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Reaching new heights

This past weekend a band of twelve brothers gathered to do battle in downtown Milwaukee and even though the outcome wasn't what I had hoped for, I couldn't be prouder to have been amongst them.

Unlike other occasions when our objectives would be to fight fires, help rescue someone from a frozen pond, or assist one another with whatever mother nature threw our way, we would face a formidable foe that would prove to eventually kick our tail in ways we never imagined.  I can't speak for anyone else but to be totally honest with you I had an idea it was going to be tough.  I was just too naive to think it would really affect me that much.

The adversary I speak of was called Climb Wisconsin and it was put on by the American Lung Association to raise money and awareness for their cause.  And appropriately enough this Valentines Day it was held at the US Bank building on Milwaukee's lakefront.  All 47 floors, 94 flights, and 1,034 stairs were laid out before us to prove myself wrong and many others like me who think we're in about the best shape of our lives.

The objective was quite simple in theory, just not in a practical sense.  Get your carcass, and those of four others in your team, up to the top of a tall building as quickly as you can.  The fastest cumulative time wins.


We all arrived there about an hour before our two teams were set to go up, congregating in the atrium with nine other departments who each staked out their own staging areas.  When it was announced that our teams were to report to the start, we gathered all of our equipment (turn-out gear and SCBA) and began the trek down to the sub street levels.  Unlike the others who had gone before us, the firefighter challenge was to be performed while wearing fifty pounds of gear on your back.  We've all worn this stuff a million times before but today it felt oddly heavier than I could remember.  At this time a few of the guys were asking me how I talked them into this and honestly I was asking myself the same thing.  No problems though, we were all going to run up this thing and laugh about it in about fifteen minutes.  Yeah right!


Once downstairs we would eventually stand in line to wait for our turn to begin.  Although the line wasn't very long, the minute or so that it took to get to the staring mat felt like an eternity to some of us.  Each person is released in ten second intervals and as you get closer you can just feel the amount of adrenalin rising in you.  When you finally reach the mat, a five second countdown begins and off you go.

I went last for my team, so I could hear the tempo of which everyone was clanging away on each stair as they would climb.  After a couple of flights I felt this was a bit slow for my liking so I began to gradually pass everyone.  This proved to be the kiss of death and quickly took me from the front of our pack to the guy laying on the landing that people would have to step over.  I heard that little voice in my head telling me to tone it down but my ego was shouting much louder.  My ego lost.



When I finally peeled myself off the floor it took every ounce of my energy and even more perseverance than I had to continue.  By the twentieth floor I was thinking of excuses to throw the towel in but I just couldn't.  I didn't eat bird food for five weeks and train like I did to quit.  By about the thirty-sixth floor I went down again and this time I didn't think I was getting up.  This was also the time when I noticed that I had a couple of Paramedics following closely behind me and it was a bit annoying and creepy all at the same time.  On one hand I'm angry because my ever so proud self is convinced that there's no reason anyone should have to follow ME, and on the other hand I felt like an injured wildebeest being tracked by vultures.




I assured them that I was fine and they eventually backed off and left me to climb on my own but it wasn't long before I had to take a knee and rest again.  If it wasn't for a guy from Waukegan Fire who stopped to help me up I wouldn't have done it.  At that moment I was about ten floors from the finish with only one floor left in me and I was sure at this time that I had nothing left to go on.  He told me to stay on my feet and keep moving, no matter how slowly.  I did exactly what he said and several flights later the end finally came.  I never got his name but whoever you are brother you were a huge help and I can't thank you enough.


Sweating more than I have ever done, and feeling like my legs were two hundred pounds a piece, I stepped across the finish line and proceeded to find myself a corner to go and die in.  I was happy that it was over and a great feeling of accomplishment was in me but you had to look hard to see it.  I felt bad for my daughter who was waiting there for me and wanted a nice big smile for the camera but I just couldn't muster one up.  I was just happy to be alive at this point.

Although some of us may not have quite met our expectations, to just finish this thing is a monumental task that we can all be proud of.  A few of the guys I'm certain are probably extremely satisfied with their accomplishments and in my opinion require the most honorable of mentions.




From Tichigan, the big winner was one Mr. Kyle Kierstead.  With a 13:59, he was by far the fastest individual in our group.  The little snot didn't have a bead of sweat on him when I finished.  But then again he had plenty of time to take a shower and change clothes before most of us reached the top.  You definitely earned braggin' rights my friend, congratulations to you!



Second place deservedly enough went to Burt Peterson with a 16:26.  That weight vest paid out huge dividends now didn't it?  You provided inspiration to all of us more mature gents so you'll have to do this again next year, and maybe we can take the title away from West Allis.



And rounding out our top three is Tommy Nehring with a 19:17.  I guess I have to take your smack talk now don't I?  By the way, not to belittle any of our boy's accomplishments but those animals at WAFD won the event with an average time of 11:30 per team member.  Man do we have our work cut out for us!

Recognition must also be given to The boys at Rochester Fire.  Mark and his crew did a fantastic job and finished sixth overall in the competition, beating even the guys from Milwaukee.  And this wouldn't be much of a story without Jimmy Nickel.  He belongs to the "mature gent" group that I mentioned before and he finished with a time of 19:32.  What makes his story unique is that he found himself not able to go on at around the twentieth floor just like many of us but it wasn't from exhaustion, he needed a bathroom and he needed one fast!  So he ducked out onto one of the floors and in the dark he found a head, probably choked the thing, (have you seen the size of this guy?) and returned to the competition a couple of pounds lighter and as fresh as a daisy.

Some people!

You would think I was dying

Three weeks ago I visited my family doctor for a routine physical.  For most of my adult life I stuck to a strict schedule of making sure I would get myself checked out every year, but this time I realized that it had been over two years since my last visit.  No worries though, as I felt about as good as I can remember myself ever feeling and I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary.

Everything went great, and the Doc was surprised at how well I was eating and the level of activity that I kept myself in.  I even managed to get out of there with my dignity intact as well.  You see I just turned 45 and have been told for some time now when I could count on the old five fingered kiester drill.  I was convinced that the day had finally come but to my relief I was assured it could wait.  I jumped back into my street clothes, went to the lab to tap some blood, and I was back on the road in twenty minutes.

Two days later the phone rings and it's the Doctor's assistant calling with the results of my lab work.  I'm told that my cholesterol is too high and given the fact that I eat right, I don't smoke, I'm not overweight, and I'm basically in the best shape a man of my age can be in, they suggest prescription medication for me.  But that's not my style.  That's for the greying guy on the TV commercials who runs opposite the male enhancement offers.  Not someone who cycles 120 miles a week and visits the gym regularly.  Again I ask, "why me God?"

I have to think a generally large portion of the population in this world lives with high cholesterol.  And most people know this of themselves and just shrug it off as a minor bump in the road.  But not me!  No my friend, I'm finding myself spending the next three hours of my day Googling everything about what I can do to battle this evil disease that I'm afflicted with.  I put work, family, and friends on hold until I research the medication, find the right diet, and figure out an end to yet another reminder that I'm not 20 years old anymore.

A day later I rise from the ashes with what I affectionately call the "Pansie Boy Grocery List" and it's off to the store to stock up on more wheat, fruit, and green boring things than a man deserves.  My cart is missing crackers, red meat, soups, and all the sustenance that I once thrived on.  The times were gonna change and I was damn well gonna change with it.  And three weeks later I'm proud to say I'm still doing my part to stick with it and actually feeling better for it.

I know I've made a mountain out of a mole hill here.  Although the risk of heart disease is nothing to take lightly, I know that in my case I shouldn't be as alarmed as I was/am.  My case is minor at best, and with the proper diet and medication I should be able to live with this.  Maybe even someday without the meds.

It just stinks when you find yourself getting up in the years and you start to realize all the indicators of it.  That eagle eye you once had is getting a bit fuzzy now.  The flight of stairs once taken with no effort now brings a few extra breaths.  The food you once ate and the alcohol you consumed right with it is now living comfortably forever around your waist.  And that extra skip in your step is more of a trip.

High cholesterol is just another foe to deal with when you've become accustomed to a certain lifestyle that brought you much happiness and gratification.  Most of which was dependent on the size of your plate.  It's not a death sentence.  It's livable, doable.  It's all up to you.  Live for the day or plan for the future.  It's your choice and I for one choose the latter.  I just hope this is as hairy as it gets.  Could you see me with anything serious?

Poor food shouldn't be an apology, but a boast.

I wish I could say that it was me who coined that phrase but I'd be lying.  It was found in the words of John Baxter who writes for Food and Wine magazine and I have to say I totally agree with him.

The article outlines his younger years growing up in Australia and the foods that were prepared not only by his family but those in which he found on his travels to Europe.  My history isn't nearly as grandiose as his but there are similarities in the points that were made.  One particular point being that some of the best meals a person has had may have come from tougher times with the simplest ingredients.

Just look at some of the dishes of our grand-parent's time.  On the Polish side of my family there have been many meals where I can recall Czarnina being served.  As repulsive as I thought it was, my relatives and many others like them truly enjoyed it.  There were casseroles and stews that contained absolutely every piece of the animal that you either shot or brought back from the butcher.  Nothing made it to the floor, it was all in the pot.  Anyone who has relatives who lived through that era and are still alive today will tell you that things were tough for a lot of people back then.  Jobs were scarce, money was tight, and families were large.  If you were going to survive you made sure that nothing went to waste.

By no stretch of the imagination was I raised in hard times.  Both my father and mother worked to provide my sister and I with everything that we could need.  Albeit my sister still believes that I was their favorite and that she should have gotten the braces on her teeth, that in itself is a whole other story.  But even though we were a comfortable middle class family who could afford a nice meal or two here and there we had our share of poor meals growing up.  These were contributed more to time constraints than to any financial hardship.

Meals that consisted of rice and sauce, wieners and potatoes, and ground beef buttered on bread and cooked in a toaster oven.  These were some of the staples of my diet when I was growing up.  We occasionally mixed it up with take-out from several different establishments but when it came time to cook this rotation was a common one in our home.

After all, this wasn't the Cleaver residence.  June didn't stay at home and cook while Ward brought home the paycheck.  With both parents as bread winners there were very few times, if any, where a meal was on the table when we would get home.  Dinner was usually discussed moments before the stove was turned on, and the finished product was determined by what left overs were in the fridge and just how ambitious you were to cook after a hard days work.  Aside from the reluctance to waste anything, I'm thinking situations like these are what must have introduced the world to Shepherd's Pie.

So here I am 30 years later and I'm the appointed chef of the household.  My wife cooks, just not a lot.  And in her defense I'd say that if roles were reversed and she showed as much enthusiasm to spend way too much time cooking as fancy of a feast every night for me, then I certainly wouldn't cook either.  I don't know if it's because of my childhood deprivations that I do this or that I bore too easily and want to try different things.  Either way, I feel I have to go over the top every time I cook.  It doesn't matter if I get home from work at seven-o-clock, an eight course meal is always on my mind.

Honestly though, who has the time to do it?  In our dual income little world we would be sitting down to eat at nine-thirty if leg of lamb and creme brulee were on the menu.  You just can't carve out enough hours in the day to prepare meals like that.  When time is at a premium, we just try not to make dinner from a box.  This I can live with.

So there is something to be said for poor food, comfort food, or whatever it is that you may call it.  No, I'm not talking about a gallon of Haagen-Dazs chocolate peanut butter ice cream.  I'm talking about stuffed green peppers, tater-tot casserole, and yes grilled ground beef slathered on sandwich bread.  If not just for the simplicity in preparing them; it's good stuff that hits the spot, made from things that most people already have in the pantry.  Cooking shouldn't always be a marathon.  Sometimes the best meals are only a few minutes away.

Man I can smell mom's kitchen already.

I hope

So much for the next four years of my life.

I'm disappointed in the recent elections, I'll admit it.  But I can sit around and endlessly complain about things or I can hope that our new chosen leader will do what's right for all of us.  Black, white, wealthy, or poor.  In about two months it will be time for the rubber to meet the road and I can only hope that he does make change happen.

Our health care system needs serious attention and I hope that he and congress can come up with something that is palatable to all of us, not just for the poor.  When it comes to your health your co-payment or deductible shouldn't stand in the way of getting the attention that you need.  And it doesn't matter if you make five grand or five million a year, everyone deserves to have the best coverage possible and at an affordable price.  You can charge us too much at the pump and we can walk, I can grow some of my own food when grocery prices get high, but what are my options when I'm sick and can't afford a doctor?

I truly hope he uses his brains when it comes to this war on terror.  It is getting a bit drawn out, and all of us I'm sure would like to see an end to it but only if it's done in the right way.  If we resort to some knee jerk reaction and pull our troops out, every individual who gave their life for this cause will have died in vain.  This is something I couldn't live with and certainly not the families of these men and women. They deserve more respect than that.

And last but certainly not least, while we're talking about bravery, sacrifice, and patriotism.  I would hope that our leader (who claims he loves this great country of ours and who also has never served a day in the armed forces) learns to put his hand over his heart, remove his cap, and stand for our national anthem like every true american does.

Fair

What is fair?  Fair by definition is being free from bias, dishonesty, or injustice.

Who is fair?  Not a whole hell of a lot of people any more.

Being fair was more predominant in our grandparent's day and age.  Or so I've been told.  People took better care of one another back then.  You worked your tail off for fifty years with one company and you were awarded a pension.  Back then the top brass didn't gamble away your 401K, leaving you nothing and feeling no remorse from it.  And although organized crime and shady individuals were around even in that era, for the most part people really did try to do what was best for one another.

But times have changed and the world has taken on more of a "Me-My-Mine" attitude.  Don't merge in front of "Me" on the freeway.  Don't you dare take "My" parking space, and what's "Mine" is more important than what's yours.  The extent of one's caring doesn't go much further than the confines of their immediate family it seems.  Showing no concern for anyone other than yourself appears to be the norm.

Although this is all very wrong I have learned to live with it to a certain degree.  I don't accept it, I just realize that actions like this are everywhere today and I try not to add anything to make it worse.  What does aggravate me though are the people and the organizations who exploit the meaning of fair and twist it into something that they can live with, or what their warped perceptions deem clear.

I submit to you exhibit A: the Fair Labor Standards Act.  How fair can this be when they explicitly state (relating to overtime in the workplace) that "An exempt employee has virtually no rights at all under the FLSA overtime rules".  It also goes on to add "Nor does the FLSA limit the amount of work time an employer may require or expect from any employee, on any schedule.  ("Mandatory overtime" is not restricted by the FLSA.)

This ridiculous smattering of words has been brought to my attention in the light of a possible strike that may occur within my wife's organization.  Non-exempt employees will be negotiating their contract next year so my spouse and many other exempt employees like her have been given their strike duties should one arise.  The assignment will take her about 200 miles south of where we reside, and result in five to seven 12 hour work days with no promise of returning home until the contract is successfully agreed upon.  In my mind the fairness of this raw deal stops just shy of not providing food and shelter for them . How can the FLSA, as well as her employer, expect these employees to work this type of schedule, for no additional pay, and to possibly be away from their families for such an extended period of time?

And I hate to sound this way but the only thing fair in this situation is the fact that there's a good possibility that these disputing employees could finally have to shell out something for their health care, unlike how they've had it in the past.  Honestly it shouldn't have to be this way for anyone, especially employees of an organization of this size, but today's reality is that there are very few companies who can afford the full brunt end of these costs anymore.  For several years now we've had to pay out-of-pocket costs for our family health plan so what's asked of one group should be asked of all.  Both sides of the workforce should have to pay, regardless of exemption.

Ignorant parents and the wake they leave in their children's lives is also not fair.  It's almost inevitable that one learns that there are distinct lines drawn in the sand between average folk and the fortunate people of this world.  Society opens all sorts of doors for those with money, and greets you with smiling faces if you belong to aristocracy.  But if you're an average Joe like myself and you're not cut from the same mold as these people then you normally spend your time on the outside looking in.

If you're a kid on the other hand, silly titles and checkbook balances aren't determining factors in who it is that you call your friends.  It really shows how messed up we are as adults when we harbor all of these predetermined notions about one another while our kids play together in total oblivion of the other's status.

A couple of years back, my then ten year old daughter had been enrolled in a summer arts program at our local university.  While there she met a young girl in one of her classes and the two of them quickly became friends.  They called each other on the phone and planned sleepovers but very few of their plans would ever materialize.  For my daughter's golden birthday we rented a limousine to take her and her friends out to dinner but both of the child's parents had felt it was inappropriate and declined our offer for her to attend.  Many attempts to get the girls together would go unfulfilled until a comment was made to us that clearly spoke volumes as to why things were what they were.

I don't remember exactly what this child's mother said, as much as how she had said it.  It was clear that she was uncomfortable with where we came from, and all the while she was putting us down for where we lived she seemed totally oblivious to the fact that she was being so rude and condescending.  In her mind there was some kind of difference between our type and where we came from verses the families who lived on Lake Drive.  It wasn't until that comment was made did my wife and I see that this relationship was doomed from the start.  And not by any of the girls wrong doing, but by a parent.  A parent who could only see a social and financial divide between two children and not the friendship that they made with each other.

My daughter had tried to contact her by phone for months after this but the messages were never relayed.  Her calls were never returned.  We had found out that the father owned a popular restaurant in our downtown area, one that ranked very high on my all time favorite list I might add, and one I will probably not set foot in again because of this.  But even if my attempts at a boycott fail to bring this establishment to it's knees I'm sure they'll survive.  Did I mention that the mother is an heir to an established and equally well known family business?  Something tells me they'll do just fine with or without my patronage.

Sadly in that case it's our children who are the ones that ultimately pay for such insolence, but as adults we're not strangers to ignorance and unfair practices ourselves.  Take for instance the neighboring fire company of which I spoke of back in August of 2007 (Does blowing out someone Else's candles make yours burn brighter?).  The group I spoke of back then are still treating my department and my co-workers with such disrespect it's pathetic.  They walk around with their chests puffed out feeling they are above everyone they work with when in fact we have more qualified EMT's on our department than they have on theirs.

Egos are easily bruised, and if it was just that I could leave it there.  But it goes well beyond reputations and bragging rights.  They've stuck their nose in our business far too many times and have single handedly delayed the forward motion of our EMS program.  They claim it's out of their concern for the patient but anyone alive knows it's money related and not much more.

There's also an element of power that they could lose if we forge ahead and succeed with our plans.  Their company is down on manpower and I would attest that some of it is due to their own members being tired themselves of getting treated in such a diminutive manner.  When my department decided to cease operations with them we cut their roster to half so on paper they're a far cry from what they used to be.

If it truly was in the name of greater patient care I could see someone treating us in this fashion, but it's not, and it never was.  Its always been about who calls the shots and who gets the check, something of great priority to the individuals who we're up against.  Our department has plenty of people who are willing and able to provide the level of care that our community and its citizens deserve.  We've also got the equipment needed to do this but for now it sits idle in our building pending further reviews.  We're close, it's just not happening as soon as we'd like due to a few threatened individuals who have no place in our business to begin with.

What it boils down to is that we don't need the approval of a neighboring department for us to protect what is duly ours.  What would be fair in this case is if they would just let us do our jobs.  The hypocrisy in this whole ordeal is that five years ago they chastised us for not having a plan to provide such coverage and now that we can they want to shut us down.  The current system in place does little for our patients and could even put them at risk if we delay transport.  It's one thing to be unfair to someone in the workplace or because of their social or financial status.  It's another when the almighty dollar takes precedence over some one's life.

So what will it take before people are fair to one another again?  We enjoyed it briefly after 9/11 but I think the compassion has died down some since then.  I certainly don't want to wait for another disaster for us to bond again and become more aware of each other's needs.  I think good old fashioned common sense and a little less greed is a good place to start.

No podium finishes in my immediate future

I did it again. In my never ending quest to find out if I can still pilot SOMETHING at speed, I competed in the annual Backwards Enduro at the Badger Kart Club this past weekend. The results were less than expected.

Rewind one weekend ago and you'll find me attempting to actually enter a race in a class that I would belong to had I had a kart of my own. HPV Senior. The name alone conjures up thoughts of older guys like myself who either still have it, or are still convincing ourselves that we do. On the contrary the class age requirement states "16 and up". Sixteen years! Senior? Somehow the two of them don't coexist in my vocabulary.

I quickly put to rest the notion that I could even stay up with these younger "Seniors" and concentrated on anyone with as many wrinkles in their face as I have. After failing to find many of these drivers, and failing to just keep the kart on the track, I began to work on me and me alone.

Seven sessions out on the track and an equal amount of spins and crashes finally dictated that my time was up for the day. In hindsight I feel session three should have been the quitting point but you know how stubborn middle aged men can get. I felt I had some unfinished business to take care of but quickly realized what was unfinished was my ability to spin in EVERY corner and hit just about everything on and off the track. Kart and driver were still in one piece at this point so I retired for the day while I was still ahead.

When Sunday morning came I was so sore I could barely get out of bed. I was in such bad shape physically (and pretty much demoralized) that I had prayed for the forecasted rain to come early so I could avoid looking like a Nancy and pack it up for the day.

Be careful of what you ask for is how the saying goes. As luck would have it I rose to the occasion, sucked it up, and had an unbelievable practice session. I took my normal spot at the back of the pack and as we left the grid I found karts off the track everywhere. In one lap we lost more than half the field, and I was still standing! I went on to record my fastest time of the weekend and managed to save my son from running a half mile to rescue my stranded butt. All of this would be in vain though as the rain literally came while we pushed our karts to the grid for our race. They called the day's events shortly after.

Fast forward one week and a better rested, somewhat wiser version of me is ready to face the music all over again - But in the wrong direction.

Tracks are built to go in one direction. Proper runoff areas are designed to restrain rogue vehicles, saving driver and equipment in the event of a crash. Or an "Off" as we like to say in the business. When you change the direction of travel on the course these large runoff areas are now in the entrance to a corner. What greets you at the exit in most cases is a very small area for mistakes. The club does a nice job of moving hay bales and pillows around to accommodate this but they're still very intimidating when they are that close to you on the track.

My trouble for the day began when certain parts of my anatomy were growing at a much faster rate than my intuition. I kept pushing the limit of how close to the edge of the track I could take my kart to at the exit of the last corner. If I could get this right and carry all of my speed through this portion of the track I could be so much quicker overall. I had to get this right if I was to survive a twenty minute enduro with guys much more experienced and a good deal faster than me.

Le Mans starts are required at events like these, and this year I was a bit late in getting myself on the track. Once I finished stuffing myself in the seat, and Sam got my engine started, I assumed my ever familiar position at the back of the pack.

I worked for what seemed like an eternity at establishing a rhythm where I began to feel like I wasn't going to get run over by everyone. Three different classes were competing in my group so we were never spread out very far from one another. Every lap I took myself further and further out to the edge of turn eleven in hopes of carrying as much speed as possible through the fastest part of the track. In a couple of cases I got my left side just off the track surface and scared the living hell out of myself.

The third time would not prove the charm as I came through with my left side fully in the grass. And like a tractor beam had locked on me, I was collected in an instant with nothing to do to avoid the imminent impact. I went through the pillows, through the hay bales, and through the timing beacon. The hydra barrier was the last line of defense between me and a chain link fence. My day was over and there was only one minute left in the race.

So with that I brushed off my ego, cleaned the kart up a bit, and called 2008 a wrap. Even though I totally choked with a minute left I had a great time. It's my only time behind the wheel every year so whatever comes of it, outside of death and/or mutilation, it's a plus for me. I know now that the smack talk my son tosses at me from time to time is well deserved. I may not see a podium in my near future but I'll be happy to keep working at it. Even if it is only one weekend a year.