Every Picture Tells A Story

Ah, Benjamin Franklin, thou art a heartless Founding Father...

Being a frugal little fellow, I availed myself of the MarathonFoto pre-Marathon discount and purchased my "Race Day" photo package in the week leading up to the Marathon.  $20.00 saved is $20.00 saved, as my great great grandpa Phineas might have said. 

As it turns out, between the starting corrals in Staten Island and the 15K mark on Bedford Avenue in Brooklyn, there were not a lot of photo opportunities for Yours truly.  In fact, there were quite a few less than "not a lot".  There were allegedly four - although one of the four turned out to be of two people posing together pre-race, neither of whom was me.  

Of the three "race day" photos I purchased, none sums up the day better than the one they captured of me as I walked towards the starting line with the rest of my corral compadres.  

As it turns out, a photograph of me in immediate proximity to

containers filled with discarded clothes summed up my 2021

NYC Marathon experience perfectly. 

I must confess that I have never looked quite as handsome as I did in the second of my Race Day photos.  I recognize that the absence of my face and head from this photograph improves its aesthetics immeasurably. 

That's me doing my Ichabod Crane imitation on the streets of Brooklyn

The third and final photograph in my now absurdly- expensive MarathonFoto New York City Marathon package of Race Day photos actually shows me in action - running in the race.  In view of the fact that I only covered 9.3 miles, its existence might be the most anomalous of the trio. 

The 2021 New York City Marathon's answer to D.B. Cooper

As if the sense of profound disappointment and regret that I shall carry with me forever was not a good enough reminder of the 2021 New York City Marathon, now I have these three photographs to remind me too.   

Yay! 

-AK 

A Father, A Son, and Their Holy Ghosts

 

It is hard to believe - and is still probably utterly incomprehensible to those who he loved and those who loved him most of all - that fourteen short days ago, Drew Gibbs led his Ramapo High School football team through its first practice in preparation for Ramapo's North Jersey Section 1, Group 4 Final against undefeated Northern Highlands High School, the #5 team in New Jersey heading into the playoffs.  Gibbs, Ramapo's head football coach for twenty-one years, was the architect of one of New Jersey's perennially strongest public school programs, and the winner of multiple sectional and regional championships.  

And then, like that, everything changed. 

On that fateful mid-November Monday evening, Coach Gibbs suffered what was termed a 'medical emergency' at practice and was rushed to the Valley Hospital in Ridgewood, New Jersey in a valiant effort to address that emergency, which proved to be a tear in his aortic valve.  The effort, while valiant, proved unsuccessful.  Drew Gibbs died on Tuesday, November 16, 2021.  He was fifty-nine.  

His players, knowing no better way to honor the legacy of a man to whom their bond was more father-son than coach-player, voted to play on in his absence and with the agreement of Northern Highlands High School and the folks who oversee high school sports in New Jersey, their game was moved from the weekend before Thanksgiving to the day after Thanksgiving.   On Friday night, ten days after his death, his kids played their hearts out.  Brian Gibbs, Drew's son and an assistant of his father's staff, stepped in for his father.  With less than ninety seconds to go in the game, Ramapo scored a touchdown to forge ahead 30-28.  Northern Highlands stormed right back and, set up by a long kickoff return, scored what proved to be the winning touchdown with a little more than thirty seconds to play.  There would be no fairy tale ending for Ramapo.  

Ramapo is not the only team competing in this year's playoffs that has battled tragedy as well as its on-field opponents.  Michelle Brown, the mother, hero, and inspiration for her son, Alex, Red Bank Catholic's senior quarterback, succumbed to breast cancer on Thursday, November 11, following a lengthy, spirited battle.  The following day, playing in honor of his mom, Alex accounted for eight touchdowns in Red Bank Catholic's first-round playoff win over Morris Catholic.  

Neither Alex Brown nor the Caseys were finished.  Not even close.  On Friday, November 19, the homestanding Caseys trailed St. Joseph's (Hammonton) 10-7 at halftime of their playoff semi-final game.  After intermission, Alex Brown rushed for two scores and the RBC defense did not yield a single point, culminating in a 21-10 comeback win and a date with top-seeded and favored DePaul for the Non-Public Group B State Championship this past weekend.  

On Friday night, in the swamps of Jersey (Met Life Stadium) Alex Brown and his #9 Caseys squared off against DePaul, the #3 team in New Jersey.  At night's end, Red Bank Catholic emerged victorious, edging DePaul 13-8.   In the middle of it all once again was Alex Brown.  He rumbled in from two yards out late in the third quarter for what proved to be the game-winning touchdown and, for good measure, was one of two Caseys who broke up DePaul's last-play Hail Mary in Red Bank Catholic's end zone to preserve the win.  

It is the Poet Laureate of Freehold who observed approximately two decades ago, "There ain't no storybook story."   One could argue that the results of this past weekend's playoff games here in the State of Concrete Gardens prove the veracity of that observation.  

Or at the very least, prove the veracity of Mr. Abbey's.  

-AK 

One Final Reason to Give Thanks

Words to live by on the Sunday of the long Thanksgiving holiday weekend… 

-AK

Shop Small. Shop Local.

Today is Small Business Saturday.  Whether your favorite small business is a kick-ass seafood restaurant in Raritan Borough; a barber shop in Belmar; a collision repair shop in Staten Island; or someplace altogether different, today is an especially great day to remind them of their importance to you and to your community.  They will be glad you did.   Moreover, you will be glad you did.  

Maybe even “George Costanza” glad.

-AK

It Is Always Three AM Somewhere

Happiness is...not having insomnia.  Trust me.  I can speak to this from personal experience.  I have battled it intermittently at various times throughout my life.  These past several weeks have been one such time.  I had not expected to do anything yesterday morning before making the short drive over to Green Brook for the annual Turkey Trot 5K but once my eyes popped open at 3 am after having finally shut at shortly after 1 am, I knew that the day was not going according to Hoyle.  I had not expected to generate a single billable minute on Thanksgiving.  

Spoiler alert:  I did.  

It turns out old F. Scott was right.  These days, it must assuredly is.  

-AK 

Words of Wisdom from a Dog and his Boy

On a day of epic feasting, a thought morsel or two from an all-time great six-legged tag team.  

And what if we were simply that grateful every day?  For everything?  Well, almost everything.  Sorry green beans.  No way in hell do you make the cut.  

Just kidding, green beans.  I am not sorry.  

But I am grateful.  May you have reason to be so too.  Today and every day.  

Happy Thanksgiving. 

-AK

A Long Walk Home

Thanksgiving is viewed traditionally as a time when family members, otherwise separated by distance or other man-made impediments, overcome those impediments and bridge the gaps between them.  Even if for just a little while.  It is a time for harkening back to how things once were (even if only in the mind’s eye of the teller) and looking forward to the future.   It is a time for family.  It is a time for homecomings. 

Sgt. Larry S. Wassil, United States Army of Bloomfield, New Jersey is finally coming home to his family. Seventy-six years after he was reported missing and presumed killed in action while leading a three-man reconnaissance team scouting enemy positions near Bergstein, Germany, his remains have been positively identified.   He and his men scattered as enemy forces swarmed around them.  The two soldiers found one another.  No one ever found Sgt. Wassil.  He was declared missing on December 28, 1944 and presumed dead one December 29, 1945.  

He was, in fact, dead.  He ended up being buried without ever being identified in the Ardennes American Cemetery in Belgium from where he was disinterred in 2019 when some DNA sleuths believed they had enough evidence to positively identify him.  They were right. 

Sgt. Wassil was only thirty-three years old at the time of his death.  He shall forever be thirty-three.  No longer constrained to spend eternity as unidentified remains in a cemetery half a world away, he shall be re-interred at Arlington National Cemetery.   

Safe journey home, Sgt. Wassil.  You have certainly earned it. 

-AK

Ten Simple Words

 

Make it today.

-AK

Acceptance of Our Responsibility for the Future

Fifty-eight years ago today, President John Fitzgerald Kennedy died, murdered in an American city while riding through its streets in an open car in which sat with him the First Lady of the United States, the Governor of Texas, and the First Lady of Texas.   What appears below is what appeared in this space on this date last year.  Its relevance then is its relevance now.

Sunday, November 22, 2020

A Testament to the Endurance of Ideas

Fifty-seven years ago today President John F. Kennedy was assassinated while his motorcade snaked its way through Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas.  He was scheduled to speak at a luncheon before the Dallas Citizens Council.  The speech, which he never gave, remains as relevant and timely today as it was on the date he intended to deliver it. 

Fifty-seven years ago.

On this very day.

We in this country, in this generation, are - 

by destiny rather than by choice - 

the watchmen on the walls of world freedom.

We ask therefore that 

we may be worthy of our power and responsibility,

that we may exercise our strength with wisdom and restraint,

and that we may achieve in our time and for all time

the ancient vision of "peace on earth, goodwill toward men."

That must always be our goal,

and the righteousness of our cause 

must underlie its strength. 

For as was written long ago:

'except the Lord keep the city, 

the watchmen waketh but in vain'...

This Nation's strength and security 

are not easily or cheaply obtained.

There are many kinds of strength

and no one kind will suffice...

Ignorance and misinformation can handicap the progress

of a city or company, but they can,

if allowed to prevail in foreign policy,

handicap this country's security. 

In a world of complex and continuing problems,

in a world of frustrations and irritations, 

America's leadership must be guided 

by the lights of learning and reason -

or else those who confuse rhetoric with reality

and the plausible with the possible

will gain the popular ascendancy 

with their seemingly swift and simple solutions

to every world problem. 

President John F. Kennedy

Speech (not given) to Dallas Citizens Council

November 22, 1963 

-AK 

-AK

 

Woofing Words of Wisdom

Listen to the dog...

...he speaks the truth.  

-AK 

 

Never Too Hot to Not Trot

This morning after a one-year hiatus one of my favorite off-season events returns to the streets of Manasquan, New Jersey.   After Covid put the kibosh on it last year, as Sandy had done to its linear predecessor, the Turkey Trot, in 2012, the Manasquan Turkey Run is, well, is up and running.  

Fresh off my first appointment Thursday night with my new orthopedic/sports medicine doctor, Dr. David Abrutyn, at which he confirmed that my left knee issue is nothing more or less than arthritis behind my kneecap, I shall toe the line for the first time since I morphed the New York City Marathon into the New York City 15K thirteen days ago.   I aim this morning to run the entire race (proving that I am not too old to try something new).  Just in case though, I have asked the intrepid Jeff Grubb to man a post at or about the 1.6 mile mark, should I decide roughly 1/3 of the way through the race that I am tapping out.   

Here’s to hoping everyone has a great Turkey Run Saturday.   A great event in a great town for a great cause and a reminder that even when it is late November and summer feels so very far away, down the Shore everything is indeed alright.  

-AK

The Mighty Casey

 

Last Friday night, Michelle Brown must have been beaming ear-to-ear from her newly-anointed seat in Heaven.  Twenty-four hours after her death following a valiant battle against breast cancer, her son, Alex, the senior quarterback for the Red Bank Catholic Caseys, took the field in a first-round playoff game with a heavy heart and a singular purpose:   Honor Thy Mother.

And he did.

Alex Brown who will attend college at, and play football for, Bucknell next year, channeled all his love and all his grief into a performance for the ages.  Brown's favored Caseys defeated Morris Catholic 58-34.  Brown accounted for eight touchdowns.  He threw six touchdown passes and ran, himself, for two more.  

The day Michelle Brown died, Alex posted a tribute to her on his Twitter page, noting that his mom had waged her desperate battle against cancer for fourteen years, had defied all odds in living as long as she had, and had always been not simply his mom but his best friend and the best teacher he had ever had. 

Michelle Brown imbued her son with her warrior spirit.  Last Friday night, he honored her life in the only true way he knew how, which was the way she had taught him.  An extraordinary woman.  An extraordinary young man.  

Warriors both.  

-AK 

No Retreat. No Surrender.

Food for thought for a Thursday.

-AK

 

Avoiding Getting Clubbed Into Dank Submission

Tidings of comfort and joy, well in the broadest sense of the word I suppose, courtesy of a happy-go-lucky gent if ever there was one...

 

-AK

Lessons Learned on the Longest Way Around

James Joyce speaking words of wisdom on a mid-November Tuesday, which happens also to be my niece Jessica's birthday.  May it be a happy one...

-AK

An Ode to the Pride of the Pick and Shovel Group

My family and I came up as part

Of the pick and shovel group.

-Sam Huff

Hall of Fame Induction Speech  (1982)

I never saw Sam Huff play football.  However, even though I spend very little time on any given Sunday watching NFL games, I am well-versed enough its its history, and that of the New York Giants, to know what a generational talent he was and to grasp the indelible mark he left on the sport he loved and on the franchise that drafted him in 1956 in the third round out of the University of West Virginia and for whom he would play from 1956 through 1963.  Sadly, the Giants were the same franchise who would break his heart when, after the 1963 season, they traded him to the Washington Redskins.  

Even if you are wholly unfamiliar with Sam Huff, I cannot recommend enough two exquisitely fine pieces of writing by Jerry Izenberg and Mike Vaccaro, the former having long ago attained legendary status and the latter being well on his way to doing so, paying homage to Huff upon his death this past weekend at age 87.   

Sam Huff was ensrhrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1982.  He was diagnosed with dementia in 2013.  In announcing his death, his family reported that he passed away at home, of natural causes.  

Photo Credit:  Neil Leifer, Sports Illustrated

In his enshrinement speech, Sam Huff spoke of who a football player was, "He may not be an All-American, but he is an example of the American way.  He is judged not for his race, nor for his social standing, nor for his finances, but by the Democratic yardstick of how well he blocks, tackles, and sacrifices individual glory for the overall success of the team."  

Seems to me a pretty good template for judging any person, whether a football player or not. 

-AK 

In Perpetual Pursuit of the Answers

The other day, my brother Bill sent me a link to what I consider to be a spot-on, simply great little piece of writing.  It is an article, the title of which is, The Silent Cult of People Who Run Without Music.   

I am one of these people.  

Truth be told, 95% of the time I am one of these people.  There are occasions when I charge up my iPod to ensure a bit of background noise occupies the space between my ears.  Those occasions, however, are few and far between.  

Running without music, for me, grew out of necessity.  I am a morning runner.  I am also almost exclusively an outdoor runner.  I loathe running on a treadmill.  I am also someone whose day in the office typically begins between 6 and 6:30 every morning.  I do most of my running at sunrise, or earlier, with my weekday runs falling wholly into the latter category this time of year.  

As a lawyer whose mortgage has been paid, almost exclusively, for the past three decades defending those whose negligence (including their negligence while driving) is alleged to have been a proximate cause of an accident in which another person or persons sustained an injury, I am keenly aware of the limitations of man.  Hell, I count on man's innate flaws to keep food on my table and to keep my butt in "Julius" (my aging Tommy Bahama beach chair) on the sands of the Jersey Shore (I shall leave it to you to figure out which I deem to be of greater importance).  I run with a noxgear vest so that drivers can see me from several blocks away as we approach one another.   I run without music so that I can also hear them coming, including the ones approaching from behind me on the other side of the road.  

Running without music allows my thoughts to power my run.  Being alone with one's thoughts can be a dangerous place to be.  I know of which I speak.  I began this little piece of virtual pollution, in its original iteration, in 2008 as a way to both exercise my mind and to exorcise the voices inside my head elbowing one another for podium time.  

Over the past couple of years, I have picked up another good reason for not running with music:  Sam.  I love running with my dog.  She is my all-time favorite running companion.  She is better company than any playlist any runner has ever compiled to accompany her or him on a run of any distance, I assure you.  Plus, having invited her to come with me in order to keep me company while I am out there on the road, it would be exquisitely and unforgivably rude to ignore her by listening to music instead of interacting with her.  

And besides, no running playlist  - no matter how much Springsteen or Foo Fighters it might contain - has ever rewarded me with a salty kiss at run's end.  

-AK 

 

Running the Day

This morning, I am going to lace up my running shoes and go for my first run since the New York City 15K last Sunday.  While this will be the first time I have tested my balky left knee by running on it since Sunday afternoon, I have tested it via agility drills all week, navigating my way around, over, and through the extra chairs, toys, and random detritus strewn all over our house for the past week that one associates with the temporary addition of five humans and one canine to one's living space.  

For the past seven days, peace has eluded me.   Today, I intend to disembark from the struggle bus and to take the first steps towards reclaiming it...

...even if I have to pause every now and again to walk. 

-AK 

Speaking Words of Wisdom...

As we head into the weekend...

...be careful out there.

-AK 

Between the Crosses Row by Row

We will come running home...

...Veterans Day 2021. 

-AK 

Wednesday's Words of Wisdom

Fret not, for I am merely their conduit and not their source...

 

...which substantially raises their inherent value.

-AK 

The Wisdom of Whittier

For the past sixteen weeks, I put my body through the paces training to run the New York City Marathon one final time.  In my mind's eye, I had visualized myself countless times crossing the finish line in Central Park.  On Sunday afternoon, the end came for me far earlier.  It came on Bedford Avenue in Brooklyn, at the 15K (9.3 mile) mark.   I shall be forever grateful to my great friend, Jeff Grubb, for having been there to record my dubious departure from the annals of this great race for posterity (or for infamy depending on your perspective). 

Bedford Avenue, Brooklyn (15K mark NYC Marathon)

Photo Credit: Jeff Grubb

My goal on Sunday had been to finish in five hours or less, which effort required a 11:30 pace.  Through the first 5K (3.1 miles), I ambled along at an easy, almost effortless 10:32 pace.  However, at somewhere between the fourth and fifth miles, my left knee simply cratered.  Pain in it had plagued me during my training, which pain I responded to by doing what I do when my body starts sending me strong pain signals (see, gallbladder and hernia as points of reference), I gobbled larger and larger quantities of Advil.  Sunday, having already taken a dozen Advil in an effort to ward off the pain, when it became impossible to land on my left foot while running without feeling intense pain and like I was going to fall over on the street, I made what was for me an incredibly hard decision.  

Knowing that the Missus, keeping company with Jeff and Gidg, was going to try to find me on the course in several locations, I telephoned her to inquire where they were and was relieved to learn that they were just coming topside in Brooklyn, walking up from the subway to find a spot from which to cheer for me.  I told her what had happened and told her that having signed up to run the Marathon and now not being able to do so, I was not going to subject myself or the three of them for that matter to me walking/running, walking/running, walking/running my way through another twenty-one miles, which might have taken me seven-plus hours to complete.  I told her I was coming off the course.  Rather than them coming to find me, they simply walked a mile or two from where they had gotten off the subway to a spot on Bedford Avenue within yards of its intersection with Lafayette Avenue, where the field turns left from Lafayette onto Bedford and waited for me to make it to them.  

Eventually I did, although I came perilously close to requring a calendar to measure my pace for the final four miles of my race.  I came off the course one hundred yards or so short of the 15K mark.  Knowing that what had started as a cheer mission had devolved into a recovery mission, after sitting for a few minutes on a storefront's bottom step trying to compose myself and to collect my thoughts, Jeff recognized how much better I would feel simply making it across the 15K mark.  Truthfully, he recognized it far more than did I.  I am glad I listened to him.  I hobbled my way towards the 15K sign, and knowing he was going to be there taking photos, put together at least three actual running strides and the phoniest smile in New York City Marathon history.  

Sunday was a profound disappointment.   I hated like hell to come off the course but, selflishly perhaps, I hated like hell even more the thought of staying out there all day just to say I had completed the Marathon.  I have done that three times already.  

My heartfelt thanks to everyone who supported my mission on behalf of the great people of Stomp the Monster.  Thanks to your generosity, my campaign raised more than $3000 for them, which money they put to good use providing financial assistance for cancer patients and their families.   

Whittier was right.

-AK 

Huxley on History

A morsel or two of thought for November's second Monday...

Be careful out there. 

-AK 

 

To Be As Able As Kane

I do not know what fate awaits me.

I only know I must be brave.

"Do Not Forsake Me, Oh My Darling (High Noon)"

-Tex Ritter

Today shall be a very long day for Yours truly.  I have a ticket (figuratively speaking) on the 6:30 am Staten Island Ferry, the purpose of which boat ride is to deposit me at Fort Wadsworth.  Fort Wadsworth is where the participants in this year's New York City Marathon assemble - and wait - until summoned to the Staten Island side of the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, which is where this 50th edition of the New York City Marathon begins.  

Pop Pop's Bib 

The great Bill Parcells has famously observed that "You are what your record says you are."  Mine as a runner confirms my status as a ham and egger.  Today shall be the fourth (and final) New York City Marathon for me.  In this one, as has been the case each of the first three times I have run it, I am starting in the day's final wave.  In 2015, 2016, and 2017, I started at 11 am.  However, this year, with start times staggered more than usual to afford more presumed protection from COVID, I start at high noon.   

Sunset today in Manhattan shall happen at or about 4:45 pm.  Hopefully, as you read this it serves as a memory jog to set your clocks and watches back one hour today if you forgot to do so last night before you went to sleep.  I reasonably anticipate the sun shall have set gently in the west before I reach the finish line in Central Park.  

Reach it, I shall.  

Batter up. 

-AK 

Truth

On this point, you can actually take my word for it.  

Apropos of nothing, fellow runners take note that the runner is on 

far left of road, running against traffic, as he or she should be!

I know of which I speak.

Be careful out there. 

-AK

 

Bad Ash Brewers Doing Good

Donna and Steve Ashton and their merry band of brewers have brightened up life here 'Neath the Snow Globe since they opened Ashton Brewing Company on Lincoln Boulevard in late March 2020.   Theirs is a great little joint and their beer, whether you enjoy it on the premises or elsewhere, such as taking an outdoor shower, sipping an ice cold Jersey Dreamin' Pilsner, after spending a delightfully hot summer day snoozing on the beach...

But I digress. 

This weekend is the Middlesex County Edition of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention's Out of the Darkness Walk.  A simply terrific cause.  If you know the Asthons, then it shall not surprise you to know that Ashton Brewing Company has a team participating in it.   

You can help their six-member team help the AFSP right here.  

-AK 

A Timeless Tip

Lest ye think otherwise,  election results from earlier this week, both in the Commonwealth of Virginia and here in the State of Concrete Gardens, are the proof in this particular bowl of pudding...

...and in this bowl too.

-AK

Strength From Strength

Mom died fifty-three months ago today.   

Fifty-three months. 

-AK

Show Up or Shut Up

It is the first Tuesday following the first Monday of November in these United States.  It is Election Day.  Here in the State of Concrete Gardens - and in Virginia - the ballot is topped by a gubenatorial election.  Regardless of what the headline clash is on the ballot where you live, invest the time required today to vote in it.  

There is an oft-repeated misconception that the United States is a Democracy.  It is not.  It is a Republic.  The populace does not make the decisions.  Rather, we vote for the men and the women we entrust to make the decisions.    We the people therefore have our say in the decision-making process by determining by whom those decisions shall be made.   

Eight simple words.   One simple truth.  

-AK 

Focus on Doing the Simplest Thing

Words of wisdom from Leo Tolstoy for the first day of the penultimate month of 2021...

...that apply with equal force and effect regardless of the day, the month, or the year.

-AK