Cat's in the Cradle

Harry Chapin probably said it best, and as I was on my daily run today, his song was lodged in my brain, repeating the lyrics over and over.  "When you coming home dad, I don't know when, but we'll get together then son, you know we'll have a good time then."

If there is one single song that speaks to the way I have felt for the past two months of my life, this one surely is it. So let me take a minute or two and explain myself. It's deep, really deep --at least to me.

First, let me acknowledge the fact that I am in a much different place in my life today, being mostly retired. I say "mostly" because although I am no longer gainfully employed, I still tend to work many hours each week, but now it's for myself and no one else. Because I have a much more relaxed lifestyle today, I have learned to truly enjoy life and all of the little things that didn't use to matter to me. The fact is however, that they do matter.

As the words of Harry's song kept repeating themselves in my mind, I thought about my current lifestyle, and about those who are most dear to me. I watch and listen daily, to the many varied events and activities taking place within my family. The song lyrics reminded me of how fast my own life has flashed by, from childhood to the retired adult body that I currently occupy.

The "Cat's In the Cradle" probably best describes my life with my sons. I've had many conversations with them over the past few years. Although they may not realize it now, nor would they admit it if they did, I see two young men who have put their lives on hold, while they work tirelessly to reap the benefits of their dreams. Being business owners, they both work an excessive number of hours each week, as if there is an extreme urgency to succeed, and to do it now.

My fear is that someday they'll look back and have regrets. Regrets that they didn't take time for themselves or more importantly, that they didn't take the time to enjoy life. I wonder at times if they know that they can never get this time back, or when they do realize it, that it will be too late. That is my fear.

My sons are not the only people in my life that I have those thoughts about. I guess I really think about this with each of my family members --those working and those who are still in school. Racing around daily, hardly ever taking the time to relax and enjoy those things that truly matter in life. Is it just me who sees this? Is it because I have experienced both sides of the spectrum, and now have the time to think about this and more clearly recognize the daily chaos that surrounds us?

There was a time in my life that I too was guilty of living life in the fast lane. At one time, early in my career, I held five positions all in separate police agencies. Working a 70-hour week was not uncommon. Today I regret the time missed while my children were young. "He learned to walk while I was away" really hits home with me now. I don't want those whom I love and care about today, to harbor these same regrets later on in their lives.

What in life is truly important? Other than Maslow's list of basic needs --food, clothing and shelter-- is anything else really that important? I've truly realized just recently that things are just that...things. Nothing more. Looking at the big picture  --other than those basic needs-- everything else is of little importance. Everything that is, except for time. Our time here on earth is paramount over all else.

I've spoken about "time" in previous stories, and now once again, time rears its ugly head. But time truly is the enemy here --or so it seems to me anyway. Even though time in and of itself can't be slowed down or stopped, we can effectively manage it. It is possible to mask the onward marching of time to give your personal stopwatch the appearance that it ran somewhat slower than it really did.

On any given day, I hear the phrase, "I don't have time", both from friends and family alike. You hear it too, and without a doubt you have uttered those same words. How many times do you say that very thing? In most instances, not having the time really isn't the issue. The issue is more accurately; that you won't take the time and also that you may not be a good time manager.

A few summers ago, I was working with my sons at their company in New York. Often times, at the end of the workday --usually around five o'clock, some of us would head out for a ride on our motorcycles.  Typically there was no destination in mind; we would just ride to unwind for the day. One of my sons generally would not join us, "sorry, I can't go...I've still got work to do", he would counter, day after day when we would attempt to get him to join us. After our ride, he would still be at his desk and on most occasions, work late into the night. This was a common scenario for more than one summer and it always bothered me that he wouldn't take the time to join us. "Life's too short", I would often say --but my insignificant comments would just drift off into space.

Looking back now, and thinking about this same son who has moved forward taking on a completely new adventure, I am sure he realizes --as I do, that nothing would have changed, had he taken the time to enjoy some of those rides. The end result with that company would have been the same. He was still destined to move into a new phase of his professional life. He certainly gained some business knowledge working those late hours night after night, but the trade off --at least in my mind-- wasn't worth the time lost had he chosen to enjoy a little bit of life... time that he can't recoup.

I would like to think that I have always been the type of person who takes the time to really enjoy the simple things in life. The sad reality however, is that I wasn't. But it's not too late for me and I've learned how to totally enjoy life now. I recognize that which is important --truly important, and those things in life, which are just insignificant things. What can I do to help others --those I care most about, to see life the way that I see it now? Are written words about my life and my experiences capable of changing another man's thoughts regarding how he lives his life?

I have to wonder now --as I sit here in my more calm and enjoyable world, if I am partially responsible for the hectic and often chaotic world around me. Have I created this lifestyle for my family, or is this just the way that the world has changed? Perhaps this is the way that life is supposed to be. Maybe my viewpoint about life is obscured. When it comes to life and living, is there really a best or worst category or perhaps a right or wrong way to go through life?

I don't profess to have the answers, but the words of your song, Harry, really hit me hard today. "And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me --he'd grown up just like me. My boy was just like me."

~Safe Riding~

-The Chief

Little Feet

Running and kids... they go together. Think about it. Think about your life when you were a young child. Once having learned to walk, you started to run. If you can't remember back to those days, think of some other child that you may know. Running is a natural thing to children. Sadly enough however, we seem to leave the running behind as we age.

I had the pleasure of running a 5k race at the Dorchester Elementary School in Woodcliff Lake, New Jersey this weekend. Being a runner and having run races for a couple of decades now, I have learned to size up the crowd before a race. I also am very observant of many other "race" details, having directed my own five and ten kilometer races in my hometown many years ago.

This particular race was like most others in many respects, but there were a couple of differences that I observed, that I felt were worthy of today's story.

First, I noticed as soon as I arrived and made my way around the crowd of runners and spectators, that there were many children present. Many of the youngsters I observed were donning their race bib numbers in preparation for a race that would probably seem like twice the 5k distance to their pint-sized legs and feet. I love it when young people run races. It's very inspiring. I don't necessarily love it however, when a ten year old outruns me, but I still like to see them compete because --hey, I'm a good sport!

Once completing this well laid out flat and fast three-and-one-tenth mile course, I sat and watched as the other runners made it across the finish line. The number of young runners --I'm talking about those under ten years old, was unbelievable to me. What I mostly observed was the fact that they all came across the finish line smiling. They were having fun and it showed. Some of the adults were smiling too, as they finished, but all of the kids were smiling.

The other thing that I noticed about this race was just how well it was coordinated. From the registration desks and packet pick-up, to the placement of water stations and finally, the rapid posting of race results after the first runners crossed the finish line. With some humor thrown in, the announcer at the finish line did a bang-up job, calling out the runner's names over the loudspeaker, as she also encouraged everyone to give it their best for the last hundred feet or so of the race.

It's always refreshing to compete in a well organized race, and having a field of young runners helps to keep the kid in me alive and well. Running and kids... they go together.

Thank you Woodcliff Lake Education Foundation for putting on a great event!

~Safe Running~

-The Chief

The Old Pump

My heart --that's what this story is about. I have a heart and it's large. I mean big, really big. Several Cardiologists and I are aware of this.

One morning in 2002 --if my memory serves correctly-- I was on my way home from working the mid-night shift in Rochester. I had decided to stop in my village for breakfast, before going home to bed.

I was sitting at the counter in the local diner, conversing with a neighbor and waiting for my order.  While we were talking, a series of sharp chest pains stopped by for a visit. As the pain increased, I stood up and walked toward the door of the restaurant. Not wanting to make a scene, I walked around a little and then returned to my seat as the pain had subsided.

While I ate, I was concerned about what I had just experienced. The symptoms included pain and tightening of the chest and also a slight numbness in my arm. It was obvious to me, these were the classic signs of a heart attack. After enjoying my pancakes with lots of syrup, I went home and went to bed.

Within the next few weeks after seeing my doctor, and then the cardiologist that had been recommended, I was scheduled for a cardiac catheterization. That's the procedure where they put a nice little slit in the area of your groin, and then send this nifty little camera --attached to the end of a roto-rooter type snake-- up to your heart to kind of snoop around and see what they can see. As fun and good times go, it wasn't. Having a six foot five linebacker type of guy with a razor and shaving cream wasn't my idea of a good time either, but he trimmed me up nicely for the doctor.

My cardiologist reported back to me, as I was patiently (pun intended) waiting in the recovery room, that my arteries were really clear. He stated that I had the arteries of a man half my age. "It must be the running", he stated.  But then he went on to tell me more. He told me that I had had a heart attack and that there was "universal damage" all around my heart muscle. He also stated that my heart was enlarged. Of course, I already knew that because, well... I love everyone.

In discussing my condition with the doctor, I reminded him several times that I was a runner and that I had been running for many years. I told him about my belief that runner's hearts are different than most others. After all, it's a muscle and when you exercise muscles, they tend to enlarge. He didn't buy my story and stood firm in his belief about my condition. He prescribed a host of medications that he wanted me to begin taking. He also recommended that I slow down with the running and suggested that I put on some weight. Weird.

A year or so later, I made an appointment to re-visit my doctor for a check-up. I was told that my cardiologist was no longer with the medical firm, and that he had returned to his native country. I was assigned a new cardiologist. It's interesting --when I met with my new cardiologist, she told me that after looking at my files and lab results, she didn't believe that I had had a heart attack. She somewhat agreed with my theory about running and hearts. She wasn't upset with me when I told her that I hadn't taken the prescribed medication either. I explained that I am not one to take pills and that although I had initially followed the doctor's orders for a month or two, the pills ended up being flushed soon there after. My new cardiologist gave me a clean bill of health that day.

Fast forward now if you will, to the winter of 2008. I had just returned from a RoadLoK event in El Paso with my son Eric. It was mid-week around noon, and I was driving myself to lunch. While stopped at a traffic light, an all too familiar pain returned for a visit.  Again this time, I had similar feelings of tightness in the chest and a slight numbness in my left arm. The pain was so intense at one point that I stopped my Jeep in traffic, and started to exit the vehicle. Within seconds, the pain subsided and I continued on my way.  Time once again to make an appointment with a cardiologist.

Having moved to the Hudson Valley from Upstate New York, I had to find a new cardiologist to try and solve the mystery of the old pump. After many appointments, which included a long series of tests, the results came in. The tests included blood work, stress tests, CT scans and more.  I wondered, "Would my diagnosis be accurate this time?"

Upon entering the examination room, the doctor greeted me and quite bluntly stated, "Mr. Xavier, you have the same thing that killed John Ritter". "Thank you", was my reply.  He went on to explain to me that I had an aortic aneurysm --a weakening of the aortic wall, causing a bulge-- and that it would require surgery. He told me that there was no immediate urgency, as it was not at a dangerous level yet. "You have a few years before it will need to be fixed", he stated to me. "Don't run as much in the meantime and stop racing", were his words of advice. Once again, I found myself to be questioning a professional's expertise because of my running background. "Don't you think that because I run, my aorta would naturally be larger than someone not as athletic?" His reply was simply, "no".

It was explained to me that the aneurysm would enlarge each year. Typically, according to the doctor, it would increase approximately one half centimeter each year. He stated that the only way to correct this medical issue was through surgery. "There is no medication that can fix this", he stated to me. He stated that "we" would monitor my aorta annually and watch it grow. Actually, I don't think he quite worded it that way, but that's what he meant.

Almost two years later, while seeing another doctor for an unrelated issue, we discussed my past heart history. Among other things, we had a lengthy discussion about hearts and running. Finally, I was conversing with a doctor who had an open mind about my theories on this subject! Understand that my theories are based on a lot of reading and research I have done over the past twenty years --about runners and health.

During our conversation, the good doctor offered to run the same tests for me as had been previously completed to check my aorta. I should note here, that I hadn't been back to the first cardiologist after the diagnosis of the aneurysm. Yes, I know what you're thinking. Regarding that, let me just say that it's a long story about a stubborn man.

A couple of weeks after these tests were completed; I met again with the doctor. When he came into the examining room, he spoke without hesitation, like the previous doctor who had stated that I had "the same thing that killed John Ritter". Only this time, the words I heard were, "you don't have an aneurysm, in-fact there is nothing wrong with your heart or aorta", as he handed me the lab report which confirmed his statement. He then reaffirmed to me the fact that I am a big guy with a vast running history, and having a somewhat larger heart and aorta seems to make sense. He too, gave me a clean bill of health.

I went to the gym that evening and had a great carefree workout. This truly was my first "carefree" workout in almost two years. Even though I had continued to run and race, I will admit here that my mind often thought about the possible serious consequences I was flirting with while running and competing. Normally, when an aorta ruptures, it's checkout time for the victim, or so I'm told.

The old pump has done well the past couple of years. I continue to run and I typically push myself most days while I pound the pavement. Many days, I feel like a well-oiled machine as I cruise along the pavement, mostly paying attention to time, pace and distance. It's not very often now, that I think about my heart when I run, or the fact that I had several professionals attempt to void its warranty.

I think this old pump has a lot of life left in it.

~Safe Riding and Running!~

-The Chief