I Love My Job

I love my life.  I love my wife.  I love my family.  I love my friends.

I love Benton's bacon, long bike rides, and hikes with my wife.  I love to cook, travel, and lots of different kinds of music.  I love working in my yard but can't find room in my heart for loving that dadgum weedeater.

I love to be a part of the solution to problems.  I love seeing others succeed, enabling them to reach their dreams.

I love my job.  I actually look forward to getting to work in the mornings.  I also look forward to getting home in the evenings (maybe that's the life/work balance thing).

In my clinic, people come see me to get better, to get healthy again.  What a privilege!  People trust me with their health.  How awesome is that!

I love high school football.  I've been involved with the game of football in one fashion or another since I was in the 4th grade.  I was 9 and most of the player on the team were 12 or 13.  Didn't matter.  I loved it.

My first game on the sidelines here was 1982 at Maryville High School.  Since then I've been on everybody's sideline at one time or another.  I love all our schools.

In the afternoons this time of year, I leave work early and head to Maryville High School where I am the Athletic Trainer for the football and baseball teams.  Jennifer Stanley covers all the other MHS sports.  We have eight  other athletic trainers that do the exact same thing. 

Peggy Bratt at Alcoa, David Ivens at Greenback, Amanda Cagle at Heritage, Beth Emeterio at Maryville Christian School, Cindy Ellis at Sequoyah, Shawn Davies at Sweetwater, and Sarah Tate and Tracy Martin at William Blount. Grant Davis helps out wherever he is needed.

I think I can speak for all of them when I tell you that we love what we do.  We couldn't tolerate the long hours if we didn't.

Think about it.  We get to be a part of a team.  We get to experience the excitement of competition.  We make lifelong friendships with coaches, parents, and kids.  And we get the opportunity to be a positive influence in the lives of those same kids.

Then there's Friday night.  Oh how I love Friday night football games.  By game time, we have all spent a lot of time together.  Tough time.  Maybe dealt with some injuries.  Battled through the blood, sweat, and tears.

I love all my kids but I must admit, I do love some of them more.  I love the ones that have further to go and get there.  Who discover through hard work that they can achieve their goals.  The ones that maybe somebody else gave up on yet they didn't give up on themselves.  I hope I'm the one there to pat them on the back and encourage them along the way.  I might have been that kid long ago.

I love to watch coaches coach.  They put so much of themselves in that process.  Their one common goal is to help every player on their team be the best that they can be.  The best coaches don't yell as much as teach. 

I get to walk the sidelines, listen in on the coaching and the strategies, and watch these young people that I've grown close to finally get to play a game they obviously love.  And maybe have some small part in the team's success.

What set me off down this path?  Charlottesville, Virginia.  I believe in the power of love.  I don't want another day go by without showing love to others.  What about you?

Be A Parent!

Keep in mind that I've been around football most of my life.  I started playing in the 4th grade on a team that was mostly 7th and 8th graders.  In some form, I've been around the game since then.

I've actually even coached some, first in the Midgets program in my hometown while still in college and more recently in our Parks & Rec's youth football program.  I've been on more sidelines and in more coach's offices than just about anybody. 

And I've coached a lot of different things.  Soccer.  Basketball.  Softball.  Baseball.  I think I know a bit about sports and movement and coaching.

So here's the picture:  My son is a sophomore in high school, playing football.  As that school's athletic trainer, I had been at all of his practices and games.  I did it long before he got there and I'm still doing it. 

He was sitting in my recliner in our den and I'm trying to coach him up on what to do on the football field.  This was probably routine for us.  He had listened patiently and then finally spoke up.  What he said remains with me to this day.  I can still hear it.

"Dad, I've got one dad and 10 coaches."

That was all it took.  I don't think I ever tried to tell him anything about football since that day.  I did my best just to be his dad.  

Oh, I'm sure I've tried to tell him about life and a lot of other things.    Maybe he listened and maybe he didn't.  Maybe my advice was heeded or maybe it was ignored but either way, he's turned out to be a really great adult. 

I had the opportunity to speak to a group of football parents this year just before practice started and I told them that story.  Behind me sat our really incredible group of coaches. 

I pointed to those guys and told those parents "these are really great coaches.  They know what they're doing.  What you need to do is to be a parent to your kid.  Be a mom to them.  Be a dad.  But leave the coaching to these guys."

That may be the single best bit of advice I've ever given.  I've lived it. 

When your son or daughter comes home from practice or a game and is complaining about the coach...that the coach doesn't know this or that, don't agree with them.  Carefully guide the conversation elsewhere, into some positive arena.  

If your son or daughter is not starting and is frustrated about that, instead of blaming inept coaches, help them understand what they can do to get better, to put themselves into a better position.  Teach them how important it is to be a good teammate regardless of their playing status.

Allow  them learn the lessons that come from sports participation, from being on a team, from being coachable.

Remember, they've only got one mom and one dad. 

Not Every Headache is a Concussion

This is going to be a frank discussion today.  About a difficult topic.   I'm going to talk about concussions today. 

I've definitely talked a lot about concussions.  So has everyone else.  Concussions are all over the media.  Almost too much.  Almost.  Every time somebody gets hit in the head, the concussion question comes up. 

There was a recent report about a study of the brains of former NFL players.  110 out of 111 brains examined (they were dead, of course), showed significant evidence of Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE), presumed to be the result of concussions.  Maybe one...maybe many. 

We know that repeated concussive events can lead to CTE.  It is beyond discussion. 

The symptoms for CTE resemble progressive dementia.  In the early stages, it manifests itself as memory loss, headaches, visual disturbances, and dizziness.  Next comes erratic behavior, personality changes, and social instability.  Late stages find the victim unable to perform many daily tasks.  Hygiene suffers.  Headaches might be intolerable.

The rate of suicide among those with CTE is alarmingly high.  The 2012 suicide of Junior Seau of the San Diego  Chargers was attributed to CTE.  There have been others.  Too many, really.

And here's the problem.  WE are to blame.  Health care professionals.  Athletic Trainers.  Physical Therapists.  Doctors.  Coaches.

In my career, which is admittedly long, if you "got your bell rung" but recovered to where you could answer a few simple questions, you could go back in the game.  In long ago days, even if you lost consciousness briefly, you might be allowed to play. 

Multiply that out from high school to college to the pro's and it adds up.  Then throw in the mentality that we should "get tough" and play through our injuries that was so prevalent when I was growing up and you can see how we have gotten to where we are now.

My how things have changed.  They've changed because we know oh so much more. Today, if you get a blow to the head, regardless of the circumstances, regardless of the activity, and have any symptoms, we treat it like it is a concussion.   Period.

Those symptoms might include headache, dizziness, blurred vision, difficulty concentrating, or sensitivity to light.  We treat it like it is a concussion until proven differently.

We have standardized cognitive tests that we administer to determine how well the brain is working.  We work diligently to do those studies on every high school athlete in our service area so that we have a baseline to compare to.  We test balance and coordination and a bunch of other things.  Just to be sure. 

But here's the dilemma:  Not every blow to the head that results in a headache is a concussion.  Yet hardly a day goes by that I'm not asked to examine an athlete that has been hit in the head and might have a headache.  Or might have had a headache for a few minutes but they're fine now.

How do we make that distinction then?  How do we know that it isn't a concussion?  We don't.  We treat them all like a concussion. 

Does it take expensive testing like CT Scans and multiple medical examinations to prove that it isn't a concussion?  Not always.  Sometimes it is a matter of professional judgment.  Judgment that comes from education,  experience, study, and knowing our players.

But when we're in doubt, that player is out. 

Doing What It Takes

I've been hiking quite a bit lately.  For those of you that have watched me run onto the football field, you're probably thinking that must be some kind of a joke.

Remember Chester from the old Gunsmoke days?  That's pretty much me when I'm "sprinting" across the field to take care of an injury.

They measure my 40 time with a calendar instead of a stopwatch.  when I stand up from sitting, my right knee sounds like the sound track from an Orville Redenbacher commercial.

Multiple knee surgeries and a lifetime of knee abuse will do that to you.  My X-Rays look like the "before" version of a successful knee replacement surgery.

But I love to hike--always have.  My teen years were filled with Boy Scout trips, at first with a canvas pack and a hand-made wooden pack frame.  College days and into my 20's found me backpacking all over the Smokies, now with the latest equipment and my treasured Svea stove.

My kids grew up hiking and backpacking.  Their first overnight trip was to the Little Bottoms area on Abrams Creek.  I think they were 3 and 5.  My daughter has kept that up with her own family, already seasoned backpackers.  My son, eh, not so much.  Not his thing.

Jump forward a bunch of years and my wife (of now 41+ years) has found that she loves hiking too.  And she can walk the legs off of most people I know.

So we hike.  Together.  As often as we can.  Our favorite local hike is up Bald River, above the falls.  Most people walk out onto the bridge, take a photo, and never venture far.  Those that do, usually stop at the top of the falls.  They don't realize that the real treasure is to be found mere steps on up the trail.

And Indian Flats Falls above Tremont.  Oh, my.   If you find it, you'll think you've discovered this secret gem hidden behind dense undergrowth.

But how do I do it?  How do I run I'm on my last leg but hike at a pace that puts many a younger man to shame?

Part of it is impact force.  Hiking (unlike running) minimizes that for me.  I wear orthotics and good boots and always use trekking poles. 

I do strength training regularly, keeping my legs strong with lifts like squats and deadlifts that I used to think had no value for a man my age.

Oh, my weight is a factor.  I weigh less now than I did in the 8th grade.  Don't understand the impact (literally) of that?  Carry a 20 pound weight around all day and then tell me what you think.

But the biggest reason is probably my core strength.  It's pretty decent.  I work hard at it.  All the time I spend on a bike helps my core tremendously.

So there you have a formula for staying active and not giving in to a sedentary lifestyle.   Even if your knees have long since betrayed you.