Journal entry
Feb 17, 2024
An eventful morning on the Farm
My family has lived on this property out along Hwy 1 since around WW2 and most mornings I follow a strict but enjoyable routine. Up just before the sun rises over the cane fields , I brew a pot of coffee and check the weather. Then I enjoy a quiet morning with my thoughts, some prayer and maybe even a good book.
But this morning …this morning my routine was , well, I’ll put it politely and say it was disturbed. You see, shortly after the weatherman informed me that today’s forecast was not fit for man nor beast , well I heard just that. A man , my nephew, in the yard hollering at some sort of animal. On closer inspection out my kitchen window it was no beast making these noises but a hybrid redneck dialect being emitted from another human he insisted on calling a paradox. He was in a truck loaded nose to tail with tents and tables like Jed Clampett. “Shoot fire Yankee this is a mighty fine residence, hope tha skeeters ain’t neer bad as the peltch last beatdown” he said while looking around the farm. I expected him to have no teeth at all but he only seemed to be lacking inseam in his shorts. A paradox indeed.
To my amazement, my nephew, the one he kept calling Yankee, seemed to know and welcome him and they began putting out cones and yard signs in a cold rain storm just happier than two pigs in the sunshine. Things were getting quite strange here , and little did I know it was just the beginning.
By 7:15 the rain had let up but the floodgates of middle aged men with knee braces and headbands were now wide open. Short , tall, thick , thin, they all piled in helping setup a flooded tent and passing around gold baun sticks and theraguns. Some dressed for the weather while others invested in Himalayan technology to keep there mammary glands chafe free. There seemed to be no distinction in vehicle either as they stepped from punisher Tundras or eco friendly wagons. They greeted old friends with butt slaps and elbow taps yelling obscenities like FracSac and Goosey. Quite frankly , I don’t even care to know why a Hawg would even need a cycle. This ceremony continued until there were dang near 30 of them loitering around our property! I had the authorities dialed up when I was informed they had gathered on purpose AND for a charity cause AND my nephew had actually planned on them being here! Tomfoolery! The very definition!
I settled back into my armchair to take a breather. That’s when the foghorn went off …and they started running.
The first one I saw break away from the pack looked like he had been taken right off the cover of one of those running magazines. A stride so Smooth you would swear he was standing still but hard to reconcile that with the 1/2 mile lead he had most of the day.
Behind him were 3-4 others seemingly using this gazelle as a pace car and weighing options that he couldn’t keep that pace all day..right..right?! (He would)
They had one young enough to be 15 with spring loaded rubber for legs and others flexing the scars of midlife ,held together with bioflex and gorilla glue.
Behind this second group were the real rabble rousers. A pack of 10-15 wild dogs complete with mobile tunes, homemade JV shirts and promises every turn that “I think this is it for me boys..wink, wink”
A few ringleaders in this pack but the real Don Corleone was a highlighter vested gentleman they all called Popeye. He was not blazing land speed records but something about the way he set his jaw let any observer know he wouldn’t be denied his mileage goal.
They all hit the first corner in site of the quarter mile cone and stared down a cold and wet 15mph headwind, lovely. Gosh I wonder if any of them had cozy pickleball scheduled today.
In between miles I saw various strategies of recharge. Some gorged calories , others walked it out , and some stood still contemplating the next lap. Many of these hooligans searched for a man who I guessed to be their local shaman but lap after lap he wore many more hats (and one whistle) . One part coach , one part field general, his intimate knowledge of the men was palpable . Some he pushed harder, others he let down easy, both equally effective in getting his men’s best effort. He delivered speeches to ward off ego and checked joints for oil leakage like a seasoned mechanic. With a firm nod or a head turned grin he communicated his trust. This was a leader of high impact men from any viewpoint. He whistled and they ran. They ran and he whistled.
The wind blew. The socks got wet, got swapped out and got wet again. Many met their goal mileage, passed it and kept on churning. By about 11am most having exceeded a half marathon at this point, most took a bowl of delicious pastalaya and continued to cheer on the rest.
By around 2pm there were 4 still running . And when I thought I had heard it all one yelled “back the cones up” and they took off for one last trip, this time for 1.2 miles. The gazelle in front still as fresh as mile 1 but that ole hawg wasn’t far behind. They all knew he had a little sand left in those bags. The third man was a true bewilderment. His physique suggesting he could walk on as an NFL tight-end but his running demeanor at mile 26 was simply unbothered. The redneck brought up the rear and surely he thought there was a bud light promotion for finishers. (there wasn’t, but a Coors from a friend was even better)
The gazelle found the finish line first only a second in front of the hawg and the artist they called Tana only a furlong after that.
And as the miles piled up I pondered to myself “why would they do something so utterly stupid “. With time on my hands, as the trucks loaded with tents and boxes dispersed , I came to three potential conclusions.
Was it fitness driving them ?
Surely this looked plausible as some had clear physical gifts and several maintained peak cardio strain. Were these average Yankee Jeaux’s striving to be Americas Best athletes? Unlikely. But I can only say it seemed the fitness got them here, but it was not the reason they stayed for more. An appetizer of sorts, maybe stellar quads is just the byproduct ….so I kept searching.
Were they just here to fellowship? Some signs pointed in this direction. As soon as I saw the Solo Stove fire pit I knew a high fluting party was in full swing. This crew obviously knew how to have a good time and the verbal assaults flying along with answered grins of disdain indicated enjoyment of each others company. I’m Closer to the mark here but…but no. Not quite the primary driving factor I could sense.
So if they weren’t fitness professionals and most would think a better party is available at any other watering hole then what’s left ?!
Hidden amongst the laps, intertwined between these fun loving family men, was the intrinsic need to put ones own pain aside. To combine that suffering with the brother next to him and have it all be for something much larger than themselves. That’s why they ran. Every step counted , every lap mattered. It was “only a mile” they said to each other .
But it seemed like so much more.
This was a fine day.
Postscript
Congrats to NOLA’s Smooth for winning the first annual IOAM! See ya next to year to defend .
Second place – The OG sandbagger himself Mr. Hawgcycle
Third place – Wilford Montana – forged in the fires of deep Bourg pickleball this was truly impressive brother!
To all that ran today (and one that whistled), thank you for your time , effort and commitment to raise money for several great causes today and during RCR.
Thanks to Rudy for the ground support and motivation. You really stepped RCR up this year!
Special Thanks to Enron and Bourgeois Meat Market for the awesome lunch!
As usual artistic liberties were taken in portrayal of backblast characters but Reluctant Yankee and his family were overwhelmingly gracious hosts . Huge thanks to his family for having us invade their Saturday!
It’s a privilege to lead.
SYITG
Paradox
