Trim Tram Donovan

The Common Cold

J.P. told me, "Boy, do I sound negative. Must be the cold." She's suffering from the onslaught of the common cold that's hitting us around Madison. You get sick and cranky. Sure. Must be the cold. Or did she mean, "Must be the cold." in terms of today's high was 7 and a low of -7? Naaah. Her disease is at the center so she must be referring to the ailment.

I sat a party last Saturday evening getting the hardest part of my cold. Chills and headaches. Jeni's co-workers were extremely nice and the food was prepared by the host's professional culinary skills. He was French and would gleefully announce, "Help yourself!" But the mixture of cold remedy, clinging symptoms and indigestion (I don't know) seemed to keep me away from any food. The scenes were moving in slow motion in a bad way. That Scotch didn't help.

The cold is all but gone now. My body ramps but up to 100% but it keeps coughing.

I had a list of items for the last minute on these last days before Christmas. My plan was to pick up Franny from a sleep over and head over to Menards Crap World to pick everything up (miscellaneous items like batteries, fireplace wood, CD-R's, CD jewel cases, etc.). I took Franny with me and she interjected too many opinions.

"Could we get that for our house? Our counters are outdated."

"Mom said we should get those."

"Why do we need those?"

"The elevator's right there. Let's go up while we're here."

"Franny," I told her, "just follow me and don't worry about it."

When I got home, I explained to Jeni that I didn't get anything done. I would need to travel out again into the sub-zero weather. The onslaught of last minute shoppers made things only more complicated.

"I have to head out to Target and pick up those things."

Ian heard the magic word: Target. Like a Pavlovian dog hears the bell, he sit up right and shouts, "I WANT TO COME." Almost robotic. To leave him out of this trip would surely produce a fit of rage. Surely his accompaniment would be fine.

"I don't like the Spider Man gloves. I want the Transformer gloves."

"The toys. We need to go to the toys. Go to the tooooooooooys."

"The glasses! Let's stop at the glasses! The glasses!"

"Why can't I geeeeeeeeeeet the Transformer shampoo?"

Real demands made in one real hour. It's tough to simplify it into a blanket statement like, "I don't negotiate with terrorists," because he's my son. And he's 3 and he needs to learn shit like "You're here as a guest. My guest."

I get home with my 6 little items and it takes me about thirty minutes to unload them. The kids are asking me for food or milk or where "Megatron" is located.

It's horrible to write this as Christmas is coming. I should be more forgiving and loving during this time. But, for Christ's Sake, I'm getting over a cold. And I'm cranky. Must be the cold.

The Jag's Got It

Pre-Game Coin Toss Makes Jacksonville Jaguars Realize Randomness Of Life

The Legend of the Red 2009 VW Routan

Wednesday. The day before Thanksgiving. People driving fast to get condiments or gravy or last minute items that insures safety for their dinner. Those people driving the streets have no inhibitions about who is front of the car or what could potentially happen. Chances are taken and people are hurt. It's probably, in this writer's mind, the most dangerous day (besides December 23rd) to be on the street.

If I could I would stand out on the curb and yell to my friends, "GET HOME! IT'S TOO DANGEROUS! GO HOME! YOU'LL GET HURT!" But, they too, can be hypnotized by the fear that if they don't have TWO cans of cranberries, they might run out at the dinner table.

This year, most notably, I was rushing to close a deal on the car that was about to be mine. The opportunities were too great. Car dealers were knocking off thousands off the sticker price and offering 0% financing to any Joe, even if these were the types of the deals sent this country into a financial tailspin. 

I had to grasp onto this last straw of corporate 'aw shucks' financial givings, especially now that my car was in $1500 of disarray. It was over a decade old with 127,000 miles on it. The CV joints were torn so that I couldn't use the 4 wheel drive and, most notably, could let the tires fall off the axles (or that's the story that I was told). My exhaust system had become so torn off that every right turn had a thump-thump-thump that followed.

After many trips to Zimbrick VW and many conversations with my wife, I finally found a deal and got the paperwork drawn up on the last possible day of zero percent financing.

I came home to tell Jeni, "We just have to show up at 4:00PM and sign the papers. I'll be home before then." I left for a meeting at the local Starbucks.

My appointment, self admittedly, had issues communicating. He spoke in circles at times and I had a hard time figuring out what he needed from me and the race that I help coordinate every year. He carried a pad of paper and a laptop in a black laptop bag. We sat in the back and tried to figure out what were doing there.

At the conversation seemed to wind down, a man who was masqueraded with all black aviator sunglasses runs into the Starbucks to sound the alarm, "WHO HERE OWNS A RED NISSAN PATHFINDER!?"

Everyone's eyes darted to him and I slowly rose from my chair. The people seated in Starbucks innocently drinking their Carmel Macchiato's looked like they had been shocked by my words, "I own a Red Nissan Pathfinder."

"THIS WOMAN HIT YOUR CAR. I'M A WITNESS." A woman slowly comes out from behind him and I approach them, trying to escort out them outside to assess the damage. My meeting partner scooped up his tablet of paper, laptop, laptop bag and jacket. He followed us outside as the girl explained to me, "I guess I mis-read how close I was to your car. Then I scraped it."

I look at the damage and the rear passenger side quarter panel was dented. "I'm not sure if that's a scrape," I tried to soften the blow a little while she wrote down her information and insurance, "I think if there's one car you wanted to hit in this lot, mine was probably the best one to hit since I'm trading it in for another car in about two hours."

During that time, I make some calls. I talk to my insurance guy who gives me his home number in case there are questions later on. I tell Jeni the story. We get to Zimbrick at 4:00 and I tell the sales guy the story. 

He drives the car in the garage to find out how much this fender bender will hurt my trade-in. He comes back and tells me, "They're telling me $500-$800." He gives me a long look like I'm supposed to answer.

OK. I'm calling Bob Wink, Insurance Agent. Home line.

He was a little upset, "Jeez, these guys! Just tell him that you'll knock off $400 and use the phrase 'Appearance Allowance'. They're just wholesaling the thing anyways!" Wink went on for a while.

I simply told the sales guy, "I'll tell you what Wink told me. He told me to find out if you can meet me at $400 for an Appearance Allowance."

"No shame in asking." the sales guy tells me as he walks to my car and drives it back to the garage.

Jeni and I are now dealing with two extremely bored children. We're too sold on this car to give it up now. We've been in the dealership for an hour and we haven't gotten any closer to getting this car. It's after 5:00 the night before Thanksgiving. It's dark and we're hungry. 

In about three minutes, the sales guy is back, "We talked to three wholesalers and it's about $500-$600 of damage but we'd be willing to go to $400."

I almost interrupted him, "Awesome. Let's make it happen. Let's buy a car."

Beer never tasted so good as it did that night. Buying a car should not be like this.

I called the girl who hit my car. It was a few days later and figured that it wouldn't hurt. I told her the story and how it seemed to work out. I asked her if she would be interested in splitting the $400 instead of reporting it to the insurance company. She jumped at the chance and told me that it she wanted to pay the whole $400 and how she appreciated being given this opportunity to settle it away from insurance companies.

It's tough business buying a car these days.

Philadelphia Marathon Race Report: At Least I Had a Good Time

Touched down Friday night and Karen picked me up with her three sleeping children. They're very young and very beautiful. Their pink, swollen bodies placed carefully throughout the car made me think that Anne Geddes was laying out photography for the automobile industry.

Our non stop discussion took us right up to Johnny & Sharon's house but I wasn't sure if it was right. They purchased a new home and it was difficult to know for certain that it was their home. The mat on the porch boasted the letter D and it led me to believe it was short for Donovan. But one never knows. I knocked on the door and nothing happened. I rang the doorbell and there was a long pause that was followed by the certain clamor from Karen who waited in the car, "ARE YOU SURE THIS IS THEIR HOUSE?" And like clockwork, Johnny opened the door. I wave her goodbye and walk inside.

The next day, our schedules are full. We have an opportunity to see his daughter Campbell at ballet class. We go to the race expo with a (soon to be) three-year-old. Because of the impatience of our third musketeer, I pass by the official race merch. Johnny tells me, "You can buy it on the web site." True. I knew my money was better spent on small runs of beer created at the General Lafayette Inn.

The annual Lehigh-Lafayette game was being televised. Just barely by broadcast standards. I wondered, as I watched the game with Johnny and Andrea, what these guys will do when all broadcast signals are required to be high def. Their standards, just at this game, were close to cable access. It doesn't matter when there is football game and the drama overrides the production quality. And beers were flowing too. We walked out of there with a belly full of beer and two growlers, one had "Blonde Ale" and one had "Chocolate Thunder".

Andrea claims we had five beers at the General Lafayette. Reviewing my poor performance at the marathon via Facebook, this is what was said between Beadling, Piper and I:

 Chris Beadling at 7:10pm November 24

No, Chocolate Thunder counts as two I am sure...glad you made it home safely. Great to see you in Philly, even if you weren't at the top of your game!

 Andrea Piper at 10:12pm November 24

well considering i had at least 5 with you....i would agree. You could run a marathon with 20 beers! Great to see you. Wish it was longer!

 Steve Donovan at 6:40am November 25

When I came up to the tv room after dinner with yet another beer, I think John and Sharon were in shock and awe.

By the time I was in bed, I was sacked. For the first time, I slept through the whole night before a marathon. Typically, I'm waking up a couple hours at a time, checking the clock. Instead, I woke at 4:45 and begun the ritual.

I took my bag and turned it upside down to find everything I needed. The temps were going to start at 27 and get not much higher. So I need to layer everything I had then carefully place the Philly P.D. fallen officers shirt that I promised to wear for the race. 

The starting line was crowded so we kept warm. The race attendance (between the marathon, half marathon & 8K) was estimated at 18,000. When they announced that the starting horn was frozen, I should have taken that as a signal that it was a day not good for running a marathon.

It was freezing and I was getting a little sick from yesterday's beer. I thought 'Maybe I can handle this.'

I still pulled off a sub 8-minute 5K even in congestion. I felt great. 

5K: 26:06 (7:50 Pace)

My stomach was doing flips while I ran around Drexel University. I had a taken a gel that didn't agree with the Blonde Ale, Wine & Blue Moon from yesterday. I belched. I burped. I never burp. But I burped more. I tried to let myself belch until I started coughing so hard that I threw up a small pile of brown stuff on the sidewalk. I heard one runner pass me by, "Ugh!" I wiped my mouth clean and decided to walk to the next water stop and try to see if I had anything left to finish this race. When the water stop came into sight, I popped a salt tablet to make sure I go electrolytes and wouldn't go into dehydration. 

I drank a cup of water. Then I took three more. It felt so good. Like taking cough syrup after a coughing fit. It coated me and re-energized me. I picked it up and tried to run from water station to water station.

10K: 51:58 (8:40 Pace)

I realized not only was I NOT going to qualify for Boston but I might not even go under four hours. Even at this point, I was twenty minutes ahead of the four hour pacers. I still understood that if I was going to finish, it would be fighting through these stomach issues.

Sure as shit, I see the back of my brother Johnny up ahead. He's participating in the half marathon and he's about twenty strides ahead of me. I work my way up as we quickly approach the art museum where the 13.1 mile mark lives, "I'm so glad this is the end for me." He tells me. That's when I thought about just ending the race.

This marathon is set up so that the marathoners basically run right by the finish line half way through the race. The half marathoners cross the finish line at that point. Argh.

I'm thinking, at this point, that I should be just walking off the course. I should head back to the row house where we stowed our stuff. Nobody would think worse of me. Nobody. It would be a funny story and I would be done with this beast. I've done 15 of these effin' marathons. What's one more? I'm not breaking any land speed records.

There's something humiliating about quitting and walking away. It sends some kind of message that you've decided not to take a chance. It runs the risk of showing that you were wrong.

Not finishing, on the other hand, can show your strength of character. You know when to fold your cards even if it means looking like a fool. 

In this case, my lack of respect for this distance and my smug attitude put me in this situation. I thought that my ability to misbehave would work along side this endurance event. This would be my responsibility and I should learn to live with it. I don't want to sound dramatic but I think if you made the mistake, there's something inside of me that wants to teach myself a lesson. Let's call it the ghost of my mother. A guilty conscience can be an inspirational one.

Half Marathon: 1:51:40

There's a large crowd around the half marathon mark along with a water station. Since it also served as the finish line, people were crammed together, held back by metal gates. They screamed what they considered were inspirational phrases like, "Keep going!" or "Half way there!" While the water on the ground was a sheet of ice from the freezing temperatures.

I walked and belched. I heard, "YOU CAN DO IT!" from the crowd.

It was only another runner who said to me, "C'mon, let's go." that inspired me to pick up my feet and try to move away from the finish line to deliver 13.1 more miles to my body.

My body wouldn't take any gels. I switched over to Gatorade and water with an occasional salt tablet. People passed my very easily as the crowds quickly thinned out along Kelly Drive. I tried to mentally find a way to deal with the stomach issues by running a quarter mile then walking a quarter mile. It was just about all my stomach could take.

My new strategy worked well since I was making some movement. I think I heard one person cheer, "Keep moving forward!" A phrase made famous by Rocky Balboa.

Marching. Plodding. The miles could not move much slower. The 4:00 pace group had caught me and I tried to stick with them but a half mile later, it proved to be useless.

30K (18.6 miles): 2:55:01 (9:24 pace)

Manayunk was the 20 mile mark. This part of the city boasts a 'main street' feeling with an uphill to boot. People offered brownies, beer, bananas and more. I wished that I could throw up some more.

As we left this charming food-offering street, it became desolate again. If you know the Philly Marathon, then you know this is where the race begins. You're back on Kelly Drive where the river shoots winds off the open space and people break down out of frustration. 

I tried to recall a time when I was flying through this part of the race. Visualizing what a successful time I had in 2005 when I finished in 3:31. I ran through this, passing people left and right. It fed into my success. Today, it was quite the opposite. I saw some who were making their personal records, passing me and smiling at what looked like a successful race.

40K: 4:09:31

Just. Finish. This. Race.

Chip Time Finish: 4:22:58 (10:10 pace)

I immediately left the finish line grounds to walk to 25th Street where I was to meet Johnny. My legs weren't in the best shape, but they weren't in horrible shape. I got there.

We went to find food. Ending up at London (restaurant/bar), the waitress brought us beers and food. I never learn my lesson. Beadling caught up with us there and probably thought the same thing as I recanted my tale of woe.

As I returned to Madison, I kept finishing the story, "At least I had a good time."