Triathlon Journal

Twenty two years ago something horrible happened to me. And, I tell the story all the time. If you've heard it before from me, sorry.

I was living in Chicago with my twin brother Brian. At the time we were into fitness. My brother and I ran 5K and 10K races many weekends--which gave me a pretty impressive T-Shirt collection.

That summer (1988) I decided to take my fitness goals to a whole new level and run a triathlon. At the time Bud Light beer sponsored a series of these events across the county and I signed up for the event in Chicago.

For two months I trained--running three times a week, riding my bicycle, and swimming laps in the local pool. I was not on any specific training plan for triathlons, but I was in great shape.

The day of the race was during a serious heatwave. Even though the event was held in downtown Chicago near Lake Michigan, at 8:00 a.m., it was already 85 degrees, sun blazing, and the temperature was rising. While most participants seemed well prepared for the event, wearing the latest exercise gear and with new, expensive bicycles, I felt completely clueless. I was wearing an old T-shirt, well-traveled running shoes and cotton gym shorts. My bike was a beat up Schwinn Continental.

A quarter of a mile from the finish line that day I swooned. Not just passed out, I had a full-fledged heat stroke, which meant I was carted off in an ambulance and pumped up with IV fluids until I was well enough to go home. While in the ambulance I remember praying out loud, believing I had suffered a heart attack, "God, please let me live and I promise I'll NEVER do anything this stupid again."

Well I lived, and that was the end of my competitive running career. Never another road race, triathlon, nothing. After all, I had made a promise to God and I quit racing cold turkey.

Through the years I've been rethinking those rash words uttered in the ambulance. Perhaps since I was under the false assumption I had suffered a heart attack, maybe my God would forget the triathlon promise. Also, in a true lawyer fashion, I thought of a hundred loopholes to my promise. Loopholes like: what did I really mean when I said, "nothing this stupid again."? Running a triathlon when it's nearly 90+ degrees? Yeah that's pretty stupid. Or, how about running with the wrong gear? Yeah, that's pretty stupid, too. So, if the weather was better, and I was better prepared, there should be no problem with the man upstairs if I were to try triathlons again . . . .

Fast forward twenty-two years. My daughter Lonelli has been on a personal mission to re-invent herself this year. One of the key components in this transformation has been an impressive training program with the goal of running a triathlon in August in Chicago. Eerily, the dates, course and distances are almost identical to the race twenty-two years ago where my competitive running career screeched to a halt. This summer, as part of her tune up for Chicago, Lonelli has participated in a number of mini-triathlons, which are called Sprints. In a sprint, a contestant swims, bikes, and runs, but the distances are roughly half the distances of a regular triathlon.

Clarisa and I went with Lonelli to her first Sprint a few weeks ago. The course was in a beautiful state park fifty miles north of Detroit. The day was perfect for a race, slightly overcast (no blazing sun) and seventy-five degrees. The course had a few hills, but nothing too challenging. The swim was held in a small lake.

For her first time racing, Lonelli did exceptionally well. And we all enjoyed the atmosphere at the event, lots of upbeat, fitness-oriented people encouraging one another along with their families and supporters. I had forgotten how fun these competitions can be. That day Lonelli suggested I do one of these tune up events with her--and my mind began to work.

In the six months since I left American Laser Centers, I've been on my own personal re-invention program, for which weight loss and improved fitness have been key components. And, a Sprint triathlon was definitely within my abilities.

When the summer began, I replaced running on the treadmill with daily, morning lap swims at the Grosse Pointe City pool. And in three weeks of training I worked my way up to a distance that was farther than the swimming portion of a Sprint. So I knew I could do the swim--I did it every day! And, the run was no problem. I exceeded the Sprint running distance at least three times a week during my regular workouts.

But, despite my optimism, three nagging thoughts dampened my enthusiasm. First, my bike is an ancient Schwinn Continental with a heavy steel frame and a headlight attached to the front. I bought it a few years ago for ten dollars at a second-hand shop as a joke--it reminded me of my old racing bike in Chicago! It was really not suitable for a race. Second, while I was capable of completing the triathlon components one event at a time, I had not combined any two of the events during the same workout since that ill-fated day twenty-two years ago. I needed to step up my training. And third, of course, there was the little matter of my promise to God . . . .

Without taking too much time to reflect or agonize over my concerns, I ended up throwing caution to the wind and signed up for a Sprint distance triathlon held on Belle Isle, which is a Detroit city park in the middle of the Detroit River. I decided my bike would have to work; I'd do some additional training; and, God would definitely understand. After all, I was doing this to support Lonelli!

So yesterday, at 7:30 a.m., I found myself standing in the Detroit River ready to begin my first triathlon in more than two decades. This time my gear was better--I was wearing a nice-knee length speedo bathing suit, which looked like every other contestant's suit. Further, I knew my shoes, shorts and shirt also were appropriate for the race. But, that old bike . . . .

I knew the swim would be a challenge, not so much because of the distance, but because of the conditions. Unlike swimming laps in lanes in a pool, an open water swim is far more difficult. Imagine what it's like with more than 100 men flailing away all around you, kicking, grabbing and trying to find some clear space to swim. Further, besides the crush of bodies, I experienced an adreneline rush at the sound of the opening horn. Within 100 meters I found myself hyperventilating. I almost panicked and quit the race. Fortunately, I was able to say a prayer, focus on my strokes, and I calmed down.

In the end, the swim went fine. And I felt good leaving the water and trotting to the transition area where I put on some shorts, my shirt, sunglasses, shoes and socks and hopped on my bike. All day I joked that I had the worst bike in the competition--which, in actuality was a true statement! The course was two laps around the island, which I completed. Since I had not trained a lot for biking, my strategy was simply to stick with a decent pace and save my legs for the run. I got passed A LOT during the bike portion. But, it was a beautiful day and I really enjoyed the 20 kilometers, it just took me forever to finish!

I felt surprisingly strong for my 5 kilometer run. As the course progressed, rather than slowing down, I sped up--and I found myself passing lots of competitors, many who were younger than me. I even had a nice little kick at the end of the course and crossed the finish line feeling pretty good.

Amazingly, in my first completed triathlon, I finished fourth in my age group (men between the ages of 45 and 49). I was ecstatic. When the final results were posted, however, I found out I was fourth out of a group of six competitors, which was less impressive. However, my run was the fastest speed for any man over 45 by more than two minutes. My swim, while not among the fastest times, was middle-of-the pack. But, the bike. . . . The man who won my age group swam slightly faster than me, ran a lot slower than me, but finished the bike portion TWELVE MINUTES ahead of me. I finished dead last in the bike. I may have been the slowest male biker in the competition!

When I picked up my bike as we were getting ready to leave, a group of people came up to me and said, "We wanted to see who rode this bike."

"Why?" I asked. "This is the worst bike here."

"Yeah," said one in the group, "you rode a 'ton speed.'"

"I know," I responded. "Feel how heavy this puppy is." The young man was amazed a racing bike weighed so much.

The first person spoke again. "We wanted to tell you that this bike is a collector's item. Have you ever tried to sell it? We were concerned someone might try to grab this bike and we wanted to be sure the owner claimed it." That was funny. Thousand dollar bikes all around and they were concerned someone might take my second-hand Schwinn!

Now my mind is racing. If I improve by bike time by six or seven minutes I can win won of these competitions. I need to sign up for another event. If I sell the Schwinn, I can pay for a decent racer!

Is this a new obsession? We'll see.

A Father's Pride

I have great kids.

And this is not the wine talking, really. OK, maybe I have enjoyed a couple of cold glasses of Chardonnay, and it's been a spectacularly beautiful summer's day in Michigan. But even with those mood elevating conditions, I still have to say, my kids are phenomenal.

I look at them and I'm amazed. How did an ordinary, kind of dorky guy like me contribute such extraordinary individuals to the human race? And what's even more amazing is that, so far, we're batting 1,000 with this brood. They are handsome, smart, loving and kind--all of them! They have risen above their father in so many ways and continue to grow. God bless them.

Today is Father's Day and I'm deeply in love with my four children. It's not just that they've shown me special Father's Day kindness--though the gifts were nice, the hand written cards charming, and the meals they prepared delicious and designed to please me--it's just that I can't stop looking at them and feeling overwhelming joy and pride.

I want to introduce you to them.

Our oldest son is Angel. Many have said few men have been more appropriately named than him. He's truly angelic in nature. Still, for me, his finest quality is his compassion that seems to know no bounds. He will give you the shirt off his back, the last dollar in his wallet, and his last ounce of energy if that's what you need. And, unlike most, Angel never feels jealousy over the accomplishments of others. If you're enjoying success at anything, Angel will sincerely share your joy. Similarly, if you're feeling despair, Angel will go to that dark place with you and be your only friend, if that's what you need. I've never known anyone with Angel's capacity for empathy--it's a trait his friends and family sometime don't fully appreciate, but yet delight in benefitting from.

Next comes Lonelli. Yes she's the one featured in the photo at top. This picture was snapped today after she completed her first ever triathalon. Understand that Lonelli has suffered some serious injuries in her day and feels constant pain--yet she has doggedly soldiered through the pain to reach her fitness goals. I've never met a more determined person than Lonelli. When she embraces a goal, she pursues that goal with unwaivering determination until she achieves it. She does it over and over, like her campaign to gain admission to the U.S. Naval Academy, to earning a full-ride scholarship to the Darden School of Business at the University of Virginia, to snagging a much-sought-after marketing position in Detroit in the midst of one of the most severe economic downturns this country has ever seen. And while pursuing these goals, Lonelli actively enlists the support of friends and family, because she knows their support is crucial to her on-going success. Lonelli knows what she wants and can formulate solid plans to reach her destination. I wish I had her drive.

As if the accomplishments of the older two are not impressive enough, what can I say about 18-year-old Amelia? Her most recent achievements prove that hard work and consistent efforts bear amazing fruit. How else can you explain her impressive first-year college GPA (3.73) and earning an "A" in her recent South Africa travel seminar, when fellow classmates, who included upperclassmen and law students, struggled to pass the class. How else can you explain why Amelia was recognized by her Drake professors this year as one of the school's top ten freshman (out of a class of 800+ students) despite a demanding academic schedule, a full load of extracurricular activities and leadership positions and holding down a part-time job? She even found time to have a boyfriend! Few teenagers I know demonstrate her gutsy maturity.

And finally, our youngest Isaac--a child whose talents seem endless. Rarely have I seen a person who is so good at so many things--and he never seems to show off. Children and adults alike recognize his musical aptitude, his athletic prowess, and his academic accomplishments and agree that he deserves success. People root for him because he's charming not arrogant and is a friend to all. He oozes charisma and flashes wit at appropriate and sometimes inappropriate moments, but no one seems to mind when he goes over the top. As he grows into young adulthood, Isaac will face unique challenges and temptations, yet he's just so clearheaded and loveable, I expect he'll face those challenges with his typical flair.

Scripture urges parents to train up children in the way that they should go and promises that when they are old, they will not depart from it. I believe that my children have benefitted from my wisdom, my love, and my usually gentle guidance. However, as a far-from perfect parent, I have no right to take that much credit for their achievements. Their accomplishments belong to them. My wife, our families, nuturing teachers, church leaders and others all have helped mold my children and have encouraged them to push themselves beyond simply what is expected. As a result, my children still believe the world is full of mountains to climb and opportunities to experience.

I am full of love and pride for them today. For me, every day is Father's Day.

Better a Living Dog . . .

"Whoever is joined with the living has hope, for better a living dog than a dead lion." Ecclesiastes 9:4

First, I wanted to be cop.

I remember going to a Thanksgiving Day parade in downtown Detroit and seeing handsome officers in their dress blues riding beautifully groomed horses down Woodward Avenue. The policemen were stern faced and seemed oblivious to the crush of onlookers. At that moment I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be a cop--because cops ride horses in parades! I was five years old. My ambition changed in August 1967 when I witnessed police officers clubbing suspected vandals with truncheons during the terrifying days of the Detroit riots, when my city was set aflame with hatred and violence. I no longer wanted to be a policeman. I was six years old.

Later I wanted to be an architect because of a drafting class I had in school. After that I wanted to fly helicopters, raise cattle, and own my own business. In high school my dream of being elected the governor of the State of Iowa was so well known that a friend purchased for me stationery with my embossed name and title: "Governor Kevin Piecuch". I think I still have some of those sheets in a box in my basement.

And, like every child who loves popular culture, I also imagined conquering the world as a rock star. That ambition I kept to myself.

And yes, being a lawyer was also a dream, one deeply held and one I attained a little later than I planned . . . but it was one dream I realized. Other than finding a life partner or raising children, I can't think of anything sweeter than achieving your dreams. It's true.

As a person get's older, however, you realize that many amazing dreams you ached to achieve as a youth will never be realized. And as these dreams wilt and fade, and fall away like blooms off a flowering tree, you somehow feel your life has lost a little bit of beauty. And when you look at yourself--you stop seeing the future star, but instead stare at the ordinary guy you never wanted to be, but now find yourself anyway.

To make matters worse, with age you not only lose dreams, but you realize missed opportunities, times where you see in retrospect that, but for a bad decision or some other mistake, you might have achieved something special and maybe enjoyed a better life. Dreams fade and regrets haunt, no wonder so many old folks are depressed.

If you are taunted by feelings of anguish because your life has not turned out quite the way you planned, you must listen carefully to the writer of Ecclesiastes. Life is a remarkable gift--and as long as you have life and breath you always have hope for a better tomorrow. To spend your life, however, chasing ghosts and aching over things you cannot change achieves nothing, instead it wastes your life, which is the most precious gift all of us share.

Remember, regardless of how you got to your present reality, you possess talent, skills and experiences that make you valuable. Maybe you're not the lion (or the governor, or the cattle rancher) but that's not to say that being the dog is worthless. I just read that dogs are now being trained to detect certain cancers in humans through their keen senses of smell--isn't that remarkable? And, getting to be the lion in the world sometimes requires paying a steep price. The sheer effort to get to the top has brought ruin to many (look at Detroit's former mayor Kwame Kilpatrick). Sometimes, maybe it is better to be the living dog than the dead lion.

I'm all for driving ourselves to use our talents and achieve goals. No need to be ordinary slobs who sleepwalk through life not really trying to improve the world. At the same time, stop beating yourself up over lost dreams and missed opportunities.

While all young people dream of better lives, there's no reason why us old folks can't be optimists and dreamers, too! And, our dreams should be all that more vivid, attainable and less naive because they are colored by our own experiences.

As long as you have life and breath, look forward with hope and don't look backwards with regret. See how looking backwards worked out for Lot's wife? I'd rather be like John the Evangelist who at 90 years old could still envision a new heaven and a new earth where every tear was wiped away and every sorrow healed.

I'm launching a new business next week, one that is going to change my life . . . again. And, later, I have some other rocking plans poised to help real people. What dreams are you planning to achieve this week? Let me know, because I'm here to cheer you on. LIVING DOGS UNITE!!

Pleasures of Plain Vanilla

When I go to an ice cream shop, I'm struck by all the choices. Some of the flavors sound really interesting. Others sound kind of gross. But me, I pretty much order the same flavor every time. Maybe I'll mix it up with sprinkles, or if I'm really indulgent a waffle cone, but in the end I usually end up with one of my tried and true favorites. And, when I do switch things up and stray from my favorite flavor, invariably I say, "that was OK, but not as good as . . . ."

I should stick to my Baskin Robbins pattern in other areas of my life. After all, good doesn't stop being good simply because its familiar. Conversely, bad isn't a good choice simply because its different.

For most of us, thriving in life has meant striving to "be good." You know what I mean: honesty, hard work, and loyalty are necessary qualities for people who are successful in school, their careers and in their relationships. Further, those of us who are attached to religious faiths are mindful of whole lists of behaviors, attitudes and actions that bring us into a right relationship with our creator.

And those of us who have been "good" in our lives know that goodness brings real rewards and blessings. One cannot truly feel the pleasures of academic achievement, earn respect and admiration of business associates, and build solid, meaningful relationships without goodness. Further, while God graciously reaches out to us even if we've sunk to the lowest depths (yes, I've been there), how much healthier and satisfying are the times when we're open to the moving of God's Spirit within us on a daily basis, when we're not running and hiding from God (like Adam and Eve in the Garden) but actively seeking God's face (like Moses on Mt. Sinai).

Strange thing for me is that despite my experiences, every day I find myself in the ice cream store making choices. And, despite the fact that I already know what tastes good, I stand there and contemplate every offering. Sometimes I find the choice agonizing. I say to myself, "Maybe I should try Blueberry Cheesecake just this once? Maybe I'm missing something? Can I stand not knowing what that flavor tastes like?"

The Holy Scriptures tell us that the Tempter appears to humanity as an Angel of Light, who is very attractive to the eyes. Further, people of faith know that the Tempter works hard to confuse the righteous. The Tempter tells us to eat the forbidden fruit because doing so will make us wise. The Tempter tells us there are short cuts to fame and fortune. The Tempter tells us no one will ever know . . . . And the words of the Tempter can stick in our brains urging us to take the broad, easy path in life.

However, Jesus said that broad is the way and easy is the path that leads to destruction, and many are those who travel it. But narrow is the way and difficult is the path that leads to life and few are those who find it.

It's ironic how deceiving appearances can be. While being good appears to be the conventional choice, and being rebellious seems brave and courageous, as far as personal morality is concerned, the opposite is true. Resisting temptation is far more difficult than giving in. Being lazy takes much less effort than hard work. And why tell the truth (if it gets you in trouble) when lying is soooo easy.

My fascination with sin, fueled by a steady diet of television crime dramas and questionable "research" on the internet continues to surprise me. One would think that after years of seeing that the pleasures of sin are shortlived and ultimately leave a very bitter taste in your mouth, I would easily choose goodness. But yet, there I am, every day, looking at all those flavors and wondering, "Maybe I'm missing something. Maybe just this once . . . ."

God help us all. Goodness and righteousness may seem dull, conventional and boring, yet without them we cannot find peace, happiness and fulfillment.

Choose your flavors wisely.

Yeah I Like Coney Islands

After five months of healthy eating, I was wondering whether I had lost my taste for fast food. Without regular fixes of Taco Bell chalupas, White Castle sliders, and Subway meatball sandwiches, I found myself 20 pounds lighter and my "bad" cholesterol at a respectable number. Can't say I've been craving those foods either.

But, in the last couple of weeks, unique fast food opportunities came my way, and I felt compelled to indulge. First one came in Iowa. During several road trips this year traveling back of forth to Des Moines with my college daughter Amelia I saw an oversized, illuminated sign advertising a fast food restaurant from my youth. Right off of I-80, mid way between Iowa City and Des Moines, a Maid-Rite hamburger shop beckoned me.

I ate Maid-Rites a lot during my teenage years in Muscatine, Iowa. In case you've never tasted a Maid-Rite hamburger, this franchise specializes in loose meat sandwiches. Rather than grilling or frying hamburger patties, at Maid-Rite hamburger meat is sauteed in an open pan along with chopped onions and a secret combination of salt, pepper and spices. This meat is served up on a bun along with dill pickle slices.

Maid-Rite style sandwiches briefly achieved national attention when Rosanne Barr opened a restaurant on her television show where they served, you guessed it, loose-meat hamburgers. Rosanne discovered Maid-Rites when she and her former husband Tom Arnold lived in Ottumwa, Iowa. I'm not sure if she loved the sandwich or thought the idea of loose meat hamburgers was so ridiculous that it became a running gag on her comedy show.

Joke or not, every time I passed the restaurant I wanted to eat a Maid-Rite. And I always said to my fellow passengers, "Let's stop and get one. They're great!"

So last week, driving back from Des Moines, my wife agreed to stop at the restaurant under the giant Maid-Rite sign. She was probably sick of hearing me talk about these sandwiches. While I couldn't persuade her to try one, I was almost giddy with aniticpation.

The restaurant was clean and modern--not the dingy, greasy smelling hole in the wall I remember--which was a good sign. And the menu had expanded. Not just the traditional Maid-Rite, the restaurant offered new fare, like a Cheese Rite (which was slathered in Cheese Whiz); a Bacon Cheese Rite (add hard bacon bits); and even a Texas BBQ-Rite (bring on the barbeque sauce!). I elected a "Classic" Maid-Rite, which was the sandwich I remembered. And, and the sandwich delivered to my table featured and big bun and a heaping mound of loose, cooked hamburger meat. I took a bite, and . . . the Maid-Rite prompted no memories. In fact, the sandwich was kind of bland actually. Ketchup and hot sauce helped a little. Not sure what I found so delicious in a Maid-Rite when I was a teen. Not special at all. Guess I won't be stopping next time, not even if I need a Cheese Whiz fix! Such disappointment.

On Friday last week, my hankering for fast food hit me again when I found myself in Philadelphia. After Maid-Rites turned out to be less tastey than I remembered, maybe my tastebuds would find redemption in a new fast food. For years I heard of the much bragged about Philly Cheesesteak but had never tasted one. An opportunity to try the sandwich presented itself in the Philadelphia airport where I had time during a layover to try one for myself.

The sandwich was not what I expected. I imagined the cheese was going to be yellow--either sharp cheddar, American, or Velveta. And the steak--well I expected seasoned chunks of beef that looked liked pieces of a sirloin steak piled on a hoagy bun. Guess what? That is NOT a Philly Cheesesteak. The Philly Cheesesteak I ate in the Philadelphia airport, and I got a "loaded" version that included grilled peppers, mushrooms and onions, was bland, kind of like the Maid-Rite sandwich I had four days earlier.

The meat in a Philly Cheesesteak looked like the flat pieces you get in a gyro, only this meat was not seasoned like a gyro, in fact I couldn't taste any seasoning at all! And the cheese was not yellow cheese, but white. But not good white cheese like gouda, mozzarella or swiss, this sandwich featured soft Philadephia Cream Cheese. Does that sound good to you? Philly Cream Cheese and hot beef together? In a sandwich? I like Philly Cream Cheese in celery sticks and on top of bagels, with capers and red onions, but as a complement to tasteless gyro meat . . . yuck.

To get over the disappointment of my Maid-Rite hamburger and first-ever Philly Cheesesteak, I knew I some needed truly delicious fast food. I wanted to remember that high-fat, high-sodium, inexpensive menu items could actually satisfy. So, last night Isaac and I hauled ourselves to our local National Coney Island and ordered some truly good fast food: a "classic" Coney Island sandwich. For those of you not from my neck of the woods, a Coney Island is a hotdog served with mustard (never ketchup), chopped onions and chili (no beans) on a steamed bun. As if that wasn't enough all by itself, we also ordered chili cheese fries (bring on more chili and copious amounts of Cheese Whiz) and a spicy hani (seasoned chunks of chicken, chopped sauteed veggies inside a pita).

Look at the attached photo. Doesn't that look good? Doesn't Isaac look happy with our meal? And yes, we're drinking Diet Cokes. Very satisfying. I'm going back to health food knowing that there are still artery clogging choices I can enjoy any time I feel like falling off the low fat, low carb, low sodium band waggon.

Now that's fast food, Detroit style!

Beer Snob Diary

Thursday evening found me in a world of hurt and I desperately needed a liquid getaway. Before I sound like a roaring alky, let me explain what happened that evening and maybe you won't think poorly of me.

This Thursday my wife and I drove from our home to our daughter's college so that we could be with her after she finished her freshman year and to send her off on a once-in-a-lifetime trip to South Africa that begins this next week. It's a long drive from Grosse Pointe to Des Moines--at least 600 miles--and I drove every mile. Further, my wife and I found ourselves engaged in deep and meaningful conversation virtually the entire trip. Needless to say, after nine hours of driving and non-stop talking, I needed a drink.

At midnight, however, my options for finding alcoholic beverages were limited. I wasn't going to a bar and the grocery stores that sold my preferred beers and wines had all since closed. Instead, I visited a popular convenience store next to campus that provides libations to many Drake students. So, at midnight, I walked into the Kum and Go, yes, that's the name of the store, Kum and Go, to find a beer.

The place was packed with young, scruffy looking folks, most of whom were standing in front of the beer case. I quickly scanned my choices: Bud, Bud Light, Coors, Coors Light, Miller, Miller Lite, and . . . well I kept looking for other choices. Sam Adams? Nope. Leinenkugel Red--we were in the Midwest after all. Nope. They had to have Rolling Rock--wasn't that a popular college beer? Apparently not at Drake. In fact, in that beer case I couldn't find a single beer I'd consumed in the past 25 years! Out of desperation, I grabbed the one beer I'd never heard of--it was 18 ounces and only cost $1--how bad could it be? So I grabbed two Steel Reserves and tried to leave the Kum and Go as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten how difficult it is to escape a convenience store at midnight, especially when there was only one barely functional cashier working (who did not speak English as his first language). Do you remember how college students buy drinks? I had forgotten. Especially during finals week, one friend collects money from all his/her friends and runs over to the Kum and Go and buys one beverage apiece for every friend in the dorm who gave them money. Apparently nobody at college treats their friends--they pay for each beverage individually. Needless to say, I stood in that line a long time.

And not everyone in the Kum and Go was a college student. The guy in front of me, besides buying his Mountain Dew, also bought a hot dog out of the hot dog warmer. I can't imagine that a college student, even a hungry one, would ever eat a nasty hot dog that had been sitting all day in that hot dog warmer spinning in front of a greasy light bulb. Gross. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Little did I know that Steel Reserve is actually a popular brew among college students. It's a malt beverage with a higher alcohol content than normal beer--and is most typically purchased in 40 ounce bottles. Now that would have been a hoot--me walking out of the Kum and Go in Des Moines with a 40-ounce Steel Reserve in a brown paper bag! My wife is convinced I'm trying to relive my youth--maybe I've just proved her point because I actually enjoyed the Steel Reserve. I don't know if out of exhaustion, thirst, or my intense need to unwind, but the drink went down fast--and I fell fast asleep about five minutes after it was gone.

Yep, I enjoyed my first experience with a Steel Reserve, however, not as much as I enjoyed another brew I tasted last night for the first time. We had dinner at the Court Avenue Brewing Company, which is a popular Des Moines restaurant that is similar to hundreds of other microbreweries in the U.S. The owners took a turn-of-the century retail building and converted it into a hip restaurant. Think high ceilings, hardwood floors, outdoor seating, antique signs on the walls, a massive bar and lots of noise. But, unlike other similar establishments, the Court Avenue Brewing Company had an interesting menu and the brews they produced actually tasted good.

Again, I was in the mood to drink. The primary reason for my alcohol thirst was that I was meeting my freshman daughter's boyfriend for the first time. The bartender offered a large selection of beers on tap, but I felt compelled to drink the "Honest Lawyer IPA" draft. I didn't know what an IPA was, but I ordered it anyway. It was good.

IPA stands for India Pale Ale, which is a class of light-colored beers that are especially appropriate for summer drinking. The one made by the Court Avenue Brewing Company had a hint of citrus and went down quickly and easily. Drinking the IPA helped put me in the right mood to meet Byron.

Actually the boyfriend was delightful--confident, handsome, with an easy smile and clear appreciation for my daughter. He was respectful toward my wife and answered all our questions (and we had a lot of questions) without a hint of discomfort or resentment. While both Byron and Amelia are far too young to think longterm, it appears they are well suited for each other at this time in their lives.

We're now engaged in helping Amelia pack for her trip. Fortunately, we're staying in a suite with a small refrigerator that I've stocked with enough Stella Artois to keep me in the right frame of mind through her Tuesday send off.

I'll talk to you again when I get home.

Twenty Things

This will be my twentieth blog posting. While I anticipated writing more often when I started in January, it's still a lot of words. Thank you for those who have slogged through all those words with me.

The number twenty came up again last week when Clarisa and I celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary. You know, twenty is a big number. And the idea that we've been together this many years is amazing. Despite a lot of challenges, we've done pretty well together--and I expect we've got at least another twenty years more in the gas tank. So, stay tuned.

To honor twenty years of marriage, I want to share with you twenty things I love about my wife Clarisa. I can think of a lot more nice things to say about her, so this list is not exhaustive. Also, I'm not trying overly hard to be romantic nor am I saying that these twenty things are the twenty best things about my wife. All I'm saying is that I gave myself twenty minutes to come up with a list, and here it is:

1. I love her name. Clarisa Caridad. Really poetic, don't you think? She's the first person I ever met named Clarisa. The second is her aunt (and namesake) in Panama. Caridad is Spanish for "Charity". Oh, and if you're going to say her name, say it correctly. Emphasize the middle vowel--it's Clar E sa, not Clar isssa. That's how it's said in Spanish, and I really think it sounds prettier that way.

2. I love her heritage. I've long said that we really stirred up the gene pool when we made children together. I mean what a mix! She's got African blood by way of Jamaica. She's got east Indian blood (you should see the photos of her turbaned great grandfather) by way of Bombay. She's got white Spaniards and native Panamanians all mixed in there for good measure. Talk about diversity, she's a whole United Nations all in one person.

3. I love that she's bilingual. I don't know too many people who are completely fluent in multiple languages. The remarkable thing about Clarisa is that she speaks English like an American (no hint of an accent), and she speaks Spanish like a Panamanian. And to boot, she's not too bad at French and Portuguese! I'm in awe of her language abilities--it makes her accessible to so many people.

4. I love her complexion. How to describe it? Deep tan? Honey brown? Rich copper? Anyway you look at it, she has amazing skin and really doesn't need make up.

5. I love her legs. This is the last physical attribute I'm going to mention. Trust me, there's a lot more to say about her body, but I'm going to share that with her privately. About those legs--she's 50+ years old and not one spot of cellulite. It's true! Her legs are long and shapely and lovely in short skirts.

6. I love that she's passionate about every detail in her life. I don't care if Clarisa's washing clothes, entertaining guests, or settling some world crisis, everything she does feels important. She sweats every detail and never relaxes her standards. Never.

7. I love that Clarisa loves children. And they love her, too. What's unusual about my wife is that she never condescends to a child. She speaks to them directly, often in the same tone and using the same language that she uses with adults. She also remembers important details about their lives, and asks questions about these details. That's why she's so successful as a room mother, a Sunday school teacher, and a class sponsor. Hundreds of children know her by name and are not ashamed to greet her when they meet her in the street.

8. I love how she makes bacalao. I could have just as easily said chicken and rice, sugar cookies or skirt steak, but bacalao was the first home cooked meal she made for me and I've loved it ever since. For those who don't know bacalao, it's kind of a stew made with salted cod fish. I know, it sounds gross, but it's really good when made with love . . . and lots of coconut milk!

9. I love how Clarisa resists routines. When life seems mundane, Clarisa makes changes. Even when running errands, she doesn't drive the same paths over and over. In our house, the furniture gets rearranged regularly. Dinner is never at the same hour from day to day, and you're never quite sure whether that standing appointment is going to stand from week to week. The only things predictable in our lives are surprises.

10. As much as Clarisa resists routines, I love her diehard embrace of meaningful traditions. From year-to-year Clarisa is the one who insists that we continue traditions. For example, every year, at her insistance, we sit down together and share daily family devotions during Lent; we light candles and say prayers during Advent; birthdays are celebrated with homemade cakes; and newlyweds always receive creches for their first Christmas. Maintaining these traditions requires time, attention and money. Still, Clarisa proudly soldiers on, carrying the torch for traditions, despite lack of cooperation from the rest of us.

11. I love that Clarisa expects the best. She never settles for lesser models or slapdash efforts. She expects jobs to be completed correctly, that the goods she purchases are top quality, and that individuals give their best efforts in whatever they do.

12. I love her firm faith. Since I have the seminary degree, people assume I'm the religious one, but the person with real faith in my family is my wife. Her vibrant prayer life, devotion to Scripture, and very public faith witness are authentic expressions of her faith. While I seem stuck in shadows of doubt, Clarisa's faith propels her fearlessly forward. Her trust in God's goodness is truly awe inspiring.

13. I love Clarisa's compassion. Again, this may come as a surprise, but she's the softy, I'm the hardhead when it comes to people's needs. She wants to help the widows, the orphans, the people in distress, and she motivates me to feel likewise.

14. I love that Clarisa is the least intimidated person I know. Powers and princes mean nothing to her--she will speak her mind fearlessly, no matter the situation. I've become a braver, stronger person since I've known her.

15. I love that Clarisa loves baseball. It's my favorite sport and it would have been a shame not to share this interest. I know her love of baseball didn't start with me because her love for the game is genuine, longstanding, and passionate. We'll never forget that walkoff homerun we saw in 2007 in Detroit that that clinched the ALCS.

16. I love that Clarisa loves our life together. Many people I know wish their lives were different or pine for people and places far away from their homes. Not Clarisa. She's right where she wants to be in her world, and the fact she's content gives the rest of us great peace.

17. I love that Clarisa is devoted to her offspring. Though they may say she treats them differently, I see clearly her love and commitment to all four of our children. She defends them with every ounce of her being and never stops thinking of ways to help them.

18. I love that she has insisted that her family embrace me. It has always been Clarisa's belief that I was part of her family--and since the day we were married, she has insisted that her family treat me as one of their own and not as an alien outsider.

19. I love that Clarisa tries hard to please others, even when it hurts. For my 45th birtday, I was excited about a romantic long weekend in Quebec I had planned for the two of us. Though she was sick as a dog, Clarisa without a complaint dragged herself through museums and stores and sat through endless meals and even pulled off the sexy, negligee-wearing temptress at night, just to please me. I would have taken two Tylenol and gone to bed, but not Clarisa. And it's not just for me, Clarisa works hard to please every family member and friend in her life and I love that about her.

Finally, #20, I love that Clarisa loves me. During good times and even when we don't get along, I've never doubted her love, not once in twenty years. That's saying a lot.