End of Cramp Season?

 

We might be near the end of Cramp Season, but it still shows up here and there.  “Cramp Season?”  What is that (you might ask)? Well, I just made it up. Cramp Season is that time of year when you might see an athlete writhing on the field, with muscles in spasm.

What is a cramp? If you know, you know. But from a sort-of medical perspective, a cramp is when a muscle forcibly contracts without an injury.  It most often happens toward the end of a great physical effort, usually toward the end of the game. And usually (but not always) in hot weather.

A term has actually been created to define it—Exercise Associated Muscle Cramps (EAMC).  The dreaded EAMC.  You laugh now, but if you have one, you won’t be laughing. 

If you’re that athlete, you think you might die, while that hamstring or calf muscle spasms up and convinces you that the end is near.  For us old folks, it still happens, but a study that I just made up indicates that it most often happens at night to us senior citizens. 

If you are an athlete, you’ve probably experienced EAMC.  If you’re a spectator, you’ve surely witnessed it.  The athlete is laying on the ground when someone nearby grabs their leg and holds it straight up in the air.  Somehow, that relieves some of the spasms.

Why would a muscle cramp like that?   There is certainly a neuromuscular component, but that may just be a protective mechanism where your body is just telling you that your body has had enough.

Muscle exhaustion is another source of cramps.  That one may also be that muscle’s chemistry telling you that it was not going to cooperate with further activity.

Most of the time, the blame is on dehydration and loss of electrolytes.  Heavy sweating can flush a lot of essential electrolytes from your system, again creating a mechanical or chemical response where the muscle goes into spasm. And it just makes sense that we sweat more in hot weather or with heavy exercise. Put the two together and the potential for cramping is obvious.

What to do?  Well, immediately it helps to stretch on the muscle involved. That’s why you see teammates grabbing the leg and stretching it up.  Gentle massage helps.  Even if you think you’re going to die first, it will subside.

It’s a whole lot better to prevent cramps.  That is done by being in great shape—conditioning is huge. But even then, it can happen. That’s where hydration and electrolyte replacement come in. Water is OK, but if you only hydrate with water, then you might develop a condition known as hyponatremia, which is where all those essential electrolytes are flushed out of your body. I’ve seen whole body cramps from hyponatremia.

No, you need sports drinks heavy on electrolytes and not those that are full of sugar (although some sugar helps those electrolytes get absorbed better).  Before, during, and after.

And if you are over the worst part of a cramp, you need to eat something sour. That’s right…sour.  Studies (not mine) have proved conclusively that it is the sour taste that triggers some neuromuscular mechanism that inhibits the cramp.  That’s why some folks swear by pickle juice—it isn’t the pickles or the juice, but the sour.  I use a variety of products but good ol’ fashioned Sweet Tarts may be about as good as anything. 

Life's Moments

 

I’ve told this story before, but I believe it is worth telling again.

I was probably ten years old, attending a basketball game at the old Loudon High School up on the hill above downtown Loudon. Times were different then. I’m pretty sure my dad dropped me off at the front door with enough money to cover admission and a bag of popcorn.

This was one of those old gyms where everything in sight was made of wood. There was a narrow balcony running the length of the court on both sides, maybe three rows of seats each.

Growing up, it seemed quite big, certainly bigger than anything else I had ever seen. I remember the same thing about the church that I grew up in—First Baptist Church of Loudon.

I remember thinking how huge the sanctuary was in that church and when the choir loft behind the preacher was full, well…I could imagine it all as quite heavenly. Returning later as a seasoned adult of 24, it seemed positively tiny, especially after attending church at Bellview Baptist in Memphis.

I was with my friend Jimmy Greenway, sitting on the balcony near the entrance to the gym.  This would have been about 1963 and bouffant hair-do’s were all the rage among the women of the day. This was a fashion where a female’s hair was piled up high on top of their head.

Jimmy and I were actually sitting on the edge of the balcony, dangling our legs off the edge, taking some of that popcorn and trying to drop into some of those poofy hair-do’s as our victims entered the gym.

We took great delight when we hit our target. That’s where the real story starts.

Sitting just behind us was a young mom and her son Jay Barker. Jay had some mild physical issues that I understand more today, but he was a great kid with a great smile. I later got to know him well.

After another successful popcorn drop, Jay’s mom turned to him and said “don’t turn out to be like those boys.” It hit me like a brick. I remember it clearly to this day and if that gym is still standing, I can take you to the exact spot it all happened. 

I was a good kid. Boy Scouts (later an Eagle). Royal Ambassadors. Straight A’s. Paper route. Responsible. But that moment changed me for life. From that point on, I have never forgotten my personal responsibility to be a good example to everyone, especially kids. That somebody is watching me, maybe learning how to treat other people.

This week at a football game, I witnessed an episode where an adult on the chain gang turned and taunted the players on one team after his son’s team scored a touchdown. I intervened (maybe I shouldn’t have) and asked the fellow to be a bit more professional. I’ll not repeat his response. The school’s AD did address the situation at halftime.

I’ll not even pretend that I think this might reach that fellow, but if it did, I would want him to know that he’s an adult and that kids are watching adults to learn how to behave. How to act.

Adults, teens, pre-teens—pretty much everybody…there’s a good chance that some child is watching you, seeking input on how to behave.

Do better. Be better. Little eyes are watching.

Probably...maybe...I don't know

 

Local bicycle rider Jackie Taylor was hit recently, while riding her bike on Old Walland Highway. A car hit her, left her unconscious in the ditch beside the road, and sped away.  There were witnesses to attest to that. 

Think about this. Old Walland Highway has been a haven for cyclists for many years.  Bikers will often park just beyond Coulter Bridge and ride, maybe to Townsend and back.  Since Highway 321 parallels Old Walland Highway, it just makes sense that if you’re in a car and in a hurry, you take 321. 

It hasn’t been that long since we’ve had a couple of deaths with bicycle riders. Here in Blount County. I wrote a bit recently about Joyce Frey, a wonderful lady that was riding alone on a quiet stretch of Old Niles Ferry Road out in the county, when she was hit and killed.  That driver sped away too. 

Then I read about Michael Perior who was hit and killed while riding on his bicycle in Maryville. I didn’t know him and I don’t know the circumstances…other than that he was on a bicycle and is now gone.

You may have read about the cycling team from Milligan University where a driver plowed into the team, killing two and sending seven to the hospital.

I ride bikes. I’ve spent many thousands of miles riding a bike on the country lanes around here. For 25+ years, Steve Bright and I led a group of riders on Saturday morning rides.

Every rider I know has had something thrown at them. A buddy once picked up a perfectly good wrench that had hit him in the back. Another friend just told me this week that he was hit by a full Slushy.  Beer cans. Spit cups. Random trash.

I’ve been cussed so many times for riding (safely, legally) on the roads that it no longer surprises me.

Are we our own worst enemy? Yes. I will never stop preaching road safety and road etiquette to riders. 

Do we have the right to be on the roads?  Absolutely.  Tennessee state law protects us and protects that right.

Is it safe?  I don’t know. I know my wife is in anguish when I head out on my bike, not knowing if I will come home or not.

What has gotten into people?  Why do so many people hate us for enjoying the countryside and getting some exercise? Why are they so angry?  Why would anyone hit something, anything, with their car and then drive off?

Is it distracted driving?  That’s a problem. For sure. Texting while driving has been conclusively shown to be about the same as driving drunk.

Traffic, even way out in the county, has gotten crazy. It seems like there are 20-30 unit subdivisions all over the place, in areas where we used to have family farms. With all that housing comes tons of traffic. 

Do we need bike lanes?  Well, yeah.  That would be nice.  But it’s not practical and I don’t see it happening in my lifetime.  Our Greenbelt is awesome but shared with walkers and runners.  That makes it dangerous for both of us.  And the motorized vehicles on our Greenbelt…well, that’s another story. 

Will I ride?  I don’t know. Probably. Maybe. I don’t know.

We Love Dolly

 

I don’t think Dolly Parton was an athlete. I believe she was a cheerleader at her high school (or may have been in the band), but back then, cheerleaders weren’t always athletes—sometimes they were the loudest and cutest in school.

Obviously, that’s changed. Watch the cheerleading team these days is more like watching a combination of a dance team with Olympic gymnastics.  Turns and flips and tumbling runs, oh my.

Unless you’ve been under a rock all week, you know that Dolly Parton died this week. A friend from South Carolina even called to offer his condolences. You might not like her music and you might even not like her theme park, but goodness gracious, you have to like Dolly.

Her dedication to helping the people in this area is legendary. And we probably don’t know half of what she did. She paired up students at Sevier County High School and promised them $500 if both of them graduated. One doesn’t, neither gets the money.

Their drop-out rate went from 36% to 6%.

She gave away millions and millions of books to children. No commitment, no promise. Just, here’s a book—I hope you read it.

They just announced that East Tennessee Children’s Hospital was going to be renamed Dolly Parton Children's Hospital.  I can’t imagine anyone really disagreeing with that decision.

A steady stream of recipients of her benevolence is coming forward.  Five hundred dollars here, a thousand there. People down on their luck. People she didn’t even know.

As flashy as her appearance was, she never seemed to want to make a big deal about this. She just did it quietly. I mean, did many people know what she had done for Children’s Hospital until the announcement came out? I didn’t.

And here’s the thing—our best gifts are those that come unexpectedly, even privately. How does it feel to do something for somebody and they don’t even know who did it?

A gift given freely, without strings. Maybe leaving the recipient wondering who could have done that for them. Those are our best gifts.

No, Dolly probably wasn’t an athlete (although it certainly took a lot of athleticism to dance around on stage on those spike heels), but she was an enabler. And we need those in our life.

Our Athletic Trainers never score a touchdown or hit the winning basket, but they protect and provide for our athletes, doing things that often aren’t noticed and which can be unappreciated.  That’s OK.  It goes with the job.

The world needs people like that—the helpers, the enablers. We need more Dolly Partons. We can’t do what Dolly did, but we can respect her legacy by doing what we can.

We love you Dolly.

See The World

 

“The more you see the world, the less you judge it.” I found this quote on social media but couldn’t find out where it originated. But I like it.

I mentioned in a recent column about how awesome I found the World Cup to be. Same thing about the Tour de France. I also mentioned how incredibly fortunate I have been to travel for my career.

Many years ago, I got involved with my professional associations, more significantly with the American Physical Therapy Association and the American Academy of Sports Physical Therapy. These have provided me with opportunities and opened doors for me that this small-town boy of humble origins could never have imagined.

I was a sophomore in college when I had knee surgery and met my first physical therapist, Dr. Ray Patterson. As I have done a thousand times, Ray asked me what my major was. I told him it was Wildlife Biology but that I was changing majors and trying to decide whether I wanted to be a doctor or a football coach.

He said “great, you’re gonna be a physical therapist.” I had no idea how fortuitous that conversation would turn out to be. It has led to a career that has been perfect for me.

I’ll not bore you with a list of all the things I’ve done and places I’ve been. It’s almost surreal. I still get goosebumps flying into our nation’s Capital. The Rockies from above, the Caribbean from below—it’s all amazing.

And sports have taken me to so many incredible places that I still worry that I have Imposter Syndrome—that I don’t really deserve to be in that arena.

Maybe I’m just getting more reflective (isn’t that what old people are supposed to do?), but I’ve met so many incredible athletes along the way. Evander Holyfield. George Hincappie. Dikembe Mutombo. David Robinson.

I remember the children’s church song—“red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight….”

I’ve seen all colors, learned a few words of several languages, met people very different from me in so many ways, and I’ve come to several conclusions.

People are the same wherever you go. They want the same things. They want to live long and prosper. They want their kids to be healthy and happy, and to be more, do more, accomplish more, than they did themselves.

Right now, at this moment, a dad somewhere is throwing a ball with his daughter.  A mom is dropping her son off at swim practice.

Maybe they coach a team. Or just bring snacks. Maybe they do more chores so that their child can play a sport or pursue a dream. But they are there for their kids. Always. Providing opportunities. Opening doors. Letting them see the world, not just one corner of it.

Mom and Dad, that’s your job.

Bike Safety Follow-up

 

The piece that I wrote about bicycling a couple of weeks ago sure generated a lot of discussion.

After my column is published in The Daily Times, I post it on social media. It was there where I saw a lot of feedback.

The comments ranged widely but the consensus seemed to be that everyone was concerned about the safety of cyclists, that the recent death was truly tragic.

Let me tell you a bit about my bicycle history. I got my first bike when I was seven and promptly wrecked it in front of Marie Brooks house when I thought a car was going to pull out in front of me.

For years after that, a bicycle was my primary means of transportation.  I lived on the outskirts of town but most of my buddies lived in town, a mile or so away. In the summers, I would get up in the morning, ride into town, and do stuff with my friends (that’s another story).

The only rule was be home for dinner.

In college, the bike stayed at home. I got married right before moving to Memphis for physical therapy school, so my wife got the car to take to work while I rode my bike to class, rain or shine.

As a young father, I got my kids bikes and we would often ride together. Most of that was on the few mountain bike trails we had around here back then.

It was actually my college-age daughter that convinced me to get a road bike and for the next several decades, I rode on the roads.  I put in thousands of miles, most of those with my buddy Steve Bright.

I’ve always rode my mountain bike—I was a “mixed” rider, I guess. For many years, Ken Bell, Eric Morgan, Keith Amos, and I would head out for week-long mountain bike excursions.

Blackberry Mountain opened up mountain bike trails for guests and I was the first to sign up as a guide (something I still do occasionally).

Most of my riding now is mountain biking, most often with Ken Bell. Many Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, you’re going to find us on one of the many trails around here.

Baker Preserve in south Knoxville. I.C. King Park off Old Knoxville Highway. Vee Hollow in Townsend. And my current favorite, Concord Park in west Knoxville.

And here’s the thing—I will continue to preach to bikers to be smarter and safer.  I will continue to advocate for the rights and protection of bike riders everywhere.

But ride I will. As long as I’m able.

BIKE SAFETY

If you know me well, you know I’ve spent a lot of time on a bicycle--many thousands of miles on a road bike. And hundreds of hours on my mountain bike.

You may have heard about the death of Joyce Frey.  Joyce, an avid cyclist, was riding on Old Niles Ferry Road recently when she was apparently struck and killed by a vehicle that left the scene.

I first became acquainted with Joyce and her husband Ernie several years ago when we were both helping with the annual Tour de Blount bicycle ride.  More recently, I attended a flyfishing class that she and Ernie provided through Parks & Rec. Joyce and Ernie had seemed to dedicate their retirement years to helping others.

Some folks are using this tragedy to make it clear that they don’t think that bicycles belong on roads.. Many state loudly that the Greenbelt Trail is the place to ride a bicycle.

Let me state unequivocally, the Greenbelt is meant for casual biking. It was originally conceived to be a conduit for transportation.  It’s an awesome asset for our community but it’s not place for the serious rider. You don’t want me on the Greenbelt, unless I’m out for an easy ride with a grandchild.

A lot of people hate people on a bicycle. It’s true. I’ve been cussed, been the recipient of way too many single finger salutes, and have had vehicles (mostly trucks) swerve in an attempt to scare me.

My wife, who used to quietly support my need for riding, now makes it clear that she doesn’t like for me to go out on my road bike. 

But here’s the thing—bikes have every right to be on the roads. There are laws governing bicycles on public roads (stay to the right, double line only, pull off if traffic is backed up behind you), but it is completely legal for me to ride my bicycle on a road. Any road.

It may not be smart, but it is legal. It is also illegal to come within 3 feet of a bicycle rider on the road. That law was passed after a local man was killed, riding on the shoulder of the road. 

Smart riders—and that would be most of us—stay off busy roads. Main arteries in and out of town should be avoided, but what about the person that rides their bike to work? Or maybe the individual who made a mistake and lost their driver’s license?

Many more people are killed on motorcycles every year, but is anyone proposing a ban on motorcycles on The Dragon?

Do some bike riders ride irresponsibly?  Absolutely. I preach to riders all the time to follow the law and ride safely. Is it a great sport? Undoubtedly. Is it smart to ride on the roads? I’m not sure anymore. The debate will go on.

Don’t hate us. We’re friends and parents and somebody’s son or daughter. And don’t threaten us. We’re just out there getting some exercise and enjoying the outdoors.

These days, you’re more likely to find me on my mountain bike, but know this for certain--I will defend to my last breath the right to ride a bike on the road. And I’ll still get out on my road bike from time to time because I do still love it. But I will pick my roads carefully and ride defensively.