The Time of My Life

My First Marathon 1978 …I was age 51, and under severe stress when I read an article that touted “aerobics” which, loosely defined, translated into vigorous exercise such as jogging. I was intrigued and one night, before dinner, I was walking with Velvet, our 16 year old Scotch Terrier mutt, when I decided to pick up my feet and trot. I was out of breath after approximately 35 steps. Then, I walked about 50 steps before I recovered and then I trotted again until I was out of breath. After 4 months, I could slowly jog around the block without stopping. So, it is obvious what sad shape I was in when I embarked on one of the most significant adventures in my life. Eventually, I was approaching 3 miles per day and I was addicted, big time. Five days a week I would run at lunchtime with Myra Nelson, a 26 year-old customer service clerk at ATD. One day, while we were running, she suggested that I consider running in a marathon. I responded that she was insane and that it was a miracle that I ever ran a mile, let alone a marathon, which is 26 miles, 385 yards. However, on a daily basis, Myra would bug me about the marathon. Finally, one evening, I casually remarked to my wife, Anne, if I should try to do a marathon. She responded that it was up to me, all of the time hoping that I wouldn’t attempt it. I was accepted into the 1978 New York City Marathon which was scheduled for October and I kept training for months, in anticipation of the big event. I could now run for seventeen miles. When I announced my accomplishment, Anne, my real boss, instructed me to take a stress test. When I informed her that I passed the stress test with flying colors, she immediately instructed me to take another stress test for a second opinion. After I took the second stress test, supervised by Dr. Fred Bove, a young doc who specialized in “old runners” and who later became Chief of Cardiology at Temple University Medical Center, he declared that I may be able to run 17 miles but he wasn’t sure about my running 26 miles, 385 yards. I was in shock. I called him at home and lamented my devastation. He told me not to take everything “out of context” and if I wanted to run in the marathon, I should find “some old guys” who looked like me and run with them. In the event that I suffered a heart attack they could call 911 or try to resuscitate me. To make a long story short, I tortured myself through the complete 26 miles, 385 yards. I was the 7th runner from the end of the NYC Marathon. Later, people would ask me where I finished in the race? I responded “about 25,000”. I saw no one running in front of me and one guy about 2 blocks behind me. While dragging myself through Harlem, the 22 mile mark, a cop said to me “you better get out of here before it gets dark”…   Zander . . . My pal . . . My friend . . . My son! …my heart was heavy. August 10, 2006 Queen, our housekeeper, called me at 4:30 in the afternoon. Zander, my dog, my only son couldn’t get up. He fought with himself to stand on his four legs, but he just couldn’t make it. Queen calmed him down and he just lay on his white blanket, eyes half closed, panting and quietly suffering. Queen suggested that I call the vet and see if he should be put out of his misery. Janet and Eric, my daughter and son in law, offered to take Zander to the vet. When they came to our house, Zander was lying on his white blanket, eyes closed and not moving much. In anticipation of the worst, Eric suggested we prepare Zander’s grave while it was still daylight. I somewhat reluctantly agreed to start digging. I had always planned to have Zander buried in our back yard . . . near us . . . near his home . . . near his rabbits . . . near his squirrels . . . near the roses. We arrived at the vet’s and Dr. Julia Block, came in shortly, smiled sadly and patted Zander. I asked if there was something she could do for Zander and she sadly told me that it was time for Zander to leave us. Janet suggested a sedative first, which was okay with Dr. Block. Zander gradually dozed off and then the vet shaved and swabbed the lower end of his left back paw. She gently inserted the needle with the lethal dose, listened to his heart with her stethoscope and in less than a minute she sadly announced that his heart stopped. The vet wrapped Zander in his white blanket and her helper put Zander in Eric’s van. Janet and I then sat with Zander for the ride back home. Upon our arrival, Eric picked up Zander and carried him to the grave in the rose garden. Anne, my wife, was crying while Queen, our housekeeper, accompanied her to the open grave. All of us, except for Anne who could not face it, placed a handful of dirt on Zander’s white, blanketed body. Needless to say, I was crying like a baby. Eric and Janet shoveled dirt into the grave while I said Kaddish, which is the Hebrew prayer for the dead. Zander was a good dog. He had a good heart. Children could crawl all over him and he loved it. Anne would be annoyed at him because he never barked to protect our house. If a burglar would break in, Zander would probably lie down and play. I miss him terribly, but I know he is in dog heaven, among the roses, chasing rabbits and squirrels.