Sore Monday

 Note to future self: It is not wise to spend two hours getting up leaves the day after running an 8k. This sort of thing would have been self-evident to any normal person, but for someone like me who still thinks he is indestructible it has been a painful lesson. 

Now that this thing is in the rear view mirror I can now turn my attentions to the final six weeks of 2022. This has not been a particularly enjoyable year from a business standpoint. Bear markets never are. Financial instability tends to make other areas of life unstable, which for a person of faith seems hypocritical. Shouldn’t my faith grant me a measure of confidence during times of great instability? Yes, it should. To the degree that I still struggle suggests a certain level of hypocrisy. But I am a work in progress, always have been.

These next six weeks are full of great joy and great anxiety. The joys of Thanksgiving and Christmas do fierce battle with the anxiety of preparing for both. But isn’t that the way life works? Everything of value and worth comes with challenges. Nothing is ever easy…except one thing. Lucy’s life…

Team Dunnevant at the 2022 Richmond Marathon

 Yesterday morning at precisely 7:00 am I found myself standing in the middle of the intersection of 8th and Broad Street surrounded on all sides by my fellow man. It was an unnerving feeling, the kind of which I have spent a lifetime trying to avoid. It occurs to you that you are as trapped as it is possible to be. At the point of maximum claustrophobia, an eleven year old girl began belting out the National Anthem through an on-again, off-again microphone. To take my mind off the uncomfortable presence of so many people, I began taking a video of all of them. At the exact moment that my panning cellphone camera caught my own face, the poor girl’s microphone stopped working for the first time. My expression pretty much sums up the level of my discomfort.

Soon after, my 8k race began. I stumbled along for several hundred yards trying not to trip or be tripped by the million other feet competing for pavement. About the time I passed Miller and Rhodes—less than a quarter of a mile in to a five mile race, I realized I had to pee. For the rest of my race, instead of visualizing the finish line, I was visualizing a porta-john. 

This was a first for me in many ways, not having to pee, but running in a race. Not only had I never run a race, I had never even run with a single other person before, running for me being a solitary exercise I have always done for the single purpose of not gaining a hundred pounds. But several months ago, my son talked me in to doing the 8k version of the 2022 Richmond Marathon. He was planning on flying in from Nashville for the half-marathon and thought it would be fun. Soon, my nephews Ryan and Isaac were on board. It would be Team Dunnevant.

So, I spent the past several months “training”, not an official training protocol devised by Runner’s World, but rather a hodgepodge of my own creation, since I have never liked anyone telling me what to do. During this very unscientific training the best time I had managed for five miles was 47 minutes and 28 seconds. But yesterday wasn’t training, it was the real thing…and I had to pee.

My Apple Watch informed me that my first mile came in at a brisk 9 minutes and 5 seconds. I was quite surprised since it felt like I spent that entire mile trying to find a less crowded piece of asphalt. When the second mile time was announced as 9 minutes and 8 seconds, I thought that I should probably slow down since this seemed an unsustainable pace. The next two miles were mid 9 minutes. But when I crossed the 4 mile marker, something happened to me. Although my hips and knees were loudly barking, I knew from the race map that I had studied carefully, that the last three quarters of a mile was straight down hill on 5th street all the way to the finish line on Brown’s Island. That’s when I made the decision to break into a full sprint, or what passed for a full sprint for a 64 year old man who had already run over 4 miles. I crossed the finish line with an all-time personal best time of 45 minutes and 44 seconds. Then I promptly threw up. But, by the time I saw the large row of porta-Johns in the distance, all was forgiven and forgotten!

Meanwhile, the younger members of Team Dunnevant were busy. I soon found Ryan, who had beaten me by 4 full minutes, walking around the post-race hospitality area looking fresh as a daisy. Youth is indeed, wasted on the young! Isaac, the baby of Team Dunnevant and easily the most fit was flying around his half marathon course like making us all look like slugs. “Youth”, again being served. My son, meanwhile, was at the 5 mile mark and on a terrific pace. I was tracking his progress on an app he had downloaded on my phone the day before. Seeing as how he and Isaac still had quite a ways to go, I decided to head back home, shower off then head back later to be at the finish line for Patrick. In a cruel ironic twist, I received a text from Patrick around mile 7 telling me he was fighting a couple of cramps. He hates running when its warm. His last half marathon was in Nashville last November when it was a crisp 28 degrees at the start of the race. The heat was giving him a lot of discomfort and he still had another 6 miles to go. What made this text cruel and ironic was the fact that I received it while I was soaking in my jacuzzi, giving me a big time case of “dad-Guilt.” The good news is that Patrick gutted it out like a boss and was running at the finish line. I was super proud of him for his toughness and determination. 

Since this was Team Dunnevant we are talking about, Pam and Paula had prepared an after race high carb brunch and photo-session for all the participants.

I was told after the race that the 8k had 86 runners in my age division, which was 60-64. I finished 17th. I’ll take it, even if it resulted in vomiting.

Patrick is already urging me to consider stepping up to a 10k with the not so subtle reminder that the Rock and Roll Nashville 10k is coming up soon. I’m going to wait until every joint from hips to ankles isn’t hurting before making him any promises.

Election Observations

My observations about the 2022 Midterm election results:

- Having secured his third consecutive ass-whipping electoral loss, Beto-O’Rourke has emerged as the leading candidate to manage the Texas Rangers.

- The voters of the state of Pennsylvania have proven their Islamophobic credentials by deciding that they would rather vote for an incapacitated stroke victim than elect the first Muslim senator in United States history. On the flip side, Pennsylvanians have saved all of us from potentially embarrassing lectures from Dr. Oz on the Senate floor about the benefits of monthly bowel-cleansing.

- Stacey Abrams has called a press conference for later today where she is expected to outline the reasons for her second loss to Governor Brian Kemp. Vegas bookmaker’s have set the odds for The Patriarchy at 3:1, Institutional Racism at 4:1, and her plan to fight inflation by making abortion available statewide at 5:1.

- Despite being on the ballot in every state, Democracy got no votes.

- Under the category If you thought this election was horrible—Donald Trump is expected to announce his Candidacy for President next week.

Three Pearls

A couple weeks ago I accidentally clicked on an iHeart radio station called Classic Country, while driving to an appointment. I’ve been listening ever since. Eventually I will tire of it, I’m sure. Some of the songs are horrible, honestly. But occasionally I hear songs that are so beautiful, so achingly tender, so filled with pain and truth they stagger me. I suppose that every genre of music is this way, great melodies with poetic lyrics sprinkled in with lots of hot garbage. Just in case you’re wondering, there are three songs that I fell in love with. I was familiar with all three from years ago, but it had been a long time since I’d heard them. 

I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry by Hank Williams

Making Believe by Emmylou Harris

She’s Got You by Patsy Cline

Do yourself a huge favor this week, Google these three and give a close listen. You’ll thank me later.

Leaf Wars

Every year its the same. Starting around the middle of October all the trees in my yard begin shedding their leaves. There are lots of trees and lots of leaves. Oh, and pine needles, lots of pine needles. So, I have a strategy that has always involved a leaf blower a lawn mower and a rake, along with a meticulous schedule. I remove every leaf from my yard twice a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays. I gather them into four strategically located piles in the corners of my back yard. Then, once the battle has been won, I call my man Tim Robinson to come haul them away for me. Its a beautiful plan that has stood the test of time. The reason I use the bi-weekly schedule is a simple one. If I just waited weeks and weeks for every leaf to fall before getting them up, there would be so many the task would be beyond my strength. So, basically I break the job down into manageable pieces. Like I said, its a great system.

But then, yesterday happened.

Leaves were everywhere. It was nuts. I had just cleaned them up a mere three days ago for crying out loud! So I went to work. In just under two hours The yard was immaculate. It was around noon when I finished. I took a shower and settled in for a delightful afternoon nap. But when I woke up my yard was ankle deep in leaves and pine needles! I couldn’t believe it! It was as if my trees decided to lose all their leaves in one day. What in the Sam Hill was happening?

Well, there was no way I was going to let this outrage stand. Yes, I knew perfectly well that if my neighbors saw me heading out there getting leaves up for the second time in less than four hours they would be laughing behind my back. Yes, I knew how Don Quixote-ish it would all look, but it was the principle of the thing. So outside I went. This morning I woke up to this…

Seriously? I’m reminded of the old prophet’s warning—There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to death.—or at the very least, more work!

Evil in Iowa

It was early in the morning. I had just taken my first sip of coffee, just barely awake. I saw the headline and was very close to ignoring it in favor of a story about the Federal Reserve, but I made the mistake of clicking. I have not been able to shake it out of my mind since.

There was a 16 year old high school student in Iowa who had just received a bad grade from his Spanish teacher. He scheduled a meeting with her to discuss her many deficiencies as a teacher. He left the meeting having not secured any accommodation. His poor grade would stand. Then, he recruited a friend, another 16 year old, to follow the teacher after school ended. They knew that she would stop at a nearby park after school to take a walk before driving home. They met her there and proceeded to beat her to a pulp with a baseball bat. Afterwards they dragged her body into the woods and covered it with a tarp and some railroad ties, then drove her van several miles away and abandoned it on a back road. It wasn’t hard for the police to track them down after they discovered her body since they had boasted about it on social media. When the police took the boy into custody and asked him for an explanation he replied, “the grade in my Spanish class was messing up my GPA.”

There were photographs with the story…

Here are the killers. The one on the right is the boy who’s GPA had been ruined by his poor grade in Spanish. The one on the left is his accomplice. But, there was another picture, this one of the victim…

Meet Nohema Graber, 66. It was when I saw this photograph that I was overcome with what I can only describe as deep sadness along with an emotion that I’m not sure I have ever experienced before…hopelessness. 

This is the kind of story that will live rent free in my head for several days. I will ponder it and try to make sense of such a death as this. There’s just something about her face, sturdy and proud. She could have been retired, probably still worked either out of economic necessity or of a love of teaching and devotion to her students. But now she’s dead, beaten beyond recognition and left under a tarp by two boys capable of unimaginable cruelty. I am left to think about the human race and our limitless capacity for evil.

I ask myself, why this case? What makes it special? The answer is—nothing. There is nothing noteworthy about two teenagers committing cold blooded murder anymore. This is America after all. We are especially adept at this sort of thing. At least they didn’t use a gun. If they did all anyone would be talking about is the scourge of gun violence. Good thing the killers weren’t black or illegal immigrants. Then the subject would be racism and our porous border. But since this didn’t involve any of those things, we are left simply to contemplate how such a thing could be possible? On the other hand, because it didn’t involve either of those things maybe we don’t even talk about it at all. I stumbled on this story almost by accident. Have any of you heard about it?

This murder took place almost a year ago. It was in the news because it is finally now going to trial, the two killers will be tried as adults.

In all honesty, I have never been the most empathetic person in the world. Especially when I was younger I was much more tough love than a shoulder to cry on type of guy. My default reaction to hearing someone’s tale of woe would eventually involve an eye-roll or two and the advice to stop belly aching and do better. In other words, I’ve never been a bleeding heart. But more recently I have discovered a surprising well of emotion living inside me that comes out at the oddest times. Here I was, alone downstairs in my house before dawn reading this awful story and coming across this photograph of 66 year old Nohema Graber and suddenly it was everything I could do to keep from crying. Why? Why this story and none of the thousand others even more brutal than this that have come before? I don’t know. I have no answer other than the fact that I am tired, tired of the manifestations of evil in our world. I’m tired of people murdering other people in cold blood with no remorse. I’m tired of the death of innocents. Hell, I’m even tired of the murder of bad people.

The more I think about this case the more it occurs to me that I don’t know the back stories here. Maybe these two boys have horrible, idiot parents. Maybe they come from unfathomable dysfunction. For that matter, maybe this teacher is no bargain either. Maybe she was abusive and dismissive of these boys, maybe she was a terrible teacher with a vendetta against the kids. But whatever those back stories might be, none of it would justify this outcome. Nothing would.

My church is in the midst of a sermon series on angels. A question has arisen about why it seems easier to believe in the existence of evil spirits than it is to believe in angels. After this story I am tempted to believe that the reason people believe more in demons than angels is that we see far more evidence of demonic work than we see of the angelic. No matter where we look, evidence for evil exists, now to the point where even a story like this one hardly makes a ripple in our consciousness. 

But, I am reminded of the words of the Apostle Paul in the Book of Romans where he tells us, “Be not overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

I’m trying, Paul, honestly I’m trying. But some days are better than others.

Ignorance of the Law is no Excuse

Pam and I have lived in the Wythe Trace subdivision in Short Pump, Virginia for over a quarter of a century. In all that time I have never known how to refer to my neighbors. Are we Wythe Tracers, Wythe Tracians or should I go with the Old Testament Wythe Tracianites? Whichever it is, all residents of this fine community should pay attention to the following public service announcement.

Henrico County’s finest have posted a new speed limit on our beloved Pump Road from the intersection at Broad Street all the way to the intersection at John Rolfe Parkway. I am told by reliable sources that ignorance of the law is no excuse, so proceed with caution. I assume that the purpose of this new speed limit is to lower the actual speed that people drive on this section of Pump Road from 55 to 45. If they really expected us to drive 35 they would post a speed limit of 25, but that’s just ridiculous. I tried driving 35 on this stretch yesterday and I felt 85 years old, but the law’s the law. 

So, just to be clear, Henrico County has now a major road in the west end which when driven from Broad Street all the way to Patterson Avenue features three different speed limits, 45, 35, and two different school zones that when flashing mandate a 25 mph limit. Good luck.

On another note, as I was returning from my record breaking 4 mile run* yesterday morning, I happened to notice the new message recently added to the North Gayton Baptist Church sign. Incidentally, what is it with Baptist churches in this town? Here’s North Gayton Baptist sitting proudly on Pump Road, nowhere near North Gayton, while Grove Avenue Baptist stands squarely on the corner of Ridge and Parham?! But, I digress. What I wanted to point out was the message on the sign…

What a beautiful truth. An Amen is in order, I think. Well done.





* 37:12, average pace of 9:17