Lift Off

It's 4:27pm and we should be 33 minutes into our flight to Rome but as it turns out, we've hit a bit of a snag. The captain came over the speaker and informed us that it'd be another 40 minutes before we'd know if we would need additional maintenance. I'm disappointed about the inconvenience but it'd be a hell of a lot more inconvenient if Delta didn't catch whatever potential problem that the plane has prior to being 40K feet over the Atlantic.

This kills a little bit of the buzz but like I mentioned before I'd rather the buzz be killed before anything else.

As I typed the last sentence the captain, announced that we were all systems go. Ashleigh found out that the lavatories weren't flushing with the right amount of pressure. I guess that's a big problem on a 10 hour flight with 300 passengers. Who would've thunk it?

15 minutes later.....

So we started to taxi and pulled back the gate, when they fired up the engines a fuel pump light came on, the apprehension in the pilot’s voice was more a derivative of having to make such a disappointing announcement than from unease about the mechanical problem. They're having maintenance come back aboard....Yuck!

20 minutes later....

They've decided to give us the option to de-board while we wait, (not good) while they determine what they need to do.

90 minutes later.....

GRRR!!! So the fuel pump issue in the wing situation can't be fixed, which isn't a concern of the pilot, apparently that happens from time to time. The solution is to take on more fuel and re-map or route but this takes approval and we are now waiting for that said approval from the suits.

30 minutes later....

If you’re getting tired and annoyed by this disrupting style then imagine how we feel. We have the approval the higher ups but during our delay they sent our ground crew away and now they're rounding them back up. They said another 20 minutes.

30 minutes later......

We started to taxi out when a female passenger freaked out, we pulled back to the gate so that she could get off and now finally they've just asked us to turn off all devices so that we can finally take off. Total time: 210 minute delay.

9ish Hours later....

Wheels touch down.

Marathon I: My Journey, My Testimony

The following web log will I fear come off as a pretentious, self serving piece that reads like I typed it with only one hand because the other was too busy patting myself on my back.

I've said before that this space is primarily about my roles as Husband and Daddy and serves to chronicle moments or events that I am passionate for or that I feel my offspring might one day be curious enough to inquire about. With that said, Pierce, this is how the number 26.2 kicked your Daddy's butt.

As the elevator made its descent from my floor, I stared down at my yellow and blue Brooks Ghost Fives, a sight that became familiar to me over the last few months. I was anxious and truth be told probably nervous.

The doors opened and we picked up one more passenger, the baby boomer surveyed me and made the obvious observation, "going for a run"? "Yes sir, running my first marathon today". He reached across the small space, shook my hand and explained that before two exploded discs, he too was a distance runner. As the doors opened and our brief encounter came to a close, he said, what later became the greatest case of foreshadowing that I have ever personally experienced: "Remember, the most important thing is that you finish".

I ordered my usual race day breakfast, OJ and a PB&J sandwich, (I order only by initials). As I waited for my fuel, I recounted the restless night of sleep that I enjoyed. The toddler size 8W foot in my back proved difficult to escape, no use re-arranging him, he just scooted closer. At one point he decided that my armpit would be a suitable spot for his head. His unorthodox sleeping preference was not the only challenge, the pasta wasn't settling well and the handful of tums proved fruitless.

I walked down the hall, past the hotel pool, into the restroom and reluctantly, let my body reject The Old Spaghetti Factory. As I balanced on one knee, looking through blurry eyes, I thought to myself, "I can't be starting out this way". It did and the anxiety became overwhelming. I ate my breakfast, met Ash and Pierce and went to the start line.

I stretched, kissed the family and told Ash that I'd see her in around four hours. I liked my tempo; I was racing within myself and not the other racers. I extinguished the queasy feeling after the sixth mile and began to settle in. However, on mile eight I experienced what felt like someone taking their index finger and thumb and pinching my left calf. It was a foreign twinge and it caused me to slow my pace but I kept moving. The pinch became more prominent on mile nine and by mile ten it was as if there were two hands aggressively grabbing at the back of both calves.

"This can't be happening" is what I was thinking and walking was what I began to do. Baby Boomer #2 cruised beside me and began to walk with me, sensing my pain she asked if I was cramping. I answered; she asked if I was Christian, I answered; she explained to me that this was her 65th marathon and in her previous race she was cramping during mile 12 and prayed for comfort, she said she received it and as it would turn out, qualified for Boston (her first time). I congratulated her. She told me to repeat the Lord's Prayer and ask him to massage my calves and that he would. Before cruising off she told me that I would be able to finish.

I took plenty of water at the station on mile 12, stretched and started off. I did a combination of hobbling, walking and shuffling for two miles. There wasn't a water station at 14! Like a mirage in a desert, I wanted one. At one point between 14 and 15, my left leg felt like I stepped into a vice, as the pressure built, my calf tightened, my left foot turned inward and I hit the pavement.

Selfishly, the easiest thing to do was feel sorry for myself. There I was, picking asphalt out of my arm at the race I'd been working toward for 18 months and training relentlessly for the last four. Thoughts of quitting entered my mind and exited just as quickly. I couldn't help but think about how my pace was shot. Originally this wasn’t about time; it was about accomplishing something that I wanted to do when I was 17. As I lay in that park, clutching my calf, writhing, I quit the easy and sobered up. I remembered seeing at the start, three racers pushing quadriplegics, what would they give for the ability to run? Perspective is the ultimate elixir.

This is the part in Rocky, where the Stallion is down but not out, the ref counting, the montage begins to play with the music in the background (you know the music, everyone knows the music). "Get up!" yells Mick, "I didn't hear no bell"! I remembered watching the London Games, a racer in the 5K tripped. She was American, clearly not hurt; she pouted, pounded the track with her fists and cried. She didn't finish. I stared at too many 5am skies during my training to have a "DNF" in my result column.

Baby Boomer #3 stopped and asked if it was my knee or calf? After hearing the answer he said it's a warm day, get some water, (He meant well, thanks pal!). I walked with another injured runner to mile 16, drank several cups of water and used a volunteer's phone to call Ash, I told her I wasn't going to come across when I thought I would.

I rebooted, stretched, prayed and never stopped. I trotted off slowly, building confidence. My lungs were fresh but my wheels were tender, my thought was that if I could get to water station 18 and repeat the process to 20 and on then I should be able to make it.

I recited the Lord's Prayer over those last ten miles more than I had in the last decade. One foot in front of the other I looked for the next station. I couldn't help but think about how miserable Pierce must be waiting for, what must have seemed like forever for his slow-poke father to finish and that led me to start thinking about Ashleigh and how much she supported me. I couldn't have done this without either of them. ASIU!

I saw them at mile 22, driving toward me they pulled off to the side ahead of me, Ashleigh jumped out and started waiving the sign that she had made with Pierce. GO! GO! GO, DAD! I told her I was sorry, used the emotion for fuel the last two miles. The cool thing about being one of the last to cross is that only my supporters were left at the Finish Line. I was able to take Pierce from Ash's arms and run out the last bit carrying him across.

Marathon's are often used as metaphors for life. There is always going to be unforeseen obstacles. You train and educate yourself as best you can to deal with unexpected variables. I was dealt a curve ball that changed the whole complexion of my race, I had never experienced a cramp, if I hadn't trained as hard as I did maybe finishing wouldn't have been a possibility. At the end of the day, I achieved my original goal and kept a promise I made to myself when I wrote this entry:

http://gchernandez3.blogspot.com/2011_04_01_archive.html

Marathon I: 5 hours 25 minutes

Marathon II, April 27th 2013, I'm coming for you, with a new goal in mind.

Thank you for my three messengers and the comfort you brought me, I couldn't have done it without you.

Our Father, who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy Kingdom come.
Thy will be done in earth,
As it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those that trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom,
The power, and the glory,
Forever.
Amen.

My experiences are new to me; the lessons learned are probably not new to you. Most of the time, I'm just working out what the Silver and Black lining is.

Saying goodnight - guest blogger- P's Mom

Two years ago, I said goodnight to my life as I had grown to know it. I still remember with blissful naivety the long walks my husband and I had together while we waited for Pierce to arrive. The lengthy talks about our future and the many things we would teach him. Two years ago I said goodnight to long, easy walks hand in hand and I said good morning to a completely different way of living, a different way of being.

I said goodnight to selfish hours of restful evenings on George’s shoulder and woke up to a purpose beyond anything I could have dreamed. Making a family changed who I was as a person. As I sit tonight, preparing to say goodnight to my one year old, I think of how much this little creature has made a difference in my life. How every day I want to be better for him, for me, for us.

He not only made me better, but made my already amazing spouse burn brighter with his presence. I said goodnight to loving George as just my dearest friend, greatest confidant, partner in crime or that 16 year old boy that made me smile like no other person ever had, or ever would. He became P’s dada. This new man, with a goodness I had the chance to fall in love with all over again.

Tonight, I say goodnight to the past two years, the greatest, most challenging of my life. I sit typing this with the naivete of a young mother with only one angel to dote upon. I know I will continue to say good morning with a thankfulness in my heart for this gift of happiness and the rediscovery of goodness in life and the people in it.

Thank you so much to the people in my life who made it easier to choose happiness on rainy mornings. Who made me smile on cloudy days. Who helped clear the foggy evenings with words of kindness. Your goodness, your love, has made ALL the difference.

But most of all, thank you to my little man. You are all I could have ever dreamed of...and more. When I wake in the morning (and every morning) I pray I can return the the light and love you have brought to me. I am so excited for all the adventures your two year old self can bring.

Wishing you a beautiful, blissful morrow.

Along For The Ride

While on vacation: no work, no appointments and no going to bed at a decent hour, NO SCHEDULES, the exception of course is having a toddler. While there is no going to work and there are no appointmets, there is a loose schedule to keep and if you don't go to bed at a decent hour, the next morning could be less enjoyable than it would have otherwise been had you turned out the light 45 minutes sooner.

I wasn't shocked when I heard Pierce call out for me at 5:30, WIDE AWAKE but I was surprised, which made me thankful for those 45 minutes. Who needs to sleep in till 7am anyway? It doesn't take me long anymore to wake up, especially with P's lack of inhibition regarding normal 5:30am decorum. Who spins in circles and laughs hysterically as a response to "would you like some milk"?

After four small cups of coffee and watching CBS's Eye Opener, the morning reached a modicum of normalcy. By that time most of the house was awake and into their normal routine. Mama and Nana went for a walk on the beach, while Pierce and Daddy took their own walk. P was tired (from already being up for four hours) and was more interested in Daddy carrying him which I enjoyed (nothing like your son's chin pressed firmly on your shoulder and arm draped around your neck). He pointed at the seagulls (he calls them ducks) and clapped when they glided through the salty breeze. We watched overweight old guys with white chest hair diligently hunt for lost treasure with medal detectors and spied on the same unlucky or unskilled fisherman all while maneuvering through the morning shellers.

Ashleigh and I broke away while Nana and Poppy watched Pierce. It was fun to rehash the previous events and talk about upcoming activities for the week and remaining year all while being cognizant of the fact that we were alone, holding hands on a beach and the last time that had occured was three years earlier. We went for an impromptu drive up HWY 1 in CA, found a pull off and ran down to the Pacific Coast. Times are slightly different. We kissed and I told her I'd be back in 41 minutes after a five mile run (took 46, it's very muggy).

Activity of the day centered around two souped up seven speed bicycles (one with a baby seat on the back) and a five mile bike ride that had us stopping twice; once at the Sanibel Community Park and the other at Bailey's local Grocery for refreshments. Pierce's body language seemed to express that he was along for the ride, content to try just about anything provided that there were snacks and drinks along the route.

RC Otters was next on the route. We all piled in to The 2012 XLE Sienna and punched in the coordinats to Captiva Island because Nana had it on good authority that the aforementioned establishment was not to be skipped. After a bumpy start in the inside dining room, we quickly audibled and moved outside which made all the difference. It was there that Pierce discoverd his LOVE/INFATUATION for tarter sauce. His fried fish filets were merely a vehicle to consume as many tiny buckets of the heavenly goodness as possible. It didn't last long but it was a ravenous five minutes, over as quickly as it had begun.

Just about the time as the rest of our food had arrived a local guitarist playing for the evening entered his radar. He began to wave his arms high in the air like he was singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and clapping at the end of each song. He was tired of being in the high chair and wanted a closer look. While my locally caught and grilled grouper and crab meat would have tasted delicious while hot, it would've have been a poor substitue for me picking my son up, walking to the lower patio and dancing with him in front of the musician. His Mama tagged me out after about ten minutes and his Nana after that. We didn't plan on entertaining the rest of the restaurant but we did enjoy the moment, (not as much as Pierce loved the tarter sauce) because we're all making the most of our ride.

Buckets of Fun

Eleven months ago, I wrote a handful of posts detailing our first family vacation to Hilton Head. The following few paragraphs may read/sound redundant but I promise you, nothing can be further from redundant than a 23 month's old deep giggle and wide smile against the background of relentless surf crashing in on broken shells and sand.

After sharing his Nana's yogurt and his Mama's omelette, we took 20-30 steps before our bronzed toes hit the sand. There are more than a few clues to Pierce's imminent OCD but one HUGE tell, is when he says "uh oh", points to his tiny tevas, looks up at me with trepidation painted all over his face because sand has clinged to his toes.

His obsesession with lining his blocks up semi-perfectly is matched only by his curiousity with the waves constantly rolling up the shore and receding back into the horizon. Part of the natural high that comes with being a parent is trying to imagine your two year old's thought process, re-living the first time you ever saw salt water collide with a shoreline.

I don't remember the first time I saw it and I'm sure that P won't either but with the help of this blog, my journal and a lifetime of healthy living, I'll remember this trip and Pierce's grin, ear to ear as he held on to my fingers like he was crossing monkey bars, I walked him in to the gulf and we swam out sixty feet further than his mom was comfortable with, his arms wrapped like a burmese python around my neck, excited but uneasy.

After taking a cresting wave right in the kisser, it was time for us to head to the beach towels, eat string cheese, sip on apple juice and reapply the all important 70 spf. After snack time, we headed back down to where the very tip of the ocean reached before being sucked back in to the sky. P liked sitting in between Daddy's V and watching the water pool up and roll back. His favorite activity involved tossing a shell three or four feet out and witnessing the ocean deliver it back to him, this exuded DEEP GIGGLES.

We practiced that excercise for about thirty minutes before returning to the towels. It was there, that we embarked on a journey that every father must have with his son, the building of the sand castle. At this point, it might be more fun for Dad than for son but either way we both thouroughly enjoyed packing sand and broken shells in to a plastic mold. Pierce's favorite part was taking his Mom back to the water and fill the bucket to the top. Truth be told, he lost interest after four or five trips, the castle walls were only half built, the guard towers were not even started (this is what I was talking about re-living your childhood) and the moat not filled. It was nap time.

Who knows the number of families that the passing tide has bared witness to the exact same scenario occuring. After dinner we walked out to see that our sand castle had been infiltrated/claimed by the tide with no trace left except for this written record.

Master Architect: Ashleigh Hernandez

My experiences are new to me. The lessons learned are probably not new to you. Most of the time, I'm just working out the Silver and Black Lining.

Man's First Flight

Flight Departure time 9:15am
Alarm set for 5am
On the road to CVG @6:15am
Destination: Sanibel Island, Florida

Now imagine the above text "quickly typed across the screen in army green color, (spy movie style).

I'm willing to guess that a large percentage of parents let their thoughts wander when it comes to any impending scenario that they aren't going to have complete control of (like any parent has complete control of anything). I had a funny thought about our upcoming travel adventure that had the NSA confiscating Scout, (Pierce's stuffed best friend). It went something like; we put Scout on the conveyer belt to be scanned, the machine pauses, the officer walks over and explains to us that Scout can't make the trip, at which point Pierce goes "Patrick Swayze Road House" style on his throat.

About eighty percent of the above scenario ACTUALLY happened. Scout went in to the scanner and the belt stopped, we were holding up about 50 curious passangers, I am usually "randomly" selected to be strip searched. The scanning officer radioed for back-up. The NSA officer walked up and explained to us that they were going to have to...... test the milk in the bottle next to Scout. Upon hearing the news, I swear, Pierce relaxed his hands.

After making it through security, Pierce got his first try at the long stretch of moving floor. After walking to our concourse, I was happy to see that our gate was next to a stretch of the escalator's cousin. Pierce and I took advantage of a less than crowded airport and rode our section a handful of times.

Ashleigh and I were both anxious to get in the air, we figured the roughest part of the whole process was when Pierce realized that he was going to be confined for more than a little bit. We did have the good fortune of an empty row in front, behind and beside us. Once "Sunny days, keeping the clouds away rang through the IPad's speaker and P got his morning Elmo in, things settled for a while and all things considered, the two hour flight went as well we could've hoped for. It beats a six hour road trip!

Rounding third, the last twenty minutes were a little rough mostly because while we were able to use his agrressive morning appetite to our advantage and feed him bites of his favorite snacks to keep his ears from popping, he was full and wanted nothing more to do with his Mott's fruit snacks on the descent. I felt bad for him. His ears were bothering him, it was time for his nap and there was no end in sight.

While I am conscious of the surrounding passangers on the plane, I don't shrink like a hermit in to a shell of anxiety because my son is being a two year old. A Daddy's heart and mind are too busy filled with and exuding compassion and love for his son. "It's almost over mijo, we're almost there, I am so proud of you.

So, to the sideways looking folks in row 10, sorry you couldn't focus on that uber importnat game on your Kindle, hope you reach level 100 someday, not on the game but as a human.

As the landing gear touched down, Pierce could sense we crossed the finish line, his ears stopped popping, his Mama scooped him up and all was well. His mind was blown further when he saw Nana and Poppy waving as we exited the terminal. He reached mental overload and he passed out in the car seat until we got to our home for the week.

My experiences are new to me. The lessons learned are probably not new to you. Most of the time, I'm just figuring out in my head, what the Silver and Black Linings are.

My Half

The timing of the Bluegrass Half Marathon was not ideal, I would've rather had 60 days clear of winter to train as opposed to 30 but if it's easy then it isn't worth doing right? This event represented significant progress on my way to achieving my ultimate goal. I wrote about being revived last April and I sit today, (legs sore) experiencing that same feeling.

I arrived at Keeneland anxious but ready. I had completed runs averaging seven miles the previous four Sundays at a rate of about eight minutes 33 seconds. Not knowing the course my goal was to sustain that pace and finish under 110 minutes. The crowd was large and the energy emitted into the cool early morning air was unmistakable.

This is only the third race I've competed in and first over 5K. I know I have a lot to learn, one thing that I tried to remind myself of was to; run my race, keep my tempo, and try not to get too excited too quickly. I failed on two of those. While I didn't get too excited, I quickly became preoccupied with getting around some of the less serious runners and unnecessarily expended energy. As a result, my tempo was erratic for the first couple of miles. There is no substitute for experience and I won't make that mistake again.

It was mile four that I realized, I should have eaten more than a handful of strawberries and another of blueberries. I don't typically eat a lot before runs but I also don't typically run half marathons. I made a critical error. I noticed other runners slurping down gel packets and chalked the feeling of the bottom of my stomach down in the "remember this next time" column.

I would not be one hundred percent truthful if I didn't share that for a moment, I let an unsettling feeling of panic creep into my mind at around mile six. The hills were relentless, I found myself hoping I would see a stretch of moderately flat terrain but that stretch turned out to be wishful.

I began to hear Coach Breeden screaming at my 14 year old self, "get your ass up this hill". When I reminisce about Freshman basketball conditioning, I associate two words with it: EPIC and FAIL, because that is what I did. I've never felt more miserable about not finishing something mostly because **that is about the last time I didn't. Everything happens for a reason, as silly as it sounds, to have placed that much significance on cone drills on a stupid hill in Ashland KY, that feeling of failure has fueled me for more than sixteen years.

ALERT! There's about to be a Hunger Games reference. I had a lot of time to think on this 13.1 mile run. Having recently finished the first two books in the Hunger Games Trilogy, my dorky self couldn't help but associate the marathon with the "games". Every time I needed a little help there would be a crowd of supporters handing off parachutes of water. I suspected it, when Points of Authority by Linkin Park blasted through my earbuds at a difficult time on mile eight but KNEW it on mile nine when Lennon's Beautiful Boy played that Haymitch was my DJ.

I started running again for more than a couple of reasons, I detailed it in the post Besties last April so I won't go in to it here. Except to say that Pierce was one of them. I sing Beautiful Boy to him most nights as I lay him in his crib, when it played, it helped me get my ass up more than a few of those hills.

The adrenaline healed my empty stomach and numbed my aching feet, legs, calfs and everything below my waist. I pulled my earbuds out on mile ten. Hearing the thunder of the other runners around me proved useful. The distance between markers 11 and 12 seemed further and further.

That last mile I pictured two more mind clouds; the first of me wearing my Blue Lions T-Ball jersey running down a first base line with my dad yelling "run like the wind son!", the second was picturing Ash holding Pierce at the finish line cheering Daddy on. I smiled at my wife and gave Pierce a pat on the head as I finished. It would have been infinitely more difficult without her support (asiu).

13.1 miles @ 2hrs 1 min 52 sec This is 12 minutes longer than I wanted but I am pleased with the result, considering the type of course and that I didn't stop and walk once.

I'm coming for you Marathon!

**Unless you ask Ash about fixing our back door.