000, but I never saw my children again. That's why it's against public policy to allow children to be parties in domestic law litigation.

Moby Dick ends with the ship sinking and dragging a living part of heaven to hell with her. "Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled 5,000 years ago." Fare thee well JJ&D, live long and prosper and I'll always love you.

Love Dad.

Dear Danny

My youngest and most easily manipulated child, Danny was in my opinion turned against me during the divorce by his Mother with the active assistance of the charlatan court-appointed psychologist, who rewarded him with an X-Box for his cooperation, and several other paid-gun agenda-driven social service "professionals." These adults in my opinion whipsawed this tender lad emotionally to the point where he expressed some violent ideation.

Do you think domestic law in America is broken?

The last time any of my sons communicated with me was in 2007 when Danny sent me a letter asking me to provide for payment of 100% of his college tuition and fees, which I am doing. None of my sons has communicated with a single family member on my side in over seven years, a hallmark of PAS.

When Danny passed into maturity upon his birthday last month, I posted the following fare-thee-well to him on FB after he had ignored my friend request to him for over a year and left unanswered the personal message I sent to him on that medium. His Mother, a first-grade school teacher, refuses to give me the address of any of my three children.

My youngest child Danny, now a man, was a special boy. Neither the fastest nor the most athletic on the field, he had a unique ability in sports. At fullback during one football game he twice broke through the line and ran for TDs on long runs, displaying nice juking moves and a good sense of angling to the corner of the end zone to outrun faster pursuers. But his best play came at the end of the game when, as the outside linebacker on the weak side, he came all the way across the field to the strong side and knocked the opposing ball carrier out of bounds at the two-yard line to preserve a 13-7 lead. What a team player. Happy Birthday Danny, have a good and prosperous life and I was blessed to know you as a child.

Love Dad. [I am sorry for what those "professionals" do to children and that I was unable to protect any of you from it. I love you JJ&D.]

Dear Johnny

My middle child Johnny has graduated from college I think, at least he used up all four years of the pre-paid college tuition plan that I purchased for his benefit. For years, the annual statement from the plan administrator is the only scrap of information I've received about my three children after a contentious divorce a decade ago.

Sober, responsible, earnest Johnny most resembled me with his heartfelt nature, exhibiting a great concern for others (a trait in a child that is subject to gross manipulation by conniving adults) and displaying an interest in military history. As a boy, I used to conduct massive battles with little green army men in my bedroom; Johnny did the same in our yard when he was a child. Occasionally I'll come across a long-lost faded little plastic soldier in the yard and it breaks my heart as I think about Johnny.

He is an adult now and the choices he makes are his own now. I recently posted the following fare-thee-well to him on FB.

My middle son Johnny was most like me, his Mother observed. My favorite description of him came from his football coach at a year-end team banquet: "Johnny was always nearby whenever he wasn't in the game, and he had a question about every move I made and an answer for every question I asked." The first child of mine to act upon his desperate love for his Mother and end a relationship with me, I miss him. I love you Johnny, wish you a happy and prosperous life and was blessed to know you.

Love Dad.

Dear Jimmy

My youngest child recently had a birthday that took him beyond his twenty-first year. Now it is time for my children to contact me, if they ever care to, rather than for me to always be fruitlessly reaching out to them on every major holiday. They know where I live. (Their Mother refuses to give me their addresses, or indeed, any information at all about them.)

I last heard from any of them in 2007. I last saw any of them in 2006. That's PAS in the West.

Losing your children is devastating. The only thing that has allowed me to move on after years of personal devastation is a growing Christian belief. I attend church now frequently and reflect upon the inscrutable nature of faith.

I forgive them all, even the scumbag divorce lawyers who, in my opinion, preyed upon children and were the enablers of this family-wrecking.

Last month my oldest child had a birthday and I published the following fare-thee-well to him on FB. Those posts, limited to 220 characters, are necessarily short.

I remember Jimmy Lamberton dribbling down the pitch with two minutes to go in a scoreless championship game while being jostled by a midfielder, juking around a sweeper and scoring upon the previously unbeaten goalie. It was a beautiful run. He had just joined the McLean Sting, a select soccer team, which thus won the tourney. Happy birthday Jimmy Rogers and have a good and prosperous life. I'm going to miss you but I was blessed to be your father.

Love Dad.

Dear Family

Never say never. This date is my middle child's birthday. As usual I invited him to lunch but as usual he ignored me and I ate alone, for two.

In December I sent out a summation of 2010 to my 5 siblings, enclosed in my holiday greeting card. Three responded with Christmas cards (up from none in 2009).

There is little to report from VA for 2010. Jimmy Rogers apparently lives somewhere in Arlington. Johnny apparently graduated from Virginia Commonwealth University. Danny apparently dropped out of Virginia Commonwealth University. Their Mother apparently lives in a first grade classroom in Falls Church, perhaps with her 2d husband, although I doubt he lives in a first grade classroom.

On my third annual Bucket Trip with my college buddies, this time rafting down the Dolores River out west, I apparently came within a few seconds of drowning under a wrapped boat in a rapids in UT. Once I got out from under the overturned raft I was washed down the rapids on a hair-raising ride. I went in seconds from knowing that I was going to die to thinking that I might live, which obviously I did.

It was an interesting couple of minutes in my life. Yet still, in the half-year since then, I haven’t bought a M/C, started practicing karate or moved to Key West. However, I did take a retirement seminar and have started clearing out my house, which is a slow process.

Does anybody want a WWII Marine Corps uniform [my Dad's dress uniform]? I left off a USMC flak jacket, some Marine medals and a New Jersey state wrestling championship pin at [my sister] Kate’s. [My younger brother's effects--he no longer speaks w/ me.]

Since I’m not running or volunteering my time currently, I have been going to the Falls Church-Episcopal church services a little and reading a lot. The Episcopalians attend mass in the loft of the Presbyterian Church because they were kicked out of their property by the homophobic members within their midst who illegally took over the historic church building and joined a Nigerian bishop who advocates stoning sinners, as near as I can figure. That property/contract dispute is dragging its way through the state court system.

My 12 favorite books I read this year were Plagues and Peoples by William H. McNeill, Shane by Jack Shaeffer, Never Enough by Joe McGinniss, The Stranger by Albert Camus, We Are Soldiers Still by Lt. Gen. Harold G. Moore and Joseph L. Galloway, The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, Skinny Dip by Carl Hiaasen, Collapse by Jared Diamond, If I Die in a Combat Zone by Tim O’Brien, The Price of Glory: Verdun 1916 by Alistair Horne, Islands of the Damned by R.V. Burgin with Bill Marvel, Hollywood Station by Joseph Wambaugh and Banners at Shenandoah by Bruce Catton.

I saw Kate twice, on a car baseball trip to the Mississippi River and at Thanksgiving. I saw Melissa in CO and spoke with Abby several times. I spoke with Hilary and Jack for the first time in a long time. I visited Zanesville OH, Johnstown PA, Shanksville PA and the federal courthouse in MO where the Dred Scott trials were held. I had breakfast with Erik [a childhood friend]. I saw 42 Boulevard [the house I grew up in on Staten Island], restored after the fire, and stopped in to see Mr. & Mrs. Murray on Staten Island.

I achieved the twenty year benchmark at my work and conducted my second trial, in Tampa. I stopped blogging and started face-booking. I discarded my laptop for a netbook. I got cable TV and now have access to two thousand channels of crap.

My unlocked car was burgled in my driveway while I slept. A friend of mine was killed in Afghanistan and I attended his funeral in Arlington National Cemetery. I am using my 7 1/2 foot artificial Xmas tree for the last time and will switch to a 5 1/2 foot model next year. My car gets 22 MPH on highway trips, turns 10 within a month and has 72K miles on it. I have attended games at 41 MLB parks and have 3 to go, knocking off KC, CWS, StL and the NYM this year. That’s all. So it goes.

PL

[Next I say goodbye to my kids, now adults, and hope they have long and prosperous lives.]

Green Pastures and Still Waters

I cried this morning when I found out. Alone in my house, I cried.

I stopped blogging earlier this year when I figured that I’d said everything my estranged kids should know about the father they cast out years ago when they were children. Since then I have posted on facebook, although it is so much less satisfying than blogging.

Facebook is informative, however, sort of like wandering by a public bulletin board. When you glance over the tiny posts your friends publish, occasionally something will absolutely rivet you.

This morning while scrolling down the long list of all my friends, I lazily clicked onto the profile picture of someone whose page I hadn’t visited lately, a woman who participated in several of the running programs I directed in the past for my former running club. As a coach, I ran with her on Saturday long runs occasionally, and became friendly with her.

Her portrait showed a happy smiling woman standing next to a handsome virile man in uniform, her husband, a sergeant in the 101st Airborne Division. I ran with him a few times, doing repeats on the track whenever he accompanied his wife on program speed workouts.

She ran 400s with the other coaches and the rest of the trainees while he did his own repeats, rushing around the track at a much faster pace. Being competitive, and a better runner than most of the others in the program, I tried to run with him.

Only I couldn’t keep up. He was young, tough and strong.

Army strong. Later that year he ran the Army Ten Miler with a stress fracture and still beat my time.

This morning I looked at the picture of the winsome couple on her FB page, then glanced nonchalantly at the opening lines of recent posts on her wall. Horror instantly assailed me.

"I am sorry for your loss... ." "Your husband was... ." "Although I can’t know how you feel... ."

I knew from a post on her FB page last year that her husband had been deployed to Afghanistan. She left the area around the same time and I hadn’t seen nor heard from her her since.

The long string of posts from her friends were all dated within the last few days. With my heart pounding, I googled his name.

The search result was instantaneous. He was killed by an IED in Afghanistan on Thursday.

I knew him and had run with him, and now he was gone. I cried, yes I did, for him and for her, and for all the rest.