Chapter 9, Blog 1
By Chuck Wells As Told To Ray Hochgesang
Afterward, my wife had a few questions.
“Let me understand this,” Melinda said as she struggled to sit up in bed. “I get horny, I can just call Cujo and … “
“I don’t know his name, but I don’t think it’s Cujo.”
“All I know is since you started this workout nonsense, we haven’t made love. That is, until now. You always roll over. Say you’re too tired.”
“If you say so.” What else could I say?
Yes, my early morning jaunts of training had derailed our love life. I wondered how many athletes were divorced. Would their percentage be higher than the average dysfunctional couple? How does someone like former baseball star Nomar Garciapara and ex-soccer queen Mia Hamm cope? Before Mia retired, surely they had to book their sex life months in advance.
The sex had done its job and taken me down an adrenaline notch and a half. In spite of Melinda’s babble, I began to doze.
“Daddy, get up.”
It was Jessie, our precocious 5-year-old daughter. Like her sister, Shannon, her sparkling, blue eyes sprinkled joy everywhere they aimed, even into my dark, sleepy ones.
“Daddy, are you going to get out of bed soon?”
“No,” I said.
“Yes, Jessie,” answered Melinda. “You want breakfast, don’t you? Go ahead and get dressed. I’ll send Daddy to McDonalds.”
Off she scampered.
“Breakfast, huh?” I wondered out loud. “Can we just skip breakfast today? Cujo didn’t get his breakfast.”
Melinda stifled a giggle as she tossed on a red-and-white polo.
“Maybe you could get Cujo an Egg McMuffin.”
“I think he prefers a Wells Burger Happy Meal.”
For that I got a face full of pillow. At the breakfast table, I got interrogated.
“Daddy,” started Jessie. “Why are you running every morning?”
“I’m in training.”
“He’s trying to make it to the Olympics,” said Melinda. “Pass me the milk, Hon.”
“Yeah, the Olympics,” I said. “You know, daaaa, daaaa, ta-da-da-da-da, da-da-tada-da-da-da-da. They award medals. Remember, we watched it on TV.”
Jessie’s eyes blazed blue.
“The bobsled? You’re going to be in the bobsled?”
“No, Honey, the Summer Games. Track and field,” I said.
Disappointed, Jessie looked down and flipped over her breakfast burrito.
“It’s Daddy’s latest midlife crisis, Honey,” Melinda said. She sipped her coffee. “It’s not really serious. Just humor him.”
I ignored Melinda and focused on Jessie.
“Track and field. It’s fun. When I was in high school, I won the state title in the 880.”
“Yes,’ said Melinda. “About 80 years ago.”
I ignored her again. Jessie’s eyes opened wide.
“Daddy, can I have your medal?”
“I have to win one first. Mommy and some others don’t think Daddy can do it. They think I’m too old.”
“You’ve got that right, Jackson,” said Melinda. “I think I have a hundred years of history on my side.”
“See what I mean? Maybe they’re right,” I winked at Jessie. “But I might give it a try anyway.”
Jessie squinted and studied me for a hot 10 seconds.
“I think you can do it, Daddy.”
Copyright © 2012 by Chuck H. Wells/Ray Hochgesang