What might have been

 

I’ve been thinking about my Dad lately. I wasn’t sure why but then I realized that January was the month of his birth and of his death. I don’t remember birthdays particularly well, but I remember his. January 20^th, 1913. 

And for some reason, the date of his death has stuck with me too—Janary 27^th, 1997 84 years and a week apart. He shouldn’t have lived that long. No way. He had his first heart attack at age 45, when men didn’t last long when they started that young. He had several more but they didn’t kill him.

The science of cardiology in 1958 was nothing like it is today. Back then, they would put you on blood thinners and tell you to go home and sit. No physical exertion. No exercise. No excitement.

We dried clothes on an outdoor line (ask an old person) but cardiac patients weren’t allowed to even reach overhead. He and I built this step thing to where I could hang clothes on the clothesline. He made regular visits to the hospital lab for blood work, monitoring the effect of the Coumadin that he took for decades and which ultimately killed him.

Today, it is completely different. Stents placed in the arteries of the heart have transformed cardiac care. We now know that exercise is essential for cardiac rehabilitation, and that reaching over your head is completely OK. New medicines, new techniques, new technology, all mean a longer and healthier life for those having suffered a heart attack. But that wasn’t the case back then.

At 13, I built a tree house in the back yard while he sat in a lawn chair down below and coached me through it all. He would listen to my football games on the radio, because those games really excited him.

My dad wasn’t a big man, standing but 5 feet, 6 inches tall and weighing maybe 145 at his biggest, but he could outwork men twice his size. His reputation at the factory where he worked before he had to retire early was that of someone that could always be counted on to get the job done. And then he would turn around and help you do your job too.

I know that because when I worked at that same job during college summers, the expectations for “Carl’s kid” were immense. Uneducated and having never worked at anything that wasn’t hard labor, he still set a high bar for everything I ever aspired to do.

He raised a garden, bees, grapes, and cherries.  Since he couldn’t lift much because of his heart, I did the labor. My first Boy Scout merit badge was beekeeping because at 11, I was an experienced beekeeper.

There was a lot about my dad that I didn’t know much about and I will always regret that. During the Great Depression, he lived alone in a basement room in Knoxville and worked at a dairy. That’s all I know. It was only when I was going through some old photos after my Mom died that I discovered that they attended the opening of the GSMNP at Newfound Gap.

I didn’t know that at all. I also have a photo of my Dad standing at the precipice of Bald River Falls. I was never brave enough to do anything like that.

He never got to play sports of any kind. He dropped out of school after the 6^th grade and went to work in a factory after his dad died. In recent weeks, I’ve written about missed opportunities and he sure had them.

No school, the Great Depression, World War II, a new father at 40. What a life! He always loved motorcycles and one of my favorite photos is of him standing beside one, it had to be in the 30’s, leather helmet on his head, surrounded by a snowy street. He once told me he had pounded nails in the hard rubber tires to give him traction in the snow.

What would have been his sport if he had the opportunity? Today, I bet he would be a wrestler. He was tough as nails and, pound for pound, the strongest person I’ve ever known. Or a distance runner. He could outwork anybody. Maybe he would have defied all odds and been a tough-nosed football linebacker.

Oh wouldn’t that have been something to see!  Happy birthday Dad.

 

Country Strong

 

You may not know this, but I grew up country. My hometown had three stoplights and often only one of them worked. We lived about a mile from town, surrounded by family farms. We were bordered on one side by Highway 11 and by Southern Railroad on the other.

I was not a member, but the FFA (Future Farmers of America) was a big deal. The 4^th of July parade featured horses, bicycles, tractors, and the high school marching band.

There were about 4000 people living there then—about the same number now. Boys that graduated from high school often went to work in one of the local factories. If you grew up on a family farm, you likely followed that tradition.

I started working on those surrounding farms at about age 12. I also had a newspaper route and several yards to mow but that’s part of another story.

My first job was hauling hay for Jimmy Greenway’s Aunt Marie. At lunch, she fed us a mountain of fried chicken and a variety of vegetables. I was too tired to eat anything the first time I worked there.

Two doors down from where I lived was Dennis Williams and his wife, a school teacher. With his brother, Mr. Dennis owned the family farm about a mile away. The brother lived on the farm and Mr. Dennis lived near me.

Back then, there was this thing called a “tenant” farmer. Those people were provided with a house on the farm and paid for their work. They usually had the opportunity to farm a piece of land, usually put into a tobacco patch.

The tenant farmer on the Williams’ farm was a Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown and his wife lived in a small house on the farm, near the railroad tracks. A slight, grizzled man, I thought he must truly be ancient, but he was probably younger than I am now.

Mr. Dennis was even older. He would drive the tractor. I would pick up the hay in the field and set it up on the wagon. Mr. Brown would stack the hay. Then we would head to the barn to store it away.

Again, I would toss the hay up into the hay loft and Mr. Brown would stack it. Then back to the hay field again. Field after field, we would clear the bales of hay. Throughout my teen years.

We had a few weights at the high school I attended and, after winning the state championship in football, we got this fancy multi-station weight machine. But we didn’t need all that because we were “country strong.”

That meant that we spent our summers hauling hay, hoeing and putting up tobacco, shoveling grain, and, well, you get the picture. We didn’t have to adjust to the heat when fall sports rolled around because we had spent our summers working under the hot sun.

We had no idea how much we could bench press but we knew how far we could toss a 60 pound bale of hay.

When my son reached his teen years, he started helping local people that were still putting up hay in bales. As he entered high school, he definitely spent time in the weight room, but his summers also included lots of farm work and heavy lifting. I believe it served him well.

Young athletes tend to get caught up with the latest greatest. They think you just have to have a strength coach, personal trainers, position coach, masseuse. All the things. When what they really need is just to put in the work.

Lift, throw, push, pull. Work hard. Move heavy things. Sweat. Get comfortable with being uncomfortable.

No Child Hungry

 

I write often about sports nutrition. It was just a couple of weeks or so ago that I wrote about “garbage in, garbage out.” We know that what you eat has a huge impact on sports performance.

I also wrote recently about those unfortunate young athletes that simply cannot participate in sports because the cost has gotten so high.  Now imagine, if you will, what it might cost to supply an athlete with a high quality diet.

Lean meats, fresh vegetables, and fruits are the base for a healthy diet. Sports performance often requires high calorie content but the cheapest way to accomplish that is to load it up with sugar. But that’s counterproductive.

One of the reasons us Southerners fry so much of our food as it is a way to take lesser meat and vegetables and make them tasty. And we do love our condiments and sauces. Same thing. Not good.

When everybody in the household works, there often just isn’t the time to do a lot of food prep. It’s easier to open a can and heat it up. Or pick up fast food. I get that.

My advice on that is just do all you can do.  Avoid frying anything and pay attention to the sugar intake. Those are cheap calories and won’t provide the athlete with the fuel for peak performance.

But let me take a tangent here. I want to tell you a story about one of those athletes who couldn’t finish their high school career. He was a football player and had asked the coaches if he could leave practice early. It was a Wednesday and the coaches just figured he was going to church, with this being the Bible Belt and all.

Nope. Not the case. There was a local restaurant that was having an all-you-can-eat affair and his mom was taking he and his siblings. It doesn’t really matter what was served, it was a chance for the whole family to get all they wanted to eat, something that might have been rare in their family.

It was sad, really. I thought about this after my family and I had enjoyed Christmas dinner—more food than we could have eaten in a week. My thoughts turned to those less fortunate.  There are hungry people everywhere.

We would like to think that nobody in our community goes to bed hungry, but that simply is not the case. A principal recently told me that 60% of his student body is on meal assistance.

When my wife worked as a school bookkeeper, the number of children getting free lunches was staggering. Some schools also offer breakfast and lunch and it is an unforunate fact that those are the only meals a lot of those kids get that day.

Politicians banter about cutting out that breakfast. Teachers will tell you that a free breakfast is essential for academic participation. Not academic excellence, but the ability to sit in a classroom and pay attention and do the basic work.

Social services are a hot topic in Nashville and Washington, but those in the midst of the argument never went to bed hungry, much less not sure what they were going to find to eat the next day.

We complain about the price of eggs while too many can’t afford eggs at any price. 

I’m a big fan of 2^nd Harvest Food Bank and Community Food Connection of Blount County.  They can’t feed everyone, but they can often be the difference for hungry families. The Empty Pantry Fund ended up short this year but provides a huge bag of food for a whole lot of people.

And The Welcome Table at 1^st Methodist Church of Maryville and New Providence Presbyterian Church plus the Salvation Army free lunch at Broadway Baptist Church (there are others) insure that at least for that day, somebody doesn’t go hungry.

2024 is here. It’s a new year. It’s OK to appreciate how blessed we are but let’s not forget those less fortunate than us. Let’s strive for a world where no child goes to bed hungry.

“We’re going to have to stop meeting like this.”

 

For the second time this year, I’ve gone under the knife. You might recall that back in the summer that I had a mountain bike wreck that broke some ribs and collapsed a lung. A chest tube and hospitalization followed that.

Well, last week, I had a double hernia repair. Be warned that this may contain more information than you want to hear, but I promise it will be all PG.

A couple of weeks ago, I had a hard workout on Monday, a mountain bike ride on Tuesday, and had just finished an early hour on the stationary bike when I jumped in the shower to get ready for my work day. As I showered, let’s say, “down there,” I felt this ping pong ball in my right groin.

Being the worry-wart that I am and having a primary care physician (Dr. Kevin Turner) that is accommodating and understands me, I went immediately to his office where he declared “Joe, that’s the easiest diagnosis I’ll have today—you have a hernia.”

OK. So be it. What followed the next week were lab studies, a contrast CT, and a visit with surgeon Dr. Stephen Pacifico. About Dr. Pacifico:  He played linebacker for us at MHS and has made a fine surgeon. I have all the confidence in the world in him.

Yep, it was a hernia. And yep, I needed surgery, which was scheduled for the following week. Oh, and there was a hernia on the other side too.

Back up a bit to the why. Dr. Pacifico and I agreed that while I might have the muscles of a 30 year old, I have the connective tissue of a 70 year old. And I do lift heavy stuff from time to time. I lift heavy weights, sometimes assist with transfers of heavy patients, and I work hard on the farm. Not to mention the 99 V-ups that I did in that Monday workout.

Hernias don’t just happen to old people like me either. I’ve had younger athletes that have had them. They can happen to any active individual, although they happen to men more than women.

So, now it’s time for the fix. On Dr. Pacifico’s recommendation, I chose a laparoscopic procedure, with both hernias being repaired through the same small holes. On that Wednesday, now a week and a half ago, I reported to Blount Memorial Outpatient Surgery. After check in, Scott the RN took me back and pretty much stayed with me until they took me back for surgery.

Thorough and friendly, Scott has been a traveling nurse for the last few years and has been to some cool places. I’m not using last names here because frankly, I don’t remember them. Keep in mind, the sedation process had already started.

Nurse anaesthetist Lakosha (spelling?) was next and was super. One of the nurses that took me back was Christy and she was friendly and memorable. I don’t remember the other nurse’s name but Christy was the one holding my hand when they finished sedating me.

About that moment. I’m human. I was pretty cool about the whole thing up until that moment. My BP was still good but I was admittedly anxious at that point. The entire surgical team, Christy, the other nurse that took me back, the two scrub nurses, Lakosha, and the anaesthesiologist (I can’t remember her name either but she was good) gathered around me and told me “we are going to take really good care of you.”

I remember that! And the next thing I know, I’m waking up with a sore belly and another nurse that I’ve known for a while, Montana.  She was a student trainer at Heritage High School and Maryville College, and while at MC was the recipient of the Carl H. Black Outstanding Student Trainer Award, named after my dad.

Needless to say, it was awesome to see her. I know that she is the best. Oh, and Dr. Pacifico had filled my wife in on the surgery. It was way more complicated than he had expected but it all went well.

To wind this story down, I’m fine. I’m back at work. I’m being a good patient. And I won’t be doing V-ups for a while. But my experience through all this has been what health care should be all about.

Every day: back pain

It has been estimated that 80% of adults have an episode of significant low back pain in their lifetime. If you think you are in that 20% that hasn’t, then you better be doing everything you can to protect your back—the odds are stacked against you.

I suppose everyone that lives long enough will have some sort of back pain. I think I’m in that 20% but I’ve had an achy back from time to time, mostly when I’ve overdone it.

I had one of those man-on-the-street encounters last week that my wife has learned to tolerate as part of being my wife of over 47 years. We were in this fellow’s place of business when he asked if I had any advice for him in dealing with his back pain.

More specifically, he asked me if there were any stretches that he could do to help his back. I have no idea how many times I’ve been asked that exact question.

It doesn’t matter what body part it is, a lot folks think that the only physical therapy strategy for dealing with their physical complaints lies in a couple of stretching exercises.

Back to this guy—he’s a super nice guy who works too much. And part of his job is lifting heavy objects from time to time. So we chatted about how his pain behaves and what he has done in the past to control it—that sort of thing. Back to him in a minute.

I get stopped a lot and usually the conversation starts with “I know you must get tired of people asking you about their complaints, but…”

As soon as I can get a word in edgewise, I assure them that I don’t mind at all. I’m flattered that anyone wants my opinion at all (except maybe about religion and politics—two things I avoid discussing) but especially about their health.

My wife long ago figured out that this was part of makes me me. I’m still doing this stuff well into my senior years (I’ve been a physical therapist for 46 years now) because I love it. And most of that is helping people. It’s also part of what makes a physical therapist a physical therapist.

Anyway, it is rarely about stretching. Sure, tight joints and muscles can be a part of the problem but that is rarely the basis of the problem. For this fellow, his biggest problem is his core strength. That’s just not something many people pay much attention to.

What happens is that our life gets in the way of regular exercise and then we help our neighbor move or stack firewood or something else that we don’t do regularly and the next thing you know--BAM!--back pain.

My first aid formula for most injuries is the same. Ice and ibuprofen. Most of the time, it pays to keep moving. Curled up in a hot tub or bedrest and doing nothing is rarely a good idea.

To know what to do next, the best thing is to consult a spinal care expert, like a physical therapist. But that option is not always available. The best advice that I can give if that’s the case is to keep moving.

To prevent it from happening, you’ve got to develop good core strength and learn good body mechanics. Plank. Bird dog. Cat and Cow. Have someone that knows what they’re doing to watch your lifting techniques.

Lift weights. Stay in shape. Lose weight if you need to. Take the stairs. Park at the outer edge of the parking lot.

Above all else, keep moving.

ALS

 

ALS, or Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, is also known as Lou Gherig’s Disease. ALS is not really a disease, but a progressive degenerative disorder of the nerves in the brain and spinal cord.

Lou Gherig was known as the Iron Horse of baseball, having played in 2,130 consecutive baseball games. When he was diagnosed in 1939, little was known about ALS.

On July 4^th, 1939, Gherig gave a speech that is one of the most memorable sports speeches in the history of sports. Knowing that he was going to die (he lived two more years) and knowing the horrors of ALS, he stood at home plate in Yankee Stadium and uttered the following words:

“For the past two weeks, you have been reading about a bad break. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”

For a small percentage (maybe 10%), it can be a genetic mutation. For those, it is known as Familial ALS. But for 90% of those that get ALS, there is no known reason. It hits men slightly more than women and onset falls into the range of 40-70 years of age.

ALS often starts in the hands and feet, with tingling and burning progressing to include weakness in the arms and legs. As it progresses, it encompasses any and all muscles, including the muscles used for swallowing, talking, and breathing. Cognitive functioning remains intact in most cases, which means that the person is fully aware of what is happening to their body.

ALS is not considered a sports injury, but there does appear to be a higher incidence of ALS in military veterans and athletes, particularly football players.

There is no cure for it. It is a devastating disorder, slowly robbing the person of all control.

No one knows why it affects one group more than others, but there are some similarities in combat veterans and football players. It has been speculated that repeated trauma might make a person more likely to get ALS, but we really have no idea about that. Life expectancy is 2-5 years and ALS progresses at different rates for different people.

In other words, we just don’t know much about it. But research is ongoing and hopefully a cure will be found one day. It’s an ugly, nasty disorder that slowly robs the person of their body.

Last week, I mentioned the best football player I ever played with. A gifted athlete at whatever he did, he was especially good at football. He was most definitely a “natural,” but he coupled that with a strong work ethic to become the best of the best.

On offense, give him the football and watch him go. On defense, he was one of those players that was always around the ball. We used to say people like that “have a nose for the football.” He definitely had that.

Maryville native and football coaching legend Ollie Keller recruited him to play at Memphis State but circumstances prevented that from happening. I have no doubt that he would have been a college star and maybe a career NFL player. He was really that good.

His name is J.L. Millsaps and he had ALS. He died this weekend.  In his last days, he could hardly move his once strong body. He spoke only in a whisper and was rarely able to even open his eyes. He knew the end was near, yet, his spirit and his faith remained rock solid. RIP JL.

 

Living Vicariously

 

Everybody wants their kid to be the star of the team. Everybody wants to be on the winning team. It’s just human nature. Everybody, meaning parents.

Interestingly, kids don’t think the same way. Oh, if you ask them what they want to do when they grow up, a fair number of them will say that they want to be a professional athlete in one sport or more.

But if you really dig into it, you will find that they just want to have fun and be with their friends. No doubt, winning is important to them but boiled down to its essence, they want to enjoy their sports.

You have no doubt heard about parents living “vicariously” through their kids. The earth may shake and the dead may roll over, but I’m here to tell you that isn’t always a bad thing.

I have seen a lot of parents who either were never athletes themselves or never had the opportunity to be an athlete. I remember one local athlete that was phenomenal, but when you look at her parents, you wonder how that could have happened.

Neither of them had an athletic bone in their body. But their daughter sure did.  Sometimes those things happen. I’m sure those parents enjoyed their daughter’s success.

Then there are the folks that didn’t have the opportunity. A lot of that is economic. Some kids have to hold down jobs to help the family. My dad dropped out of school after the 6^th grade when his own father died. He went to work in a hosiery mill and never went back to school.

Think about that. He was 11, maybe 12 years old, and already working in a factory alongside adults. His family needed that to survive. Child labor laws would prohibit that from happening these days, but you won’t have to go far to find a family that depends on the income from their 16 year old’s job.

I remember one young very promising athlete. He played three sports until he turned 16. Then he got a job and never played sports again. He had an old truck but his family couldn’t afford the insurance on it so he got a fast food job so he could drive and help transport his siblings.

It was sad really. Unfortunately, if you look at the high cost of participating in some sports, you will see that it can be cost prohibitive. If you want to be competitive, it seems like you need to take private lessons, work with a personal trainer, travel all around the country, and dedicate pretty much all of your spare time to it.

Golf and tennis come to mind immediately. Volleyball and basketball aren’t far behind. It is just more than some families can afford.

There are exceptions. In football, pretty much all of the equipment is provided. And in running, for the most part you just go run.

I will still insist that there is a place for just going out and playing, without all the “extra” stuff.  Some of the best basketball players I ever knew just played. You could always find them on a court somewhere. They were always in the gym shooting. Before school. After school. In their driveway.

The best football player that I ever played with didn’t play until high school, rarely lifted weights, wouldn’t know a personal trainer if one was standing in front of him, and didn’t need much in the way of coaching. He was a linebacker and all you had to do was tell him to go tackle the one with the ball.

I have to believe that if you are talented and work hard, good things will happen. Back when I played a little softball, the best player that I knew could throw a wicked curve with a softball. No one ever taught him how to throw a curve.

So, if you can’t do all those extracurricular things, don’t give up. Work hard and follow your dreams. And if those dreams are your parents’ dreams as well, so be it. Let them enjoy what you do. Let them live a bit through what you do. It’s OK.