My wife is on an emergency visit to her family after her little brother was hit by the truck he was working on the other night.  This is the same brother who’s suffered not just one, but two brain tumors.  Goes by the nickname “Lucky.”

Anyway, sometime early this morning my younger son Bug woke me up.  He was out in the hall outside our bedrooms calling, “Mommy!  Whewe awe you?”

I called Bug in to crawl into bed with me, and he was back asleep in no time.  But I know how he felt.

We’re getting by, the boys and I.  But it’s no fun having her gone.

It’s done.  3:45:55, solidly demolishing my goal of beating 4 hours.

There was lots of nervousness in the lead-up — the weather forecast consistently said rain and low 40s at the start.  I really had no idea how to dress for that.

Instead, I woke up Sunday to 50 and clearing.  Oh, and 25 to 40 mph winds, which sustained through the day.  At the last minute, when my brother Rich dropped me at the starting line, I dropped everything but shorts, a singlet and a long-sleeve jersey over that.  That turned out to be perfect.

The early miles were uneventful, alternating between head- and cross-winds that weren’t too awful.  I concentrated on pacing and drinking — I had a carry bottle I planned to refill every 6 miles, so I wanted to empty it consistently.

We had a couple nice long down-wind stretches toward the halfway point, and I realized it was going to be a good day when I was feeling strong midway through.

From there to mile 17 was an open cross-wind stretch, which was dicey with gusts from time to time but otherwise just a good place to be consistent.

Then came the challenge.  17  to 22 was straight into the maw of the hell-wind.  The first few miles I felt strong and pushed it — I was still maintaining a sub-9-minute-per-mile pace, which I knew would mean finishing inside 4 hours.

Then I started flagging right after mile 20.  Not the proverbial wall so much — I just really started to feel the miles then.  I stopped refilling my bottle and just stopped at every aid station, grabbed a cup of Gatorade, and took a few walking steps to down it.  I also hit an energy gel, which was part of my plan for mile 20 anyway.  And it passed pretty quickly.  It was totally unlike what I felt in my first marathon, the Paavo Nurmi last August, when I got horribly dehydrated and was forced to do way too much walking after mile 20.

Finally we turned out of the headwind (though the hundred feet or so before the turn had the absolute worst winds, almost blowing me to stop a couple times).  Then it was just a matter of gutting it through the last few miles, which wasn’t hard at all, knowing at that point I’d beat my goal and that there would be no forced walking this time around.

Then finally Lambeau was in sight.  The stretch getting to the stadium was impossibly long, but finally we left the road and headed for the tunnel — and there was my brother John and his wife Theresa and daughter Lauren!  That was a thrill, as was the run through the tunnel and out into the open of the Tundra, around the field and back out to the finish line.  I was actually able to pick up the pace and pick off a few more places before I crossed, arms in the air.

Then the best parts — getting my medal and t-shirt, and all the hugs and smiles from my family.  And some chocolate milk.  And a shower and nap!

It’s hard to believe all the months of training that began in January are behind me, and it never even really seemed all that hard.  Lots of treadmill miles, lots of early mornings down in the basement, and lots of long runs up and down the hills around my house.  Oh, yeah, and the marathon itself.  Wow.

A couple weeks ago I finally made it down to Owatonna, Minnesota, to see one of the handful of small-town banks designed by legendary architect Louis Sullivan, father of the modern skyscraper.  Sullivan was also a mentor to Frank Lloyd Wright, preceding him in the Prairie School of architecture he would later make famous.

The National Farmers Bank building, built in 1908, is the biggest and most elaborate of Sullivan’s “jewel boxes.”  It’s a red brick and terra-cotta cube with enormous, stunning arched stained glass windows on the street sides, which are echoed in the main lobby by large murals of the same shape.

Here’s one of the arched windows:

And this is the mural opposite that window in the lobby:

I loved the detail on these windows, on the ground floor at the very corner on the street sides:

They sure don’t make ’em like that anymore.

Here’s a good article about the building.

The vast majority of us could never have made it as Navy SEALs.  But we could still learn a lot from how they’re “made.”  This article tells something about that.

I loved this passage:

What kind of man makes it through Hell Week? That’s hard to say. But I do know—generally—who won’t make it. There are a dozen types that fail: the weight-lifting meatheads who think that the size of their biceps is an indication of their strength, the kids covered in tattoos announcing to the world how tough they are, the preening leaders who don’t want to get dirty, and the look-at-me former athletes who have always been told they are stars but have never have been pushed beyond the envelope of their talent to the core of their character. In short, those who fail are the ones who focus on show. The vicious beauty of Hell Week is that you either survive or fail, you endure or you quit, you do—or you do not.

God, please help me not to be one of the “preening leaders who don’t want to get dirty” — you have to know we have far too many of those on our hands.

The US Navy will christen the guided missile destroyer USS Michael Murphy today.  Navy SEAL Lt. Michael Murphy commanded a four-man squad in Afghanistan on a mission to find a Taliban commander.  As told by fellow SEAL Marcus Luttrell in Lone Survivor:  The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10, Murphy exposed himself to enemy fire to call for assistance for his team, and was mortally wounded — but fought on nonetheless until he died.  It was a display of valor that won him the Medal of Honor.

The story of his life is told in  Seal of Honor: Operation Red Wings and the Life of Lt Michael P. Murphy, Usn by Gary Williams.

The picture speaks for itself.

This is a great article about who we should hold up as examples for our kids.  Kudos to the SEALs on a job well done.

There just aren’t enough thanks for your sacrifice, Sgt. Shue.  And I’m glad you finally made it home.

The Reverend Doctor Vinoski Sweetness is six.

I’ve known for a while that he has a knack for geography.  So out of the blue on Saturday I asked him where the temple of Angkor Wat is.

RDVS:  “Japan?  China?  Malaysia?  Russia?  Kenya?”

Me:  “Hold on, you were going good there — stick to Asia.”

RDVS:  “Asia?”

Me:  “No, I want a country.  It’s above Malaysia”

RDVS:  “India?”

Me”  “Right above Malaysai.”

RDVS:  “Java?”

Me:  “It begins with a T.”

RDVS:  “(Pause.)  Thailand?”

Me:  Right!  (Then I found out today’s it’s actually in Cambodia.  Oh, well, another country for the Reverend Doctor to learn about.  Of course, he already knows more about geography than I did until I was in my 30s.)

Last week’s 20 mile run was atrocious.  It wasn’t hot out by any means — maybe 70-ish — but the humidity was about 90%, so it felt 10 or 20 degrees hotter.  And I’m not built for hot.  I was dripping by the end of mile one, and despite drinking four pounds of Gatorade, I lost three or four pounds of body weight anyway.  Needless to say, my time sucked.  The rest of the week was a nightmare of exhaustion and bad moods and such.

I was still knackered even on Saturday, when I ran eight miles in 37 degrees and 20 mph wind.  But I was starting to feel a bit more rested, even if my speed was still rotten…

Then yesterday I finished my easy week with a twelve-miler.  And I blazed — 8:15s on average, on a hilly course in chilly weather.  So while I’m now facing my final heavy week, ending in another 20-miler next Sunday (my 46th birthday), I’m feeling pretty darned good.  Yes, I expect to be walloped again next week — but then I’ll be in my three weeks of tapering before the big day.  Life is good…