Looking for Geritol?

I was asked a question recently (yeah, it does seem like I get asked a lot of questions).  It was "what is the secret to success?"

Not business success.  Not social success.  Not marital success (although more on that later)  Just plain ol' success.

I guess this person looks at me and see's a certain amount of success but goodness gracious I fail every day.   I preach about eating right and then go out and ignore my own advice.  I talk about exercising daily but know that every once in a while it's OK to sleep in and maybe do little or nothing.

I try to be a good grandfather but I know I don't have the patience I need.   I try to be a good co-worker but I know I can be too judgmental.  And dogmatic.   And opinionated.  And...well...you get the picture.

But as I fast approach the Geritol set (you'll have to look it up), I do find that I am happy, healthy, and have a lot of good relationships.   I get paid for doing something I love and have a wife that allows me to pursue so many interests that I have trouble keeping up with them all. 

Let me go down that path a bit.   Following on the heels of last week's feminism-based piece on Coach Pat Summitt, it hardly seems suitable to refer to the cliche that behind every successful man is a woman holding him up.   But that couldn't be more true for me.

I also had a strong foundation.  I was raised on principles.  I was raised to make a difference in the world.   I was already advocating for recreational opportunities for the youth in my hometown before high school graduation. 

Today, I find myself often in Nashville or Washington, advocating for health care issues that I find important.   And there is absolutely no way in the world that I could do any of that without a wife that supports me in that. 

Here lately, it seems like I've gotten more than my share of awards.  My wife half-jokingly asked me if I needed to tell her something--maybe that my demise was imminent, since I was being nominated for all these things.  Nope:  Nothing I know of.  But make no mistake about it--none of it would have been possible without the support of my wife. 

As we approach 37 years of being married (to each other), let me share the single bit of marital advice that I have given to many young  folks through the years:  Marriage is never 50/50.  You're gonna think it is 90/10 most of the time, with you on the short end, but it isn't.  And if you can stop looking for 50/50, life gets easier.  And happier.

As for the rest of the formula for being successful?   Be consistent.  Persevere.   Do it right the first time, the last time, and every time in between.   Remember that things don't matter--people matter.   Be reliable. 

Have integrity in everything that you do.  While I really like that little ditty about "dance like no one's watching," I believe we should make decisions like someone always is.

Pat Summitt

If you haven't read Pat Summitt's new book Sum It Up:  A Thousand and Ninety-Eight Victories, a Couple of Irrelevant Losses, and a Life in Perspective, go buy it today but reserve a little time by yourself or go ahead and call in late for work tomorrow because you won't be able to put it down.

It really doesn't matter if you are a Pat Summitt fan or even if you are a Lady Vol basketball fan, you will find it fascinating.  Sure, the basketball junkie in any of us will find the basketball stories worth the purchase price but the life stories...oh, my.

It's about her life and the progression of a disease that will most surely progress.   That may sound harsh but that's the terror of this thing we know as Alzheimer's Disease.  

I wrote about her disease when it was first announced but the book is so much more.   It reveals a lot about the person who is Pat Summitt.  A person that the universe would call Coach Summitt to her face but just "Pat" everywhere else (and "Your Mama" or just "Mama" to her players).

To sum it up, it is worthy, relevant, and nearly profound.  And it reminded me of how far women's athletics have come. 

Girl's basketball when I was growing up consisted of this bizarre half court game, where there were 3 offensive players on one half of the court and 3 defensive players on the other.   Elsewhere in the country, most girl's teams were already playing the 5-person full court game when know today.  Tennessee was one of the last states in America to make that switch.

I'm not sure why that was so but I do remember going to my high school principal with the idea of a girls-only "powderpuff" football game only to be told that girls should not be playing any kind of contact sports.  That it would "bruise their breasts" (I kid you not) which would lead to breast cancer.

When Coach Summitt was playing basketball, the women's game wasn't within a half court shot of second-class status.   They had no status. 

When she was given the job as Head Coach at the University of Tennessee, immediately after graduating from UT-Martin, she had to carry a teaching load in the physical education department to justify the position and was paid a pittance.  My wife actually took a Physical Education class from Coach Summitt in how to play tennis.

Scholarships?  Recruiting trips?  You're kidding, right?   They practiced and played in old Alumni Gym that I remember well as being run-down, dreary, and certainly lacking air conditioning.  You could never look at the program now and guess those humble beginnings.

You would also not guess at how badly women were treated.  In the book, Coach Summitt recalls her brothers and father holding their empty tea glasses up and rattling them at the dinner table, a message to any female in the vicinity that they needed a refill.

I know that if my son or I had ever tried anything like that, we would have gotten whomped or worse.  A friend my age tells the story of doing that little trick to his new wife one time.  One time.   It's just the way he was raised;  what his mom did for the males in the family.

Respect and opportunity for women came hard and took a long, long time.  And people like Pat Summitt on a basketball court are a big reason it ever happened at all.

Shared Experiences

What do you remember most about your days as an athlete?  I still remember details from football  games played long ago.   Like playing defensive tackle for part of a high school game against Cleveland after two more DT's went down with injury.  I had never even practiced the position.  And, as I've mentioned here before, I remember tiny details of the game between Loudon and Maryville my senior year.   Final score:  28-35.

But I remember the people and the shared experiences much more.

I remember running out Steekee Road with Mike Messamore for offseason training.   With about every other person today logging marathons, I'm sure it was nothing.  But it was tough for us.  I don't think it would have meant so much if I had been alone.  Something about shared suffering.

I remember standing in a long line during football practice to get a  thimble-sized cup of "Bike Aid," what we had before Gatorade came along.  Black, white, poor, not-so-poor.   All the same.  All just wanting to get a sip of something wet.

I can remember the ham and cheese sandwiches and the milk so cold you were surprised it wasn't frozen.  It was always waiting for us in the locker room after a game.   We would sit around and talk and unwind over those cold treats.

I remember the meager weight room that we had.  It seems like it was in a dungeon but I remember it fondly for it seemed to make us feel like real football players.  It seems like yesterday that Arthur Bright and I were in there trying to outwork each other.

I remember the disappointment etched into the face of Coach Gary Dutton after that final Maryville game.  He had coached most of those Maryville players in Junior High.

I remember dressing up with my buddies for the football banquet that meant the absolute end of our high school football careers.  I beat Mike Bivens out for the "smartest football player" award and we promised each other to remain friends for life (we haven't, really).

I've mentioned this before but I overheard a conversation between my son and MHS football Coach Ricky Upton one time.  They had played AAU basketball together whenever they were both 14 year-old 8th graders.  I had been their coach.  

We were pretty good that year and enjoyed a certain measure of success.   What these two early thirty-something's remembered was not the victories or even the games.   They remembered the times they shared off the court.

Going to the Rendezvous in Memphis for ribs after playing in a tournament.  Driving all over creation with half the team in my family van and the other half in Bill Hammond's red Suburban.  They remembered that we let them listen to their music instead of ours.

I think that's what we do--remember not so much the games but the people and the experiences.  The friends we made.  The laughter that we shared.  That's part of why those days are remembered so fondly.  It is also an important time in the development of the adults were are to become. 

So my suggestion for the day:  Sign your kid up for a team and then step away.  Let them enjoy those shared experiences.  Let them build their own memories.  If they are to get a college scholarship, the team and the coach and the system are less a factor than the gene pool and the love of the game.

The value of experiences gathered outside the scrutiny of parents should not be undervalued.   Don't deny your own kids those opportunities. 

Mr. Dependable

I have a confession to make.  I didn't get one of the cool Senior Superlatives when I was in high school.  You know the ones,  like "Best Dressed" or "Most Athletic."  And I sure wasn't in the running for "Best Looking" (although "Most Likely To Succeed" might have proved to be a bit prophetic in the long run).  No "Cutest Couple" for me.  No "Wittiest." 

No, I got "Most Dependable."  Way down the list on the cool factor.   I remember thinking that it must be the least desirable of all the Senior Superlatives.  

Dependable.  I got it with a really sweet girl named Cheryl Worley who I should have been proud to stand beside.  Maybe I was.  It has been a long time ago.

But I do remember that I would sure preferred something else.  Now, not so much.

You see I've built a life and a career around being dependable.  For being reliable.  For being someone that you could count on.

I remember a girlfriend breaking up with me one time back in college because I just wasn't spontaneous enough.  Not "exciting" enough.  She preferred the edgy guys that were always on the border of staying in trouble.  Dependable=Boring.

That wasn't me then and it isn't me now.  Maybe that's why bicycling is such a great sport for me (and which may prove to be my best overall sport ever).   You have to be dependable on the bike.

Let me tell you what a paceline is.   In a bicycle paceline, a group of riders is riding one behind the other, often only inches from each other's wheel.  The purpose of this is to draft off the person in front of you.  Those that understand NASCAR racing will know exactly what I'm talking about.

Every biker/car  except the front one has an easier job.   For the biker, it takes less effort.  For the car, less gas.   It is a distinct advantage.

And just like in NASCAR, you can't let up.  The person behind you has got to be able to count on the fact that you are predictable.  If not, you, them, and everyone else behind you is likely to wreck.

If we get a new rider in with one of our group rides, we check them out first to determine if they are reliable.  Do they ever hit the brakes when they shouldn't?   Do they "hold their line," not riding all over the road? 

If so, we will gradually accept them into the group and ride closer and closer to them.  If not...well...I've been known to deliver a stern lecture or two on the back of the bike.   Literally, my health depends on it.

In my work, I've got to be dependable.   If you come to me, you want my full attention to your health needs.   You're counting on me to consistently understand your problems and come up with solutions.  Not occasionally:  Every time.

My family counts on me to be reliable.   At one time or another, that has meant a regular paycheck, consistent discipline, and even (maybe especially) the little things like being there when I'm supposed to.

I remember well that I forgot to pick up my 4 year old son at day care one time.  He let me know it in uncertain terms and it has bothered me to this day that I let him down.

Most Dependable?   It may not have been the coolest Superlative, but after all these years, I can't think of one that I would rather have had.

The Power of Touch

We have always referred to some sports as "contact sports."   For most of the history of this phrase, it was used to describe football.  Surely it was applied to some other sports but most of them aren't played around here.

Somewhere along the way, some creative writer (not me) started saying that basketball was a contact sport while football was a "collision sport."  That seems altogether correct.

I don't think that anybody could watch a basketball game today and deny that it has become a contact sport.   I would add that soccer is definitely a contact sport.  Again, watch one and tell me that you disagree.

If you think about it, a lot of our sports involve some contact.  Getting tagged out in baseball and softball.  Collisions at the net in volleyball.  Most definitely wrestling.

Most "individual" sports don't have much contact though.  Tennis doesn't, for sure.  Swimming, gymnastics, and golf--not at all.  But then, most of the time those are also team sports and the teams sure do a lot of hugging and high-five-ing and all

But those truly individual pursuits--think Tiger Woods against the world--seem so lonely.  You get beat and it is all on you.  It seems such a lonely place.  Maybe Tiger just needed more comforting hugs along the way.

We probably all need more hugging.  We tend to underestimate The Power of Touch.  I truly believe that a life without the physical contact of another human being is empty and hollow. 

I also happen to think that one of the great things about sport is the contact.  I believe that physical contact on a playing field is part of the appeal of sport (but then, I'm more of a team sport kind of guy).

I see people routinely that just seem to need a hug.  With that being said, I'm just not a hugger.  I told the story here a couple of years ago that despite the fact that I'm in a profession that depends on touching, I am very careful about touching people. 

That observation was misinterpreted that I don't like touching.  Not true.  I just feel that it is an important part of the professionalism that my patients expect of me.   I remember when one employee decided to quit working for us and stay home and keep her newborn.  She got a hug from me and later expressed surprise at it.

Maybe what she got was more my true self.

I watch tiny Nicky Nick in the incubator in the NICU at Children's and all I really want to do is to bundle him up and hold and rock and talk to him around the clock.   Surely that would be the right thing to do, considering he was taken way too early from the comfort and warmth of his mother's womb.

Alas, that's not what medical science tells us that he needs.   But for everybody else, it may be exactly what we need.

 

How are you doing with those NYR's?

It's March 24th.  Spring has arrived (at least on the calendar).  How are you doing with those New Year's Resolutions? 

If you remember my 1/1/13 column, you might also remember that I don't do resolutions.   Other than Benton's bacon.  Still going strong on that one, every Sunday morning.

But most people do make New Year's Resolutions (NYR's).   Resolve to get healthier, spend more time with the family, less TV, better food, et cetera, et cetera.

Gym memberships boom in January as droves of folks make a commitment to exercise on a regular basis.  They generally do too, until the end of January or, at the very latest, the beginning of spring, when warm weather makes time in the gym seem a waste.

For exercise to make a difference in your life, you've got to adopt it as part of your lifestyle.  A gym membership can be a great first step but until you truly resolve to make a difference in your personal life, until you decide that exercise is going to be a part of your regular week, you might just be wasting your money and your commitments.

And weight loss.   We live in the 3rd most obese state in America.  Where well over 1 in 3 of our fellow Tennesseeans are obese.    In a personal survey conducted randomly by yours truly, I found that the #1 most common NYR is to lose weight.   Most people listed the poundage they wanted off.   For most it was 20 (although I swear it should probably be 40).

There have got to be a million diets out there and most of them don't work.   It is mostly about calories in versus calories out but we also know that we can manipulate our metabolism to our advantage by eating regularly.   That means that you don't miss meals and eat snacks in mid-morning and mid-afternoon.

Cut out sodas.  The sugar content in those is obscene.  You could switch to diet sodas if you aren't  too concerned about bone health and those sorts of things.  Cut back on fried food and sweets.   That latter one is a NYR that's possible until Aunt Matilda brings by her Red Velvet Cake or Death By Chocolate.

You just gotta be strong.  And committed. 

A lot of NYR's are about turning off the TV.   In another column not too long ago, I admitted to the embarrassing fact that I was watching more TV.  I even knew the time that something besides the 6 o'clock news was on.  Much to my wife's chagrin, I do occasionally watch Duck Dynasty and have been known to quote Si but for the most part, you will rarely find me in front of the television.

Other things uncovered in my survey--see more sunrises, dance more, laugh more--are just a matter of not missing opportunities for those things.  My buddy Pete Dolan took the opportunity on an icy day to visit Ramsey Cascades when I passed on it.   Shoulda done that one.

So, how ARE you doing with those New Year's Resolutions?   Are you healthier?  Happier?  Did you set goals that are achievable and then commit your lifestyle to getting there?

Little Nicky Nick and The Rocket

I got some serious one-on-one time with a 23 month old recently. 

Let me back up...my latest grandchild, Nichols Andrew Black, II, decided he needed to arrive a little early.  8 weeks early to be exact. 

This all came as a bit of a surprise.   When my wife called me on that Thursday afternoon and asked me where I was and what I was doing, I knew for sure that she wasn't being nosy.   Something was up.

She said "I need you to come to Knoxville as soon as you can...we're having a baby."  Obviously there were some issues.  The decision to take the baby was swift yet calm and calculated. 

A little after 9 that evening, little (and I do mean little--3 pounds, 2.5 ounces) Nicky Nick got here.  My job was to take care of the 23 month old sibling, Mariella.

Lock, stock, and barrel.  Me and her, 24 hours a day until sometime Sunday morning.   Meals, baths, diapers, naps, bedtime stories, cartoons, visits to see Mom and Dad--all that stuff.   I put her to bed at night and was there when she woke up in the morning.

Dad stayed with Mom while my wife stayed with Nicky Nick in the NICU at East Tennessee Children's Hospital.  

And let me pause for a non-paid announcement here:  What a wonderful place!   First class care.  Compassionate and understanding staff.  A facility dedicated to the care of babies delivered prematurely.  In the years to come, we will all be grateful to Children's Hospital for how well they took care of the newest Black child.

Now let me go back even a little further.   The day before the birth, we had buried my good friend Steve Newman.  At 52, Steve had died suddenly and unexpectedly.  An avid biker, I can sum up my insight on him by saying he was a genuinely good guy;  someone that you always looked forward to seeing.

Obviously that week was an emotional roller coaster for me.  Sadness at my friend's passing.   Fear of the unknown problems the new grandson was facing.   Concern for the baby's Mom.

So now it's Friday and it's all about Mariella and Daddy Joe.  She didn't care what I wore, who I was, or how much was in my bank account.  She wanted to feel safe and comfortable in my arms. 

She wanted three books and two songs before climbing in bed.  She wanted milk and Mickey when she woke up.  She ate most of what I cooked and even liked my Benton's bacon (so the girl definitely has taste).

And when help arrived, I moved down the priority list and that was alright.   I had my time and things were likely changed forever between us.

Mom and little Nicky Nick are both doing great.  He'll get to come home in several weeks.   Meanwhile, the NICU is his home.  Despite the anxiety of the first couple of days, it was wonderful to experience this new life.

But at the same time, I'm sure gonna miss my friend.