Do You Still Run? - Part 4: Ho, Ho, Ho-ly Crap.

Sunday's runners and walkers.

Running at 40 would be much easier if you weren't constantly reminded that you are on the back end of the running spectrum.

December marks the fifth month of my effort to not look completely foolish at The Buck Fifty 150 mile relay in April. Wrangled into it by some longtime friends, I've been slowly retraining, reprogramming and reminding my body of what it once was from top to bottom. Along with running nearly everyday, I have been (and hope to continue) to run races each month to break up the monotony and give myself short term goals to achieve.

At this point in time I'm forcing myself into longer casual runs, gradually increasing my capacity for pain and suffering. Now that I have some base to work with, those hills are licking their chops eagerly awaiting to bring me back down to Earth. My longest run yet, about a week ago, of 6.2 miles felt reasonably good and had its fair share of slight inclines and "sort of" hills. Though my calf muscles paid the price for a few days thereafter, I couldn't stretch them enough to keep them from tensing up like abdominal muscles fighting a roller coaster down hill.

Finishing loop #1

The current goal on my list is to break the 20 minute 5K barrier, I've fallen just short in my previous two attempts. Having had a good week of pace training, I was hoping last Sunday's Run Santa Run 5K at Easton Town Center in Columbus would be a big step forward. Of course, it had to be stupid cold and windy - December 4th wouldn't have had it any other way. Warming up isn't - and hasn't - been an issue, its getting myself fluid quicker. It takes a few minutes, once the race starts, to work out the bugs or kinks to find a rhythm. The quicker you find it - the faster you can focus on the run. And when it's cold, it gets that much more difficult. Think like the cold starting of an engine on a frigid day...like that.

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Knowing there were a few rabbits, I was hoping to use them to help pull me along. At the gun, I felt good and it did take a few moments to get my breathing in sync with the neck down. I could definitely feel the piercing cold air as well as the rustiness in my knees and as luck would have it, the rabbits came to play.

The Suzy Favor Hamilton clone near 

the finish, I'm nowhere 

in sight....of course.

The first time through the two loop course, I had a few folks ahead of me and was able to keep within 50 to 60 meters of the leaders, using them as the benchmark for how I was doing. The flat course was easy to navigate and you could see the course turns from a distance away. It made me smile noticing the younger runners near me were staying in the middle of the course or staying on the opposite side of where the upcoming turns were, instead of drifting towards the turn side. Not only did this mean that they were running a slightly longer path than I, but they had to slow down and let me ahead of them or adjust and go around me when we hit the curves. They may have been faster in the long run, but they had some work to do in regards to running smarter.

About a quarter of the way through lap number two - when I was relatively by myself and feeling great - this severe punch in the gut and confidence destroyer in the form of an 11-year-old girl with this ridiculous stride blows by me. The 4-foot nothing leg turning machine didn't just slowly pass me, it was like she was one of those marathon hijackers who inconspicuously jump into the middle of the race and act like they have been there the entire time. And she was moving like she was being summoned back to her other worldly homeland after years of banishment and had been longing to return.Within seconds she had a comfortable lead on me and within a minute all I could see was the tiny purple blur of her shirt.

Luckily I was able to hold steady, but still quite quite bewildered.

My age group winning photo op 

with the man from up north. 

And casually promoting 

Commonhouse Ales Brewery

Now there were 552 people who showed up for the run/walk and it seemed about half of them were of the walking sort. I only know this because the last mile was littered with walking obstacles. So running a mostly straight line was near impossible and, at times, the groups of about-to-be-lapped walkers would congregate along the full width of the course. Being short on additional breath to make ourselves known, we were forced to play a game of Tetris - searching for the quickest and fastest opening without running over or through anyone. Needless to say it was like descending a hill via switchback trails to the finish line.

Still with the rabbits within my crappy eyesight (fuzzy moving objects with similar colored running gear) and focusing on pace and stride, I finally race through the candy cane colored finishing arch. I was winded, but the body felt good - it was finally starting to cope with the fact that this wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

Shotgunning a bottle of water, I plug my race bib number into the digital results monitor and discover that I have placed 7th overall, first in my age group (it is so weird to me to be now associated with the 40 to 44-year-old age group) and used a 6:20 mile pace to post a finished time of 19:40. I was beaten by two adult males, four high school dudes and a preteen Suzy Favor-Hamilton clone. I reached my goal of a sub 20 minute 5K and beat my previous return-to-running PR by more than a minute.

Post race Columbus Brewing IPA 

at Bar Louie and race stats.

My personal glory was gifted with an age group winning Christmas ornament, a souvenir t-shirt and pint glass, as well as a free beer from nearby Bar Louie (Yes, It had to be a domestic beer - but it was a FREE beer. I followed it with a Columbus Brewing IPA on my own dime).

My foreseeable running future will consist of increased mileage and monthly races that are longer than my 3.1 mile standard - that is until The Buck Fifty rears its ugly head in April. And yes, that sounds just as daunting today as it did five months ago...

"A body in a culvert pipe on a construction site in the middle of an alfalfa field" - Gil Grissom
 (Sorry, binge watching CSI on Netflix has been getting the best of me)




Step 1 - Do You Still Run? Part 1 Getting Started: COMPLETED

Step 2 - Do You Still Run? Part 2 Being Consistent, Make Progress: COMPLETED

Step 3 - Do You Still Run? Part 3 Increasing Mileage: COMPLETED

The Buck Fifty on Facebook

Do You Still Run? - Part 3: The Time Change Abyss

On the cusp of getting out of my comfort zone and increase my mileage for quality longer, more efficient runs and we hit the "fall back" time change. This give and take with my mind is getting ridiculous.

My ideal time to run is after work, though "falling back" on Sunday the 6th now makes it so that it will be near black as night when quitting time comes. Not to mention this week, two days later, was the dark and stormy night that was the election - and running wasn't the top thing on my mind. Luckily, my last race SWAG bag came with a lighted LED bracelet that flashes green. So that helps to keep from being a human speed bump a little.

Finding daylight and keeping myself loose are now struggling to meet one another on a consistent basis. By being loose, I mean being myself and not thinking about it too much. Some just don't get it, which reminds me of my college cross country/track coach at Morehead State. He didn't think I took anything seriously, or at least, seriously enough... which was the furthest from the truth. I don't put on headphones/earbuds and zone out to prepare. I'm myself - getting all serious and quiet just adds nerves and additional butterflies I don't need. I don't work like that.

At Tennessee Tech my junior track season, coach called me out among my teammates for wearing this shirt I had received from my dad in high school during my warm-up prior to the half-mile event. Now, this shirt was funny and fit my personality - it had the image of a piece of a cardboard box and on it had the scribbled phrase, "Will Race For Food". I loved that shirt and had worn it to every track/cross country meet through high school and up to that point. It was my routine - not an attempt to show anyone up. True, that shirt was old, well worn, and had the sleeves cut off...but it was part of my system. The point is that we all prepare in our own way and I'm still just as unconventional today.

Another example, headphones and earbuds: for running - I am not a fan. I want to hear what's going on around me and be cognizant of what I'm doing. I don't want or need a distraction. In high school and college I spent this time thinking about school, sports, women, etc. Now I use this time to keep myself motivated as my body puts up its defenses against running, sending nonchalant subliminal messages that simply stopping will feel soooo much better.

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OH..and I have wanted to many times - but its easy to stop, Its easy to give in but it takes twice as much effort physically and mentally to restart. I want to fight the demons, I don't want to distract myself from them. LISTEN to your body, IGNORE today's crappy music. (Yes...you heard me...CRAPPY MUSIC).

Finding the time to put in the miles and be at least somewhat prepared for races is challenging. The races being a way to remind me that I agreed to The Buck Fifty 150 Mile Relay four months ago and have five more months to be ready. Think what you will, but that is not a lot of time.



Last Saturday's Royal Family Kids: Run For Kids 5K at Marion's Tallgrass Trail was stop #2 on the 2016-2017 Fall/Winter/Spring You Bat Sh*t Crazy Nut Bag Tour sponsored by You Idiot, You're 40 Liniments and Medicated Heat Wraps. My one misstep may have been signing up for this race too early. I discovered shortly thereafter that the Columbus Beer Mile was on the same day and roughly at the same time. Upon further review, running and chugging a beer every quarter mile would not have had the best of outcomes. Though I would have liked to  have taken a stab at it. It is better that I settled on the post 5K beer (or three).

A couple of weekends ago, while volunteering for the Ohio Craft Brewers Association's Dia de La Cervezas in Dayton - one of my fellow volunteers (George) and I were talking about running. George, about 10 to 15 years my junior, looked at me like I had a beer tap coming out of my face when I told him I had just missed breaking 20 minutes in my first attempt at reviving my past glory the week before. I guess that meant I was doing something right, though he was sort of new to running.

Saturday's race was cold, really cold. A nice 28 degree morning, but plenty of sun so it did warm up - but ever so slowly. The first half-mile was smooth, but I could feel my legs begin to scream as the tightness crept in from the frigid air. Coaxing my lower torso along, we made it out of a tree line and into open field and full sun. The slight increase in heat felt good, but it was behind me so my face was numb.

Then it dawned on me that I could no longer hear anyone behind me. Since the course was roughly a mile and a half out and a mile and a half back, I'd see someone sooner or later, but it was comfortable working on my race without distraction. Reaching the halfway point, I grab a quick drink at the water station and turned to see my closest competitor about 150 or so meters behind. Wanting to use this time to work on some things, I increase my stride and focus on maintaining it for the duration of the race.

Now I had the sun on my face, but with a good chilly breeze that made my eyes water profusely. Squinting to the finish was fun, I'm sure it made it look like I was in more pain than I actually was - though at least I could feel my face again. Obviously not the most competitive race in the world, but none of us were looking to set the world on fire. I was lucky enough to cross the finish line first at 20:47. Second went to David Rardon, who I later discovered was also a former runner attempting a sort of comeback. We chat for awhile, shared some past glory and may end up training a some together in the future.

My reward for winning? A 3 month membership to Anytime Fitness with two free personal training sessions...and a t-shirt. Nice, but I think I'll stick to my current training regime. I'm still looking to attain my goal of a sub 20 minute 5K, it is within reach. Though, something has to be said for consistency as I was just seconds off my time from three weeks before.

Oh, my Chillicothe cousin says her dad - my uncle and former OHSAA track official - may be willing to help with hill training at Zane Trace High School's Agony Hill. Agony and I have a storied, less than cordial history. I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

Getting closer to The Buck Fifty, five months and counting...



"The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep." ~  Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.

Step 1 - Do You Still Run? Part 1 Getting Started: COMPLETED

Step 2 - Do You Still Run? Part 2 Being Consistent, Make Progress: COMPLETED

Step 3 - Do You Still Run? Part 3 Increasing Mileage: COMPLETED

Step 4 - Do You Still Run? Part 4 Ignore Arctic Ohio: Mother Nature's Winter Vaction

The Buck Fifty on Facebook

Do You Still Run? - Part 2: Tuned Like An Unreliable Car

So I finished the remainder of August, and all of September, by settling into a running routine of around three or four workouts a week. The every other day thought process was to avoid running myself into the ground before ever actually getting off of it. Preparing for April's The Buck Fifty relay race is definitely an uphill battle.

There were days of feeling smooth and strong; and many more feeling like Andrew Dufresne entering Shawshank State Prison for the first time. Things have had a sporadic flow to them, leaving my running confidence something to be desired. We'll call this state of mind...the 1985 Ford Tempo GL or, better yet, the 1986 Pontiac J2000 (now known as the "Sunbird"). The characteristics of these two former vehicles of mine mirror how my body is responding to running consistently again.



The J2000 Days: I can run nice and smooth for a time, but then suddenly not - for no particular reason. Then, just the same (like nothing happened - a mirage, if you will), back to feeling good. Its as if something decided I needed a half time or intermission. Why? Just because...not that there was  anything wrong...just...because.

* The Tempo GL Days: They key word here is "tempo" - which is short for "temporarily". I can run and be okay with it until a part of me doesn't like it. Which part? It doesn't matter, pick a card...any card. Whatever you get will be correct. Running roulette says it will be my knees, no..LUNGS, or cramps...no, no, no...legs? LEGS! Yes, the legs! Ha, ha, ha - yes my friend, I'm sure it will be in due time. We can't have everything working at once...remember, you are 40 now!

To better judge my progress, I decided to enter a mid-October 5K race. Not to actually race mind you, but to see how I would respond. So working my way toward this date was evolving in a positive direction, until the Sunday before.

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Seven days out, I develop a scratchy throat. By the end of the following day, I had the full blown flu. I was running a temperature, had cold chills, head and chest congestion, no energy and shortness of breath - even walking to the fridge was a chore. I called off work Tuesday & Wednesday and barely moved from the sofa. Come Thursday I was able to go back to work and fulfill my scheduled late shift. By Friday almost all of that nastiness had left my body, though some of the congestion remnants hung on for dear life.

I felt decent enough to put in an easy two miles or so after work, which was good....though my race was now less than 18 hours away. I haven't run at all, essentially, for a week and I'm coming off of a severe case of the flu (that is still somewhat lingering) and I have a race tomorrow.

Yes, fate just took a big crap on my plans.

The start/finish, I'm the fluorescent one 

in front. That's before reality set in.

Despite myself, Saturday's weather was perfect and I felt surprisingly good. Friday's brief run was a big help, if not a reminder to my creaky body what it was doing before the illness storm.

With my nerves running high, the gun sounded and we're off. My fear was that my adrenaline would have me set out way to fast, luckily that wasn't the case. But it was soon obvious that the week off was coming back to bite me. I could feel the staleness and fatigue in my legs. Coaxing my body into a decent pace - I tried to ignore the other runners. Something that, in the past, I've been unable to do...my competitive mind usually has the upper hand.

Focusing on my breathing, stride and pace and then increasing the latter two with about a mile to go wasn't easy. The time off had thrown a wrench into my race strategy, but my goal of breaking 20 minutes still seamed like a possibility. Using the slight decline to pulled me through the finish line (which was actually a make-shift evil pumpkin face, so you finished by running into its mouth).

I was worn out - but not dead. To still be breathing was at least one goal I was able to achieve complete with the consistent phlegmy cough my weak lungs were producing as they tried to free themselves from the flu's last gasp. Dousing them with several bottles of post race water only slightly eased the hacking through my semi-clogged airwaves.

The eventual posted results were a pleasant surprise as I finished better than I had thought, though I still didn't break the 20 minute barrier. The official chip time had me at 20:48. Not bad for a week off, three days of the flu and its stragglers playing the part of that friend who just doesn't get the hint that the party is over and needs to just simply leave but is too dumb to get it. How many times does one need to dim the intermission lights before you shove his loitering ass out the door??

But I digress - I had a plan and it was carried out relatively the way I had hoped. And I wasn't physically carried out...like on a stretcher or something, WIN!

Step 1 - Do You Still Run? Part 1 Getting Started: Completed

Step 2 - Being Consistent, Make Progress: COMPLETED

Step 3 - Increasing Mileage: ....making mountains out of mole hills here...and its looming like a menacing dark cloud. Nothing a beer or three can't fix...right...?

The Buck Fifty on Facebook

Do You Still Run?

...those four words are making my challenge prone mind regret thinking that getting back to running after several (times two or three) years off would go smoothly. I knew it wouldn't be easy - but visions of those glory days were just too strong.

Last month, Mark - a high school friend and track/cross country teammate -  hit me up on Facebook with this phrase, "Do you still run?" I made a joke about running from the police, but indicated that running regularly wasn't something that takes place in my current routine. Though playing pick-up flag football with guys 10-15 years my junior, then spending the next week recovering from it was, however, part of my routine.

Mark was reaching out to ask if I was interested in taking part in a relay race in our hometown in April and a few of our former teammates were joining in. Without hesitation, thinking it would be a blast,  I agreed. That's when Mark dropped the bomb.

http://www.thebuckfifty.com/

This race would be a 150 mile relay (Holy SH*T Balls! - may have been my first reaction). He proceeds to explain that this is a 24 hour relay with teams of 10 members running three legs a piece. Sooo...after changing the shorts I had just soiled, there was some salvation. I was going to be tasked with just 15 of those 150 miles and not in one gauntlet of self loathing and a slow, painful death. But rather three legs fulfilling the 15 miles, my mind began to relax...sort of.

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Visions of what I used to do as a runner still linger and overpower my thought process whenever it so chooses. I haven't been a runner for about 15 years and haven't been "running" for about five. And everyone will tell you that getting back to it after years off is extremely difficult. Its as if your body is telling you, "F-you man, we aren't doing that again." It doesn't help that I turned 40 eight months ago. As a matter of fact I think most of our proposed team is, just turned or is about to turn the big 4-OH. And our former high school track coach has agreed to be our rescue..er, I mean..SUPPLY...van driver for the race.

I gave myself a hard start date to begin running something of some kind on August 1st - giving me nine full months to prepare. Lets just say it could have started better, but it wasn't absolutely awful:

Monday, August 1st - 

Con: I knew this would happen - I worked from 11:15 to 8:15 on this day and didn't feel much like running after work - also it being 88 degrees outside didn't help either.

Pro: I drank two beers - and GOOD beers at that!

Tuesday, August 2nd -

Con: Damn it! This is my nine hour workday and just the same as yesterday. Didn't I tell you this would be as much a psychological thing as it would be physical?!

Pro: Our new kitten enjoys my company! Can I transfer his energy into my body somehow? I think I'll leave that process up to President Trump - I think I just puked little.

Wednesday, August 3rd -

Con: "Hello mind, this is your body. This correspondence is to inform you that we are gathering clans from seven nations and all over the globe to destroy your rogue plans to get us to join this ridiculous crusade to be something you once were. You have been warned: Cease and desist.

With Regards,

Your Neck Down

P.S. We control all imports and exports - just remember that.

Pro: I did it! I actually ran. It may have been only three miles, but it happened. It started well - then pain and exhaustion set in, but I didn't stop until I completed my route. Crap that was rough and I so wanted to stop, and came damn near close to doing it.

And why have my lungs shrunk to the size of almonds?!

Thursday, August 4th - 

Con- There is no way on god's green Earth I was going to be able to do that for a second straight day. Are you serious? I'm not a freakin' miracle worker!

Pro: My calves are on fire and may have been surgically removed without my knowledge. Rest is good - that is all.

Friday, August 5th-

Con: "Dear Sir, you obviously are taking our previous communication lightly. Please understand that continued disregard of our stern warning will result in serious detriment to this endeavor and will likely not turn out well for you.

Hugs and Kisses,

Those of us below

Pro:  Same route, same result: no stopping and the focus on form was good. A decent pace and no attempt at being superman (high fives!). It hurt just as much though, but I worked through it. Just two days - but I'm proud of myself.

My legs - what did I do with my legs?

Saturday and  Sunday, August 6th and 7th -

I should mention that I'm easing back into the running thing. This weekend was the first full weekend off with nothing planned in months. I did nothing constructive - other than the day trip to Findlay, on Sunday.

I will bite off more than I can chew in due time. For now - baby steps...or, rather, middle age steps (cautiously optimistic strides with a bit more pain and suffering than, say, 20 years ago).

Interesting - that parachute looks a helluva lot like a knapsack, doesn't it?

I will keep you posted.

Climer Family Obit: Making Them Smile till the End

So Uncle Roger passed away a few days ago after battling ALS for six months. A great funny guy who just couldn't get angry at anything. My family as always been of the backward sorts, even during those "its a fact of life" things. Below, you will see what I mean.

And, yes, you will notice that Uncle Roger passed away on the same day as his brother (Uncle John) and father (Grandpa Joe). Not creepy at all...

Keep smiling Uncle Roger...tell grandpa and John that we miss them too.

D. Roger Climer

Born: October 30, 1957
Died: December 06, 2015

D. Roger Climer, 58, of Londonderry, was taken too soon at 8:27pm on Sunday, December 6, 2015 at his home, surrounded by his loving family, following the fight of his life with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease). 

http://www.hallerfuneralhome.com/home/index.cfm/obituaries/view/fh_id/12580/id/3516689  

He was born in Londonderry to Joseph and Genevieve (LaPine) Climer on Halloween Eve 1957, ruining trick or treat night for his siblings; and they held it over his head for years. On June 28, 2003, he married the love of his life, Heather Davidson-Climer.

In addition to his wife and mother, Roger is survived by his beloved son, Eli Climer; a brother Michael (Judith) Climer, of Londonderry; three sisters, Linda (Rodney) Dilley, of Richmond Dale, Janet (David) Whitehouse, of Chillicothe; and Kathy (Rodney) Skaggs, of Chattanooga, TN; his mother-in-law, Lois Davidson, sister-in-law, Heidi Davidson, both of Londonderry, a brother-in-law, Daniel (Jaime) Davidson, of Chillicothe; as well as several nieces, nephews, and a myriad of special friends, including Jeff, Marcel, Erdy, Big Bob, and Butsey. Roger was preceded in death by his father Joseph, who died on December 6, 1984. He was later preceded in death by a brother, Johnny Robert Climer, who also died on December 6, 1995.

Roger was a graduate of Southeastern High School, and went on to work for the Londonderry branch of the Shell Oil Company as a “petroleum transfer technician” (Uncle John pumped gas at Bolte's Shell, a pitstop between Chillicothe and McArthur, Ohio at the intersection of U.S. Route 50 and Vigo Rd). In 1995, he began working for Ross County Litter Control as a collection supervisor, but was more professionally known as “The Trash King”. In his spare time, Roger enjoyed watching his favorite football team, the Cleveland Browns; even though they were a constant disappointment. It was well known amongst his family and friends that he was a fun, quirky, twisted person with an amazing sense of humor. Even through the end of his illness, Roger never lost that “spark” that made him so lovable. He will be remembered as one of the kindest and most gentle souls; as a person who was selfless, caring, and giving to anyone that he met. His entire life revolved around his son Eli, and the activities they would do together. Riding the 4-wheeler, mushroom hunting, gardening, playing ball in the yard, watching football and the Cincinnati Reds were just a few of their favorite adventures.

In accordance with Roger’s wishes, calling hours will not be observed.

The family would like to thank Dr. Skocik and Adena Hospice for their outstanding care during his illness.

Local Kids Cash In: Trade Necco Wafers For Pepitas

"This is no fairy tale. I can tell you where Jack can stick that beanstalk," says Edmund Abernathy. The 70-year old Central Ohio man was less than amused when asked about a recent trade with three area children that backfired. Sure he only had his best interest in mind and was attempting to cash in on the gullibility of the kids, but this was not their first rodeo either.

It began last year when Mr. Abernathy was reminded of this favorite candy as a youth, Necco Wafers. The vintage round, potato chip-like combination of sugar, corn syrup (also sugar), gelatin (yup, still sugar) and gum (Hey look, its sugar!) that came in flavors like orange, lemon, lime, clove, chocolate, cinnamon, licorice and wintergreen. Realizing the candy still had a life delighted the man. With Mr. Abernathy not getting around as well as he once did, getting out and finding the coveted wafers had been difficult. Thus, his scheme began.

He thought he could fool neighbor kids during the upcoming Trick-or-Treat and trade them for what he says was "something special". His target were the brother/sisters trio of Calli, Abby and Reed Henderson. These three had a reputation and had been a nuisance to him since their birth. Little did he know, his beloved Necco Wafers had been the bane of all Trick-or-Treaters for the last half century.

The eldest of the trio, Calli (10), says she thought the wafers were simply scented sidewalk chalk. "People used to eat those things!? Why would they do that!?", she said amazingly. The middle child, 7-year old Abby, claims her school used them as a deterrent for bad behavior."What are 'clove' and 'wintergreen' anyway? They can't be real. Are those code names or chemicals of some kind?", she said confusingly, yet perturbed. Four-year old Reed could care less, as long as it has more sugar than anything else, he's happy with it - and the concentrated sugar discs hit the spot.

Mr. Abernathy did not understand that the children would have gladly given him their unwanted, sure-fire, holiday retaliation handouts. Knowing he was out of the loop, the kids played along. The man offered what he called "magic pumpkin seeds" as a trade for the wafers. The seeds were actually stale BBQ flavored pepitas left over from a Whole Foods gift basket from the previous year's Christmas.

Calli, Reed & Abby Henderson proudly showing 
off their Pumpkin Straw near their home in Orient, Ohio.

The ringleader, Calli, indicated they would have taken anything in order to get rid of the remnants from the candy hall of shame. "Hey, at least it saved old Mrs. Murch from future payback. She was the one passing that crap out. I think she found them under her refrigerator", she stated.

"How old is this candy?", Abby asked. When told the original recipe was developed in 1847, she quipped, "I think that crazy lady has been holding on to these for the last 168 years. They taste like they're from the original batch."

The youngest, Reed, seemed to be annoyed that in order to get his sugar fix he had to punish himself with a lack of actual taste. We wanted to know if the wafers reminded him of anything and with a mouth full of a colorful, soot-like substance, he replied, "Poop flavored dust!"

Once the trade of Neccos for pepitas (the "magic" pumpkin seeds) took place, Mr. Abernathy was overwhelmed with joy - feeling as if he had his revenge for the most recent havoc the trio had caused. Their game, called "Pine Cone", had left his juvenile coniferous trees devoid of their beloved woody offspring he uses to decorate with each fall.

Apparently, "Pine Cone" is played by simply plucking the items off of the trees and repeatedly pelting one another with them until you find something more constructive to do. Defending their most original game, Calli says they - too - were not unscathed. "Those pine cones can be pretty sharp, I got a real bad, deep splinter the last time we played," she said forcing back an obvious smile as only a child can do.

Almost sure that what they received was nothing, the children did - for laughs - plant the seeds. They were more than relieved to be rid of what Reed referred to as the "devil candy". And just like that, the trio grew the world's first Pumpkin Straw. They have become rich and famous for their unique, homegrown product. Their hometown of Orient, Ohio has - of course - become the hub of the Pumpkin Straw market overnight.

According to Abby, "We thought it was just a fluke, but the grass just kept growing. Folks purchasing the grass we've baled say it's like aroma therapy for their animals - it calms and pleases them." When asked her thoughts on the man who traded them the seeds and was, essentially, the reason for their success, Abby seemed to not understand the question, "Mr. Abernathy? Isn't that the neighbor's cat?" The three siblings then fell to the ground in hysterics.

In a world of pumpkin spice everything, these three children have added a new chapter to the gourd that turns fall into a nightmare. Who wouldn't want to taste, ingest or smell like a jack-o-lantern?

Beguiled by Necco Wafers and subsequently burned by his desire for them, Mr. Abernathy isn't too fond of his neighbors' new found business empire. When pointing out to him that this story was eerily similar to the "Jack and the Beanstalk" fairy tale we all know so well, he didn't budge. He just pointed to a recently opened box near his front door. The top flap said "Thank You! From The Hendersons" and inside was a pile of crunched up pine cones with what looked to be a pumpkin scented car air freshener sitting on top.

In the distance, several juvenile pine trees loaded with green foliage were swaying in the Autumn wind - but visibly missing their brown strobile brethren.

It CAN'T Be the Shoes!?

Fall, Harvest season, the Autumnal Equinox (FYI...thesaurus.com, you are seriously lacking in the synonym department); these are amazing in Ohio: the colors, the weather and the state's official tree scattering the landscape with the brown, poisonous nut that Ohio's flagship university has as its preeminent, fear-inducing mascot....the buckeye.

Each September the Aesculus Glabra (ESS-kew-less GLAY-bruh....when did science begin using Star Wars as its basis for explaining nature?), a.k.a the Buckeye Tree, spreads its achene like the Johnny Appleseed of the this-looks-pretty-but-its-toxic-and-the-joke-is-on-you world. Many folks, including my family, typically gather the buckeyes and use them as fall decor around the house. As kids, we kept them for good luck. Now we did not have a Buckeye Tree in our large yard growing up, but many of our neighbors did. This includes our church, which was about a half-mile down our street.

One fall, I think I was about 12 or 13, my mom suggested as we left church on a Sunday morning that she could use the buckeyes resting on the ground near our car. My brother, sister and I thought nothing more of it as we were more interested in doing jack squat the rest of the day. We were all in sports and other activities and Sunday was typically our only day without something scheduled. We wanted to be lazy, before being dragged back to school Monday morning.

Later on, possibly in an effort to get us out of her hair and the house, mom mentioned the gathering of those buckeyes again. Now she may have really wanted them, but Linda is famous for repeating requests, must-dos and you-need-to-dos so much that it would drive a sane person nuts (or to gather nuts as it would be). I had college roommates who acted as hostage negotiators talking me out of shoving my head into our mini-fridge freezer compartment after phone calls from mom. They would ask, "Why did she keep repeating that? You answered her like eight times?" Did she think I was hard of hearing? There were times I secretly wished I was.

This particular afternoon was warm and sunny and we had nothing else better to do (and really didn't want to hear her ask AGAIN). So my brother Chad (about 15 at the time) and I made our way back up the street to the Richmond Dale United Methodist Church to gather what we could from the giant Buckeye Tree jutting out of the church's lawn.

Upon our arrival we noticed many of the spherical brown nuts were gone - someone had beaten us to them. We garnered the few remaining felled decorative toxic balls, but if we were to get more we would need to have them come to us. This, my friend, was a challenge. Most mature Buckeye Trees are anywhere from 50 to 80 feet high with a long, round trunk. This means most branches, or limbs, are well out of the reach for normal human beings.

Chad and I had a bag for the buckeyes and the clothes on our backs. The question: what do we have, or can we find, to use as weapons against nature? Then it donned on us - shoes, we have SHOES! If we just throttle a shoe into this tree's massive canopy, we are bound to knock loose some of the noxious nuts that were being held from us....pure genius.

Soon we had buckeyes raining down on us like the sixth seal of the apocalypse - all we had to do as fling a shoe into the tree in our church's side yard. I'm sure this happens everyday. As it was, everything was going much better than we had anticipated, but apparently karma was not amused.

On his next throw, more buckeyes fell - but Chad's shoe did not return. Instead it was being held for ransom, it became lodged in between branches. We were stunned momentarily, but no worries we thought...we have other shoes. With decent aim, we're be back in business.

And we were - until shoe number two did not return. Undeterred, we keep at it. More buckeyes fell -but a force field of some kind was keeping us from dislodging our kidnapped feet protectors. Before we knew it, shoe number three was also occupying an excellent viewpoint of our hometown in the midst of this great buckeye topiary.

Now panic began to set in.

We had dozens of buckeyes - the tree had three of our shoes. Our only weapon was, of course, our fourth and final shoe. Do we risk walking the half-mile home, shoeless, with our tails between our legs and explain to mom that we were bullied by a tree? That we were on the wrong side of a Jack and the Beanstalk like trade? That we were the subject of a bible school lesson we were apparently not aware of?

I can only imagine what passersby were thinking seeing the two of us staring solemnly into the canopy of this tree that somehow spontaneously started producing a pair of Nikes and a left foot Reebok. Richmond Dale is a super small town -  we would never hear the end of it if we had to breakdown and call either Pastor Pete or knock on the fire department's door, which just so happened to be directly across the street from the church.

Visions of Pastor Pete mocking us the following Sunday telling the congregation about the program we started collecting shoes for a less fortunate grove of deciduous outside of town; or our volunteer firefighters explaining they had to save our sneakers after they were chased up the tree by a pack of rabid, stray cats; or the local newspaper's article about the miracle tree of Ross County that's producing shoes. Screw that turning water into wine thing! Christians from all around would descend on Richmond Dale waiting for the next sign from above.

We suppressed our impending embarrassment and decided to try our luck with recovering our captive shoes. It was like a reverse Wizard of Oz - instead the tree was collecting our belongings and not angrily tossing apples at us.

Along with our remaining shoe, we used some of the branches that fell during our rogue buckeye collecting exercise as ammunition toward knocking free our footwear. It was a challenge, but slowly our desperation and persistence paid off. One, then two, and what seemed to take forever, the third shoe was swiped from the clutches of the Aesculus Glabra.

Chad and I sat there in exhausted elation, our arms sore and necks stiff from having to look straight into the sky for the past two hours. Being at eye level with things gave us a vertigo-like experience until our senses gathered themselves and returned to normal. Once recovery set in, we gathered our buckeyes, put on our shoes and tied them as tight as we could - ignoring the lack of circulation to our extremities. We had our shoes, we didn't care if we could feel our feet.

Similar to wounded warriors returning from a successful, but disheartening battle, we marched the half-mile back up Market Street in relief that the ordeal was over - mission accomplished. Saddened, though, that our pride and humility continued to lie bloodied and motionless underneath the massive, sneering Richmond Dale landmark.

To this day our nemesis still stands, presiding over the United Methodist Church kingdom it rules without regard to anything or anyone - pelting passersby each fall with buckeyes, warding off ne'er-do-wells. I can feel it staring at me whenever I return to my hometown, I'm sure it hasn't forgotten.

Buckeyes, despite their history and beauty, are not worth your shoes.