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September 28, 2001 - Take That Baby For a Ride
Welcome to Guy Week on 2TheHeart!
"There is no such thing in anyone's life as an unimportant day."
~~Alexander Woollcott~~
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As "Guy Week" draws to a close, I want to thank everyone who sent in email, praising the great stories, poetry, web sites and quotes. It's been a fun week and a tradition I think we should continue with next year!
I am thrilled to present a new and terrific writer to 2TheHeart! Jon's story had me laughing as well as it tugged at my heartstrings. A perfect combination!
"Take That Baby For a Ride"
by Jon Tun
"Once more unto the breach, little buddy?" I ask as I pass the protein shake to my jogging trainer. He glances around, nervously sizing up the competition; this is our first race together, and he isn't accustomed to crowds. After a period of stretching and warm-ups, I sniff near his butt to make sure he's clean. OK, so truthfully he's my one-year-old son sitting in my jogging stroller. The "protein shake" is really a bottle of formula to keep him hydrated during the race. But in a way, he really was my "coach"; during my practice runs laden with both kids and the dog, he would oftentimes turn back to look at me with a wide, chubby grin, indicating that he was enjoying the ride. That smile always spurred me on to push a little harder.
It's early morning late in June (2001) in Chattanooga, Tennessee with about 20 minutes to go before race time in a 5K (3.1 Mile) downtown run. Streets have been blocked off; police and volunteers are on hand to help direct the more than 700 contestants through the designated route. I gaze up after doing the "butt check" and notice a few curious glances; I guess I probably do look somewhat out of place. After all, amidst the throng of "serious" runners stretching and psyching up for the race, there I stand sniffing a baby's butt with a sports stroller and baby-gear (baby bag, diapers, chew toy, etc),
formula in hand.
Sheepishly, I park our "sideshow" near the rear of the crowd as the announcer states "Runners, choose your positions; faster runners near the front". I strap my son Keanu in and he compliantly settles in. Fortunately we were blessed with a pretty laid-back kind of personality in this one; last thing I needed was for him to be wailing and screaming just before the starter gun goes off. A voice to my left shouts "Hey, you made it...with a stroller!" I glance up to see a friend of mine who is also running. I make some offhand remark like "Uh, yeah, he's my personal trainer" or something to that effect, trying to hide the fact that I feel a bit awkward. As the time to start draws near, the crowd gathers in tight all around us, and I glance down at my son who is now looking rather tepid in disbelief, not knowing what to do.
The gun goes off. We wait. Being near the back, it takes a while for the "pack" to get rolling ahead of us. Finally, we get to slowly roll at little more than a walking pace, careful to not overrun the people in front of us. The crowd is rather thick for the first mile or so, until the pack starts to stretch out. Mile marker one goes by, as the timer person shouts out timestamps for pacing. "Hey, this isn't half bad!" I think to myself. I guess compared to pulling twice the weight and dragging a dog, carrying only one kid didn't seem as difficult.
So I start pouring on the speed, maneuvering just outside the marker pylons to keep from running into anyone. The tires squeak a bit, giving plenty of fair warning to the surprised joggers getting passed by a baby in a stroller. My son settles into his "poker face" - serious expression, concentrated straight ahead; that's right son, it's all business now.
Mile two rolls by and my side starts to ache; I don't think my body is normally used to this pace. Adrenaline must have kicked in because it goes away after a while sometime after I pass the water station. I take a sip and dump the rest on my sweaty head. "Oh my Gosh, you're passing me up with a stroller!" my friend shouts in disbelief as I pass. Sorry mate, all's fair in 'warfare'. As I pass, I hear a few other people say things like "Hey, look at that guy with the stroller!", or "Gee, can you believe it?" and my male macho showboat pride helps me strut my stuff for a while longer. But a quarter mile from mile marker three I find myself heaving, heart pumping in my head, sweating profusely. I don't know if I can make it at this pace, and begin contemplating walking.
Out of nowhere I hear "Hey, Mr. Hurricane Heights!" I turn to see a former neighbor of mine roughly running the same pace, so I welcome the distraction. (We used to live a subdivision called "Hurricane Heights") We chitchat a bit, and he helps pace us to the final quarter mile bend. People along the side are shouting words of encouragement "You can do it!" "Go, go, go!" and I pour on whatever I've got left. My son is looking all about at the shouting, wondering, "What the heck is going on?" as I surge forward. "Push it, push it! Long strides" I think to myself on the final stretch.
Body aching, legs pumping, I stretch forward with all my might, straining to nudge the buggy milliseconds ahead of another runner at the finish line. Yes! We did it! All right! Dripping with sweat, I pick up my little trooper; he did so well! I was proud of the little guy and gave him a big fatherly hug and kiss on the cheek.
The elation mixed with exhaustion carried on for another day or so. Legs were still a bit sore as I opened the local newspaper. Surprisingly, there on the last page of the sports section is our picture - me panting and sweating like a pig, pushing a stroller with two little dark eyes peering out. Must have been taken near the final bend. Some day son, I'll have to show you this picture and read you this story so you believe me.
To this day I still run into people that say to me "Hey, aren't you the guy with the stroller? You passed me up!" Sure, I swell with pride, but I tell you something - 'tis truly a father's greatest dream, that his son surpass his most significant accomplishments, on the track as well as in life. That legacy would make me the proudest. Until then, hmmm, there's that half marathon in October....
Jon Tun copyright 2001
jwtun@tva.gov
Jonathan Tun is a third generation Asian American (Chinese and Japanese mix) born in Chicago, Illinois (1963). Besides enjoying writing, he is an avid exercise enthusiast and philanthropist, currently serving on the board of directors for "Hope for Chattanooga" (a Chrstian-based community outreach organization). He is employed as a programmer/analyst for the Tennessee Valley Authority (T.V.A.) residing in Chattanooga, Tennessee with his wife and two children.
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The Letter Box:
Dear Mr. Segal,
I enjoyed your previous two stories and admire your courage and fortitude in life. You have made me want to be a better person. Today's story about your father really hit home with me, as I had a similar experience with athletics as a child. I had polio and although I had the heart of Babe Ruth, I didn't have the physical strength I so badly dreamed of having. For many years I tried to chase this dream, and somehow stumbled onto science and medicine as a young college student. I wanted to help other children like me and became a pediatrician. I have followed this dream and have had the opportunity of truly making a contribution to society and to families that I wouldn't have had had I followed the dreams of my youth. In the end, I was thankful not to have been made in the image I wanted, but rather in the image God wanted for me.
~Dr. Simon Nugg
Dear Susan,
Have so enjoyed your "Guy Week"! Your men writers are very talented and Michael's story about his dad reminded me so much of my own father and what a joy he was. Thanks for this week.
~Mary
Dear 2theheart,
I am a "closet" writer of inspirational stories. I have been reluctant to show them to anyone, as I am also an college athletics coach and didn't want to appear "sissy". Your week of "Guy" stories has motivated me to crank open the files and let a few loose! Thanks a million!
~Mike Rose
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