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Mardi Gras Marathon New Orleans, Louisiana MAMFAY Race #5 – Age = 50.34 years old Sunday, February 1, 2009 In the beginning . . . I’m not really sure how to start this story. My father-in-law was moved to hospice care on January 20th, with stage 4 heart failure as well as some liver and kidney issues. The prognosis then was that his remaining time would best be measured in days and not in weeks. Well, he’s a strong man and there have been some peaks, some bright days, along the way. But we all know what’s happening. The good days are taken as the blessing they are. The bad days are . . . well, they’re just bad days. It’s an emotional rollercoaster for the family and a physical drain, as well. Renate is doing all she can to help out her mother and I’m doing what I can to help out Renate. And, it was up in the air as to whether or not we’d even go to New Orleans, me to run a marathon and Renate to do the half. Renate had decided, early in race week, that she was going to stay home. As I was packing on Thursday for the Friday departure, I got a call from Renate telling me that her father wasn’t doing well. She was leaving work and heading over to the hospital about an hour away. I was going to sit tight until I got further word. I had all kinds of thoughts running circles in my mind. I will admit to being selfish about the upcoming race. I had been having regular mental conversations with my father-in-law, asking him to hang on and be strong for a few more days. I have this, really when you get right down to it, stupid goal of running a marathon a month for a year. And, dammit, February didn’t have a whole lot of choices. C’mon, Pop, let’s have another little rally. And, I guess he kind of did. He had stabilized. Renate called me from the hospital. “I spoke with my Mom and told her you were going to go down to New Orleans for the race. I said you were doing it to honor Daddy and that that’s what he would want.” Mom agreed that, yes, Daddy would want me to do the marathon. “So,” Renate said, “you can go off and race with a clear conscience.” “No,” I replied. “I’ll go and I’ll race, but it’ll still be a troubled conscience.” So, I went down to New Orleans for the Mardi Gras Marathon. I traveled alone. This was to be my 48th race of marathon distance or longer and only the second time Renate hasn’t been there with me. To honor my father-in-law, and to have him along with me, I wrote “Pop” on one shoe and “Pop” on the other. Pop-Pop. That’s what the grandkids call him. And, boy, how he loves those grandkids. I’m not sure if he was ever in New Orleans, but he’d be coming along on a 26.2 mile journey, one step at a time, through the streets. Hopefully we won’t be going too near any bodies of water because he’d want to stop to check out the fishing. Ok Pop-Pop, let’s go for a run . . . There really wasn’t a whole lot of hoopla, a flyover by a Coast Guard(?) helicopter, before the air horn started us off on our trip through New Orleans. And, maybe 15 seconds after I started running, I knew it was going to be a painful day. The tightening of my left hamstring and calf that had occurred near the half way point of Disney last month showed up immediately. I’m not sure I can properly describe it. It’s a sharp pain right about where the hamstring attaches to the back of the knee. Though maybe sharp isn’t the correct word. It’s more than a dull ache, but not enough to bring me to tears. It does force me to shorten my stride quite a bit. And, it’s going to be a long day if it gets any worse. I’m really at a loss as to what it is and what causes it. I didn’t have any problems on the training runs between Disney and Mardi Gras. Too easy on the runs, maybe? Too much time on the treadmill? But when I did my pre-race pickups, I didn’t have any issues at all. I could figure that, if the tightness comes up in the back half of the race, it might be a dehydration/electrolyte issue. But to have them descend right from the beginning was frustrating. Well, it gave me something to think about as I was running. And, for the most part, that went ok. The running, I mean. I had set my watch to display only the current lap time. In numbers big enough that I could see them clearly. My goal for the first ten miles was to be in the 6:25 to 6:30 range, hoping to be around 1:04:30 at the ten mile marker. I wasn’t planning on any math, I was just going to punch the split button and try to maintain pace. So, I was happy to see a 6:26 for the first mile (which I adjusted to 6:23 to get to chip time). That meant that I didn’t get carried away at the start like I often do. By the end of the first mile and into the second, we were running down Bourbon Street, I guess the heart of the French Quarter. The road had been freshly washed down with soap and water, though that didn’t clean up all the horse poop. I was semi-concerned about footing. Would it be slippery? It didn’t seem to be an issue. More of an issue was the narrowness of the road, made even narrower with cars parked along the curb. That situation lasted through the second mile, as well, as we made a right onto Dumaine then another right onto Royal. Phil, a local guy I was talking with before the race, had warned me about the possible tightness of these first two miles. And, they were, but I didn’t have any problems finding running space. I was surprised to see a 6:14 as my second mile split. Maybe it was the excitement of running through the French Quarter. Maybe it was a short mile. My thinking was that I’d wait another mile before doing any drastic pace adjustments. And when miles three, four, and five, along St. Charles Avenue came in at 6:28, 6:28, and 6:27, I felt pretty grooved in. As I said earlier, the game plan was to run the first ten miles somewhere in the 6:25 to 6:30 range. I was hoping to pick it up for the second ten miles to the 6:20 to 6:25 range and then finish the last 10k running strong. I’ll let you know how all that went when we get there. Getting through the first five miles, I was happy that there was no further deterioration with my left hamstring. Mostly just the same level of constant ache that had been present since the beginning. There was a slight issue at the aid station near mile four. Some walker type guy who, I guess, started early, decided to stop to get his water. Right in front of me. With no brake lights. I did make contact, but, fortunately, not hard enough for the air bag to deploy. Mile six was still along St. Charles Avenue, but most of seven, all of eight, and part of nine were in Audobon Park. Which apparently had a golf course and some body of water that I didn’t notice. Fortunately, neither did Pop-Pop. Mile six was a 6:29 and I followed that up with a 6:24 and a 6:26 for seven and eight. All in all, except for that early 6:14, I was bang on with my numbers. But, there were a couple of quick right turns leaving the park and getting back on St. Charles. My hamstring didn’t like those turns at all. Not one little bit. No way, no how. The dull ache turned into a grabbing, stabbing pain. Hmm, I’m thinking, is this going to turn into a half marathon? (The course runs right past the start/finish line at the halfway point. The half marathoners turn left and finish while the full folks continue straight and visit another section of New Orleans.) My already short stride shortens even more. Unfortunately, the leg turnover doesn’t increase so I’m running a bit more slowly. I hear “Barkeep!” from the runners on the other side of the median, those folks heading out to Audobon Park. Barkeep is my Internet name. I turned and waved in the general direction of the yell. I had no idea who I was waving to. And, for all I know, some spectator could have just been yelling for the local bartender to set them up with another hurricane. At the nine mile mark, I got a split. 6:35. Not good. It’s four miles to the bailout point. I didn’t see the guy I met at Kiawah Island (who I think I also met at Rocket City in December of ’07) with his sign “NO BAILOUT for you!” But, the bailout thought was a fleeting one. I thought of my father-in-law. I had picked up a Runner’s Guardian Angel pendant at the expo and it was around my neck. I tapped it and asked for a little help. Just take it mile by mile by mile, I was telling myself. Don’t get ahead of things. It may be a struggle, it may be painful, heck, it may even be damaging, but there’s absolutely no way I’m not going to finish the whole thing. Even if I have to walk. Mile ten was a little less painful and I covered it in 6:26. Well, I thought, maybe I’ll be able to get through this thing after all. I was right around 1:04:25 for the first ten miles, right where I wanted to be according to my pre-race plan. The left leg had returned to the tolerable level of discomfort after it’s foray into ugliness. I didn’t think, however, that I’d be able to implement stage B of my plan. The part where I increased the pace to the 6:20 to 6:25 range. So, I was reasonably surprised to crank out a 6:23 for mile 11. Granted, it’s really not a major jump in pace, just a few seconds faster over the course of a mile. The question became could I keep it up? I was still heading back in on St. Charles Avenue and it might have been around here that I saw the tail end folks making their way, slowly, towards Audobon Park. There were a couple of police cars with their flashing lights protecting the rear of those folks and then a fair amount of traffic. All moving at, what?, three to four miles per hour. Oh, a little backtrack. St. Charles Avenue is a wide street, two lanes of traffic and a parking lane on each side of a median. Down the median are a couple sets of trolley tracks. I’m not really sure why, but, as I was returning, there were a number of folks running towards the park that were using the median. Ok, back to the current time. Toward the end of mile 12 is Lee Circle, followed by the big mile marker sign. I get my split . . . 6:28. So much for that increased pace I was hoping for. Another side note. There were big, fairly obvious, mile marker signs for each mile. Usually they were fastened to a pole of one kind or another. Street sign, street light, etc. I did notice at some point that there were also yellow mile numbers painted on the street. And then I noticed that, sometimes, the mile marker signs were not at the same exact place as the mile marker paintings. Makes sense. You don’t always find a pole right where you need it. I did take to punching my split button at the yellow marks and not necessarily at the big signs. Furthermore, at most of the big signs, there was a pair of volunteers (to keep each other company, I guess, or awake or sober) and one would call out the race time as we ran by. Since I wasn’t doing any math during the race, this worked out fine. I was hearing the numbers, but I wasn’t paying much attention to them. I really only cared about the ten mile time. If there were the usual big clocks at each mile, I might have fallen back into the habit of doing the math. About halfway through the 13th mile, just before we made the right turn onto Poydras Street, some young buck runs by and says something like “C’mon old man . . . Let’s push to the finish.” He didn’t say old man, but I could tell that’s what he was thinking. I politely declined his offer to pick up the pace. I informed the youngster that I still had another half to go. I thought about running with him, just for grins, but I was able to keep my ego in check. About a quarter mile from her finish, I caught up to a young lady who was struggling mightily. Her male attachment of some kind, who wasn’t in the race, was trying to get her to run faster. She was fairly whiny. Lot’s of “I can’t.” I tried to offer some words of encouragement as I went by, but she was definitely a hurting runner. I didn’t see the big sign for mile 13 until the last second as there was a clump of spectators standing right there. I did get a split of 6:17, which I chalked up to the extra adrenalin of running with the finishing halfers as well as the enthusiasm of the crowds. It was kind of bizarre to watch the great majority of runners bend towards the left, to the finish line. I only saw a few guys up ahead, continuing on for the full. It was a similar situation to Kiawah Island, where the half runners went left to finish and the full runners went right to run a second loop of the course. So, it really didn’t have a negative mental impact on me. There was a timing mat for us and I flipped screens on my watch to get the race time. Seeing a 1:24:00 (officially a 1:23:59) as I ran over it was good. Overall, I was on target with what I was trying to do. Now, the goal was to run the second half just a bit faster. (For what it’s worth, that 1:23:59 would have placed me 33rd overall in the half marathon and 2nd in the 50 to 54 age group. If what I’m seeing is the same young guy who wanted me to pick it up, well, he finished his race in 1:23:56.) Done with the better half . . . I will say that, though I didn’t necessarily like going by the finish line at the halfway point, I did like that I wouldn’t be trying to weave my way through the back of the pack halfers as I was trying to finish up my full. In that regard, it was a good way to do things. Furthermore, I had been told that the first half of the marathon was the nicer part. And it was set up that way so the half marathoners had a more pleasant race than they would have otherwise. I got to start off my second half by running under I10. And it was a bit more of an “industrial” feel to the area. It might have been about a half mile, this stretch on Poydras Street, and then a right turn onto South Galvez Street. There was one guy that I could really see and he was, maybe, thirty seconds ahead of me. I wanted to keep him in sight to use as a course navigator of sorts. I also knew that we’d be coming back this way, on our way to the finish line, but I wasn’t taking a whole lot of stock in my surroundings. A left turn onto Banks Street and then the 14 mile marker. 6:05. What the . . . Even if the mile sign and the yellow markers didn’t match, they shouldn’t be off by this much. (I can’t say for sure which I was using, the sign or the yellow numbers, at any given point.) I knew I wasn’t running that fast. I braced myself, mentally, for a long 15th mile. A right turn onto Jefferson Davis Parkway. Yeah, I’m in the south. (There’s a statue of somebody on Banks right before the turn onto JDP. I’m not sure who it is.) Now, I didn’t get to actually run on Jefferson Davis Parkway. This is the stretch where we got to run on the sidewalk. An unforgiving surface that wasn’t helping my leg any. Plus there were significant sidewalk ramps at the intersections, complete with concrete barrier things (to keep cars off the sidewalks, I guess). It might have just been a mile on the sidewalk, but it seemed to be a bit longer. I did get a 15th mile split on the sidewalk and was happy to see a 6:26. Well, not really that happy. I still wanted to be closer to 6:20, but, after what I thought to be a short 14th mile, I was pleased that it wasn’t somewhere in the 6:45 range. No matter. In one more mile I’d be able to use my mental trick of running my usual ten mile loop at home. Of course, that trick hasn’t worked out so well these last few marathons. The 16th mile was kind of nice as we ran alongside the Bayou St. John. I could feel my shoes get the urge to get closer to the water. (It was good that nobody was out fishing or I don’t think I’d have been able to control Pop-Pop.) That was on our right and there were houses with the random spectator cheering. Plus an aid station in the bend. I should mention here, it’s as good a place as any, that I didn’t have any real issues with the aid stations. I thought they were placed adequately. Of course, it wasn’t a real warm and/or humid day. I did think the little water cups were a little too little. Plus they were only half filled. That made it more of an issue trying to get enough inside and out. The volunteers were enthusiastic and seemed to be having a good time. As far as a weather note, I don’t think the temperature was a negative for me. I guess it was pretty much in the low to mid 50s with a humidity level in the low 80% area dropping down to the low 60% range. It was mostly cloudy, though I did seem to come home with a bit of tan on my legs. That could just be residual from Disney. It did seem like the wind was a bit stiff on occasion. Not really that bad, just a tough headwind on, what seemed like, random occasions and random directions. Whether or not it was ever a tailwind, I don’t know. Now, back to my running. I covered the 16th mile in a solid 6:22. You know, I thought, I just might be able to do this. And then, during the 17th mile, I dealt with what might have been the worst road surface of the day. The roads weren’t the greatest of things to run on, pretty much all day. Lots of pothole patches. Lots of chewed up sections. Just not a smooth running surface. But this part of mile 17 was a milled surface. The top layer of asphalt had been cleared off, leaving whatever it was for us to run on. Kind of a grooved road of sorts. It was also the only real hill of the day, the overpass above I610. I was still tracking the guy I’d been chasing since the halfway point. But, about this time, a couple of other runners entered the picture. And, not guys that passed me. Rather, they were guys being caught. Hot damn! Roadkill! I finished up the 17th mile getting a 6:24 split. Well, I was running fairly consistently. And down to single digit miles to go. We’ve been on the edge of City Park since the mile marker at mile 16. On the right edge of it. I remembered from the course map that we had roughly seven miles basically going around the edges of the park before starting our journey back on the roads we previously traveled. I was doing well with the “take it one mile at a time” mentality. I knew where I was on my home course and tried to keep that in focus. Mile 18 went by in 6:26. A touch slow, but nothing to really worry about. Well, until I got those same stabbing pains in my left leg that I had back about mile nine. Ok, I thought, the pains went away that last time. They should go away this time, as well. I’m running on a bike path alongside Robert E. Lee Boulevard. Yeah, that southern thing again. I gutted out a 6:38 mile for number 19. Seven more to go. But the leg is not feeling any better. Surprisingly, I passed a couple of guys in worse shape than I. There was also a little aid station hiccup. For all of them, water had been first and Gatorade second. On both sides of the running lane. And usually a follow up water at the end. This time it was Gatorade on the one side, water on the other. I guess that sounds pretty petty. And, I think had I been firing on all cylinders, I could have rolled with adjustment. But, when things aren’t going all that well, minor issues have a tendency to become more than they should. Well, that and the fact that it wasn’t as easy for me to do anything other than run in a straight line. And even that was a struggle. Mile 20 was a 6:34. According to the timing girls, I was at 2:08:30. I really wanted to be closer to 2:07, but I would have taken a 2:08. Thirty seconds over worst case wasn’t a good feeling. Mentally. Physically, I was pretty sure I didn’t have anything more than what I was doing. Well, the good thing was that the leg had stabilized at the new level of discomfort. I knew from last month’s final 10k at Disney, that a 41:30 was about 6:41 pace. If I could run just a touch faster for this final 10k, that would get me my sub-2:50. I guess if I could just maintain something near 6:35 pace, I’d be good. I’m still running the edges of City Park. I’m alongside something called Orleans Outfall Canal (at least that’s what it says on my Google download). I’m still chasing that same guy, though he’s getting further and further ahead. There’s the random park walker/spectator. Mostly it’s just me and my (negative) thoughts. I try to focus on relaxing my body. And my mind. I try to pull some strength from my father-in-law. Mile 21 was a 6:39. Well, that’s just a touch faster than 6:41, but I’m certainly not putting any time in the bank. The leg is getting a little bit worse. I vaguely remember still being on a bike path, but I could be wrong about that. I know there was a golf course here somewhere, but that could have been a mile or so ago. Looking at Google Earth, I go under I610 and some railroad tracks. I have no real recollection of that. The 22nd mile has some twists and turns. I’m struggling when I have to run in a straight line. Twists are not my friend. Turns are the enemy. There’s a hairpin turn. I take a look behind me. There are a couple of guys who are catchable. I mean, I’m catchable to them. I’m kind of surprised that none of the volunteers or course guards have mentioned to me what place I’m in. I know from past experiences that the information is, oftentimes, incorrect. But, it’s generally in the ballpark. I’m curious. But, there’s not a whole lot I can do about it. I’m not going to catch the guy I’ve been following for miles. And I’m not sure I can hold off anybody who has anything left. I continue to run. Mile 22 is a 6:38. I kind of thought it would be worse. I’m in too much pain to be happy it’s not. And the major bummer is that I feel like I could run much faster, at least from a conditioning point of view. The leg just won’t let me. I start to ponder whether or not I’m doing some serious damage. I’m thankful I have five weeks until my next marathon. Yep. I’m an idiot. There’s a little bit of a “bump” as the road goes over some body of water. My shoes get the urge to stop. Is that Pop-Pop? Or is it me? There are official photographers here, but there don’t seem to be any official photographs of me. (I suppose I could check lost and found, but I don’t really care all that much.) It is a nice bump as far as bridge construction goes. Nice and parky looking. Mile 23 is 6:46. The left wheel has gone flat. I’ve left City Park and I start running against outgoing runners. I’m trying to feed off their encouraging shouts. I’m unable to return even a token wave. Just over 5k to go. Mile 24 is 6:57. I’m dragging the undercarriage. I’m surprised I haven’t been caught. There are still lots of folks streaming by on the other side. Mile 25 is 7:01. The timing volunteer calls out “2:42:30” and tells me I’m in 14th place. He also calls out “you’re going to break 2:50!” Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I’m wondering if I’m going to break 2:52. You remember back ago when I said the volunteers were enthusiastic. Well, there were two guys at the last aid station. It was advertised as being at the 25.2 mile spot. So, I had a mile to run. My leg was killing me. I knew I was going to be over 2:50 so I wasn’t in a very great mood. These two guys, older teenagers maybe, were a bit too enthusiastic. Bordering on aggressive. “Take mine! Take mine!” “No! Take mine!” And a little bit frantic and thrusting with their motions. They both had the green Gatorade cups and all I wanted was water. And that’s what I asked for. So, they said it was water. I was in no mood. “C’mon guys, stop f – ing around.” I immediately regretted my outburst. Sorry, guys. I get to the point where I’m supposed to make the right turn on to South Galvez Street. I don’t know why, but it wasn’t apparent to me at the time that I was supposed to go to the right. “Which way do I go?” I asked. I got kind of a blank look from the cop. I guess it was pretty obvious as to which way I was supposed to go. And I’m sure it would have been had I been more in control of things. I did make the right and I could see, way up ahead, the guy I had been chasing forever. I knew where I was at this point and I knew there was just one more corner to turn and then the final straight stretch down Poydras. I didn’t see a mile marker for 26, no big deal. I make the slight bend to the right to head to the finish line. There are halfers finishing the half, but there’s no interference. They have the left side and I have the right. I can see the clock is at 2:50 and change. Lots of change. I’m hoping not to get passed here at the very end, but there’s nothing I can do. My leg just won’t let me. On a positive note, I’m not heaving as I approach the end. Done with the other half . . . I make it over the finish mat, 2:51:16, and I can stop. The last 1.2 miles was done in 8:51, a 7:22 pace. It’s a bit of a struggle to get my chip off, but the volunteer is good natured as she works on my shoe. I am a bit chilled – the temp is in the mid-50s, but there is some breeze – and I’d like to get into some dry clothes. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for me to retrieve my checked bag and I’m quickly out of my damp shirt and into a dry one. Changing shorts requires more of an effort as I have to walk way over there to find a porta potty to step into. If this were a triathlon, I’d just wrap a towel around my waist and do what needs to be done sort of out in the open. On the way over to the porta potty, I spot the beer trucks. There are tremendously long lines of folks trying to belly up to get them some Michelob Ultra. I kind of wonder how many are 5k runners. And/or spectators. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason with the distribution process. I decide to pass, not being that into working that hard to get a cup of Michelob Ultra. Even if they do advertise on my brother’s radio station. I ponder a little bit how the race went. I do believe that the leg issues cost me the 75 seconds or so that I needed to break 2:50. The last 8.2 miles were a pretty big struggle to maintain any kind of form and pace. But, there’s not much I can do about it now. I do end up wading through the mass of humanity for a cup of beer. Actually, as it’s a self service thing, I pour myself two. And I go off in search of people I don’t know. I didn’t mention it earlier, I wasn’t entirely sure how to fit it in, but there was a large contingent of Internet folks at the race and I figured that’s who I was waving to way back on St. Charles Avenue. I knew Internet names, and a few real ones, but I had no idea what anybody looked like. Well, other than Polar Bear whom I met standing at the starting line before the race. (He recognized me. “Barkeep?” I heard. “Steve?”) So, I’m looking for him afterwards. But I didn’t see him anywhere. So, I do have to thank Stace76 for flagging me down as I wandered around aimlessly. It’s really hard to try and recognize people that you have no idea what they look like. I’d hover near crowds, eavesdropping, hoping something would be said that I could place. A name. Anything. But that never worked and I was just about to call it a day when Stace76 recognized me from some of my old race pictures. After everybody got cleaned up, we had a great lunch at a nice brewpub and then more beers and stuff at the bar of the hotel I was staying at while watching the first half of the Super Bowl. I think most of the others, we had 11 of us for lunch, knew each other from prior races. Thanks to all of them for making me feel welcome. I really had a good time. And I appreciated the opportunity to meet and drink beer with a bunch of people who had previously only existed on the Internet. As with everybody I’ve met at any previous event, these people became instant friends. The face to face interactions were comfortable right from the first handshake. But, come to think of it, for two of the larger gatherings of Internet folks I’ve attended, Richmond back in November and here, my races have been a bit sub-par. I wonder if there’s any kind of connection. Oh, wait, there was the large gathering of folks at the Rocket City Marathon back in December of ’07. I managed a PR at that race, so there is the possibility of good things happening after meeting a bunch of strange people. Guess I’ll find out again in Boston in April. There should be a massive accumulation of imaginary friends. At least I know the post-race will be fun. I guess that’s about it for race day . . . The Mardi Gras Marathon gets me the state of Louisiana. That’s number 18 on my semi-serious quest for all 50. It was also my 38th marathon (22 road, 15 Ironman, 1 trail) and, with the 10 ultras, my 48th marathon or beyond finish. The way things stack up, and massive knocking of wood, Boston in April will be my 50th marathon or beyond finish. At some point while working on the first draft of this report, I downloaded a Super Mardi Gras album from iTunes. Just as background music. I probably should have just gone with a Regular Mardi Gras album since it wasn’t really a super race. Super would have been a PR. There were a bunch of pictures that were offered to me for inclusion in this report. And, I may get around to going back and putting some in. As of now, I just don’t have the energy or the creativity. The other thing I started to do was to cut and paste images from Google Earth. Probably violating all kinds of copyright laws. But, again, I just lost energy with that task. So, it’s basically going to be a picture less report. I will include just a couple I got from zzsbzz . . . |
| Post-Race |
 zzsbzz, Randy, blazer85, Polar Bear, indie (in front of Polar Bear), BigTex, Stace76, Barkeep, Brad, echoguy, goodwine (Hmmm . . . I seem to be the only one holding a beer.) (photo courtesy of zzsbzz) |
| Post-Race Lunch at Gordon Biersch Brewpub |
 On the left, front to back: Randy, Polar Bear, Eric1970, indie, Slowstarter On the right, front to back: zzsbzz, Barkeep, blazer85, BigTex, Stace76, M (photo courtesy of zzsbzz) |
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In memoriam . . .
I finished up most of the first draft of this story before my father-in-law passed away, on Friday, February 6. And, even when you know it’s coming, it’s still a painful event. Dad welcomed me to the family with a firm handshake and a cold beer. And he did like to brag on me. “This is my son-in-law, the Ironman” he’d say when introducing me. All in all, a great man who had a full and exciting life. Have fun fishing up in heaven, Pop. You’ll be missed. |
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Thanks, everybody, for reading. If anybody has any comments, queries, suggestions, corrections, etc., please pass them along.
Return to Noone's Saloone & Golf Club. Originally published on February 13, 2009. Happy Birtday to the LOML! |