Your mom is a better athlete...

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Yesterday, your mom and I complete the 3rd Annual Staten Island Triathlon. Your mom, by the way, is a better athlete than the average person, including me. There, I said it.

We once competed in a duathlon (run-bike-run) two years ago where she beat me by a couple of minutes. That same Fall I beat her in another duathlon (run-bike-run) by a couple of minutes. This triathlon (1/3 mile swim - 12 mile bike - 4 mile run) was our third head-to-head competition. And she crushed me.

we ate a healthy plate of rice, beans, and veggies for dinner the night before our race

We woke up really early to drive down to Staten Island with your Abuela Betty helping us with our equipment and keeping you entertained. Although I was nervous, there was very little time to be nervous now that we've got you. A lot of our focus is on your well-being and comfort so it's a good distraction from race-day nerves.

It feels like we barely got set up when they called us to head down to the beach. Now, the swim is my weakest sport. I learned to swim at the age of 25. Your mom was on the High School swim team. She was also a lifeguard. So, heading into the swim, I took it easy.

I was surprised by how great it felt to swim in the choppy ocean water. I was slow, with people passing me left and right, but I was swimming without having to stop; that's a victory for me. I came out of the water a full three minutes behind your mom.

Heading to the bike I pedaled as hard as I could. We biked a 4-mile loop three times, so I could see you mom ahead of me, but I could never catch up. I managed to make up some time on the bike but not nearly enough for what was about to happen.

I consider myself a runner so I was confident that I could make up some time on the 4-mile run. However, after swimming and biking for over and hour, your legs feel like tree trunks. And mine did. For about four miles. Your mom, on the other hand, said she felt great. She sped through the run leaving me gasping for air behind her.

Your mom finished in 1hr48min26sec and I finished in 1hr54min45sec, a full 6+ minutes behind her.

you joined us to celebrate the finish

So, your mom has beaten me in two of our three athletic competitions. Of course, this doesn't end here. While discussing our triathlon over dinner your mom said, confidently, that she could beat me in a road race - my sport!

So, on September 17th, we'll be facing off in a 4-mile race.

If you're smart, you'll put your money on your mom crossing the finish line before me. If you're lucky, you'll get her athletic genes.


Still running,

Tu papa

How to fuel a plant-based triathlete

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I shared the following with some friends who were asking how it was possible that your mom and I could train for a triathlon eating a plant-based diet.  There's a common misconception that plant-based diets lack protein.  But the reality is plants have lots of protein with the added benefit of lacking cholesterol.

Here's what I wrote:

I was sent a message last night asking how I could possibly do what I was doing on a plant-based diet, specifically how do I get enough protein.  My answer is pretty simple: eat lots and make most of what you eat whole grains, veggies, and fruit.  You will get more than enough of what you need if you eat a variety of plant foods.
Of course, I'm lucky, I have a wife who agrees with me nutritionally and together we make some incredible healthy dishes so there's never the temptation of watching her eat fried chicken with a side of fries.

Today in Week 2 of Triathlon training I woke up to swim for 30 minutes, after lunch I did five sets of pushups totaling 68, and tonight I ran for 40 minutes.  Plus somewhere in between all that I did some work, read the newspaper, took Santiago (that's you Nugget) on an hour and a half walk, and went to the dentist. Granted this is during my summer vacation, but during the school year I would pretty much be doing the same thing, minus the swimming.

So, pretty busy day, how to fuel it was the question:

Breakfast:
1 slice Whole Wheat Organic Bread with crunchy almond butter and a drizzle of honey
2 glasses of water

Went swimming (30 minutes)
Walked with Santiago in the stroller for an hour and a half

Breakfast 2:
Brooklyn Bagel Plain with a schmear of soy cream cheese
3 glasses of water

Work, Read the Paper

Lunch:
Big Bowl of Latin Corn Soup (sweet potato, tomatoes, corn, hominy, red pepper, chili pepper, onion, garlic)
Handful of Organic Corn tortillas
1 glass of water

Work, Pushups (68)

Snack:
1 glass of iskiate (water, lime juice, agave nectar, chia seeds)

Dentist

Dinner:
Cous Cous with Lentil Salad (lentils, onions, pepper)
Bibb lettuce, tomato, cucumber salad
1 glass of water

Santi's bath, bedtime books
40 min Run

Snack:
1 cup of Millet with Raisins
1 Banana
Handful of Walnuts
2 glasses of water

Total calories: about 2600
Total protein: about 75g of protein
Total cholesterol: 0
Plenty of fiber

Is my diet perfect?  No.  But, it's plant-based deliciousness, fuels my triathlon training, I'm never hungry, it keeps me healthy, and helps me lower my cholesterol.


I wanted to share this with you Nugget because you're the primary reason we're eating this way.  My body makes too much cholesterol and my family has a history of heart-disease, diabetes, and cancer.  I refuse to be a statistic.

I am plant-strong so that I can stay healthy enough to watch you grow up, God willing.


Loving you with a healthy heart,

Tu papa

Today you cried for Papi

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Today you went to the doctor and got another shot.  Apparently you toughed it out and didn't cry.  Either you're a tough little boy or you can't feel the pinch thanks to those chunky thighs of yours.  At almost seven months, you now weigh 17 lbs 14 oz and are 26 inches long.

When I got home this afternoon, your mom was holding you in her arms.  You smiled and bounced with excitement when I said hello.  I ran to the kitchen to get some boxes for a friend who was waiting in her car downstairs.  You cried as I left your sight.  When I came back to the living room with the boxes, you smiled again. 

But, again, when I left your sight and ran down the stairs to deliver the boxes, you let out a wail.  After delivering the boxes, I ran up the stairs and you stopped crying.  As I headed straight to the bathroom to wash my hands so I could hold you, you cried again.

It seems you really wanted to hang out with me and were upset whenever I left the room.  That made me feel special.  I grabbed you as fast as I could from your mom, you did your excited bounce (flapping of the arms included), and lay your head on my shoulder. 

It's great to be your dad.


Te quiero,

Tu papa

when papi meets the ground

Dear Chicken Nugget,

After our snow day on Thursday, I had a hard time finding a place to run. There are huge piles of snow on the sidewalk and on every corner there's an adventurous obstacle of snow, ice, slush, and ginormous puddles.

Early this morning, before church, I decided to go out for my 5-mile "long" run.  For the next 12 weekends, I'll be running longer and longer as I reach for the half-marathon distance (13.1 miles).  With the temperatures going over the freezing mark and the sun breaking out this morning, I figured it would be a great day for a run. 

About half a mile in, after having to jump over puddles, climb hills of snow, and hop over patches of ice, I thought, "This is a great run. Can't wait to tell everyone about all the obstacle dodging I got to do."  Little did I know...

Running up a path in the park, I passed a lady with a small fluffy dog.  No biggie.  Literally.  Then, I saw a lady with two unleashed Pit Bulls.  Generally, I'm respectful of dogs.  I give them their space and prefer to not run near them.  However, this was a narrow path and the only way to continue was to come pretty close to those dogs. 

I slowed to a walk, held my gaze forward, hands down, and walked confidently forward showing that I was no harm to them.  The two dogs decided to come over to say an aggressive hello or to have me for breakfast.  One dog jumped up on my leg, with lips retracted, showing it's menacing sharp teeth.  The other dog came around and was about to do the same when the owner finally called out, "Lucy, Stop!"

Seriously? I was almost eaten alive by a dog names Lucy?  Great.  Luckily, Lucy and pal backed off and ran back to their owner.  I started running again feeling some scratches above my right knee where Lucy had jumped up.  But, I didn't think it was too bad and just kept going. 

I continued to enjoy my running game of snowy survival and was soon lost in thought.  About another half mile in, I was enjoying the sun warming my face . . .

. . . it's funny, when the world looks tilted at a 45-degree angle and you find  your arms flailing up in the air, the only thought that can cross your mind, is the obvious, "Oh $#!+, I'm about to fall" . . .

And, I did.  Hard.  I landed on my rights side, right on my hip.  I rolled over onto my belly and stayed down, cursing the ground, and assessing my injuries.  As I slowly got up, I noticed the huge patch of ice on the ground that I missed.  From across the street I heard a guy call out, "You OK?" 

"Yeah, I think so," I said, feeling my leg and hip to make sure there were no bones sticking out of my skin.

"I'm an ER doctor coming home from the hospital," he called back.  "I saw six fractures on my shift, three of them runners." 

I'm pretty sure I heard a slight laugh in his voice. 

I walked around for a bit, feeling things out.  He stayed to watch me for a bit. 

As I broke into a light jog for a bit, he asked, "Are you sure you're OK?"

"Yeah," I shakily called back.  There was no obvious pain, aside from the bruising kind you tend to get on the bone after a hard fall.

"All right.  Take it easy," he said and started back on his walk home. 

I still had a mile to go on my run.  I should go home, I thought.  Then I thought, no, get the mile done.  It can't get worse. 

I gingerly stepped over ice patches on the rest of my run, nothing heroic.  I made it home safe, or as safe as can be after a dog attack and hard fall.

In my six years of running I've never been attacked by a dog or fallen on ice.  I have fallen on a boardwalk by a beach trying to chase after your mom, but I'll save that story for another day. 

Twenty years from now, if you hear that I've fallen on an icy run, it'll probably involve a trip to the hospital and, possibly, surgery.  Thankfully, I'm still young enough that I can get up from a hard fall on my hip and keep going.

Please come visit me at the hospital.  Also, don't ever name a Pit Bull Lucy.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

Snow Day!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

It worked.  All of it!

12.6" of snow fell in Queens overnight

Snow day!

we had a great time in the snow

you hung out in the snow for a bit

and we rushed back inside to get warm

Best day of the year.  If you ever wonder why daddy keeps flushing frozen peas down the toilet, today is the reason why.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

Murophobia

Dear Chicken Nugget,

For the last five days your mom and I have been terrorized by a mouse in the house.  I first caught a quick glimpse of him running from the couch to the space between the desk and cabinet near where I was sitting.  This, of course, led me to hop on the couch and squeal like a little girl.  Your dad, Nugget, suffers from murophobia - the fear of mice and rats.

I sprung into action and ran across the street to buy half a dozen sticky glue traps.  I laid them out wherever I thought Mr. Mouse might travel.  When we went to bed that night, I spent a good amount of time lying awake and listening to every little sound in the apartment.  I can't stand rodents.

As you get older I have no doubt that any of my former roommates will share with you a gazillion stories about me and mice.  New Yorkers have the unfortunate experience of having to often live with rodent pests.  My roommates have gotten a number of good laughs from my reactions to these disease-infested creatures.

After a few nights of terror and buying fancier traps, we finally caught the little guy last night.  We had seen him scurry under the desk and your mom suggested we lay a glue trap down there.  I put the trap down, walked to the kitchen to put another one down, and by the time I got back, the trap had moved.  As I got closer to inspect it, the mouse squeaked and tried to escape from its gluey trap.  I froze.

Your mom was already in bed with you and called out, "Did we catch him?"

"Yep," I replied from atop the couch.

"Bag him and take him out to the trash," she said.

"I can't.  He's fighting back," I said, voice shaky.

"That's what you're supposed to do when you're fighting for your life."

Thanks.

"Take a another sticky trap, throw it on top, and place the whole thing in a plastic bag," she suggested.

I did just that but the little guy turned his head and tried to gnaw through the trap.  Freaked.  Me.  Out.  A tiny part of me felt bad.  His little beady black eyes asked for forgiveness.  A bigger part of me was scared and disgusted.  Still, with his front paws pulling on a printer cable, holding on for dear life, I didn't have it in me to struggle with the mouse.

Your mom got out of bed, grabbed a broom (to stun him, she declared), and managed to bag the little mouse in less than five seconds.  She's my hero, your mom.  While she was double bagging the mouse, making it safe for me to carry out to the trash, you began to cry.  I picked you up and stood with you on top of the couch while your mom saved us from sure pestilence. 

Then, the saint that she is, she took a picture.

Papi saving Nugget from the bubonic plague

I managed to build up enough courage to take the mouse out to the trash.  And, despite my complete fear and revulsion, I said a little prayer for it.

You and your mom went back to bed and I stayed up at the desk doing work, happy to have finally rid ourselves of the mouse.

About an hour later, I saw something moving from the corner of my eye.  Yes, another mouse.  Letting out a ridiculous bellow, I tip-toe hopped to our bed where I told your mom what I had just seen and lay awake for half the night listening for Mr. Mouse's vengeful family.

I hate mice.  I hope we catch all of them so that you can live in a safe, healthy apartment free of plague.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

published

Dear Chicken Nugget,

You are now four months old and making giant leaps in your awareness of the world.  You recently started watching with interest what your mom and I do with our hands - things like writing, typing, and eating.  It's fun watching you try to figure out what we're doing and we know that soon you're going to want to do the same things.

Yesterday, at lunch, you were sitting on my lap and you reached out for the bowl of pesto pasta I was eating.  You got a good grip and pulled it towards you.  We had to tug pretty hard to get the bowl of pasta away from you.  It'll be fun when you can start having solid foods of your own.  Soon, very soon.

Sometimes when I type on the computer and you are on my lap, you reach out and tap the keys on the keyboard.  I'm sure my writing needs the help anyway.

Actually, I learned early this morning that something I wrote was published on a blog on the Runner's World magazine site!

I wrote an essay detailing how I started a running club at my school.  The last time I wrote anything sports related for any publication, I was writing for the Sports section of my High School newspaper.  It's been a long time. 

So, your father wrote something that tons of strange people will be reading.  Although for this particular piece, you did not help me, I'm sure that as you grow up and your little arms get longer, the banging on the keyboard is going to translate into someone out there getting an errant email.  Maybe it'll even get published.

Looking forward to reading you my writing and to reading yours.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

boys club

Dear Chicken Nugget,

As you grow you slowly become a little more independent. Just slightly.  You still need us for a lot, like getting around, diaper changes, and food.  Your mom does a great job of taking care of you for most of the day and night and you show her the love she deserves.

Sometimes when you catch a glimpse of your mom it's like you suddenly saw your favorite celebrity.  Your smile gets wider than your face and your arms wave electrically towards her in the hopes she'll just shake your hand or look your way.  Luckily, she does more than that and blows you kisses or nuzzles up to your cheek.

You love it.  You love her.

So, occasionally, on the days you'll allow it, I steal you away for what I call "boys club."

In "boys club" we stare into each others eyes, make faces at each other, or you play with your toys while I cuddle up next to you.  I love "boys club" because it allows us to have exclusive father-son bonding time.

Your mom isn't thrilled about being left out but she gets so much time during the day with you, that I think it's fair.  Still, you and I had a meeting the other day on your playmat and decided that your mom can be an honorary member of "boys club."

For now.

I love her and you love her but we need our "boys club" time to do boy things - like blowing bubbles and spitting and laughing when you fart.  I'm sure your mom doesn't mind too much.



Eternally yours,

Tu papa

asthma

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I went out for another run tonight.  The wind did indeed bring friends to try and slow me down, freezing temperature was on hand to show me a good time and snow made an appearance.

As I took deep breaths of the crisp cold air, I remembered that for almost half of my life I couldn't do what I was doing at that moment.

When I was three years old I was diagnosed with asthma.  I had asthma that was triggered by allergies, cold, and exercise.  I had to get steroid shots once a month and would use an inhaler whenever necessary; as I remember it, I used it often.

And then there were the Emergency Room visits.  I remember being taken to the ER on many occasions due to a severe asthma attack.  It always started with some coughing, then some wheezing in my lungs, and slowly I felt as if my lungs thickened to the point of only being able to allow a tiny bit of air in at a time.

I would take a couple of puffs of my inhaler and wait.  I would try to steady my breathing.  My mom would take breaths with me and massage my back.  Sometimes it would go away.  Sometimes I ended up in the ER.

Once, sometime in the fifth grade, I had an asthma attack in the morning.  It just so happened that it was the morning of the City Wide Math Test.  My mom asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital.  I told her I wanted to go to school to take my test.  So, she took me to school and waited in the Main Office for me while I went to take the test.  I don't remember how long those tests took back in the day but it felt like five minutes.  My guess is I rushed through it just to be able to get out of there.

My mom immediately hauled me off to the ER where they determined I was having such a bad attack and lacking so much oxygen that they admitted me to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.  I was frightened.

The staff was incredibly friendly but I was surrounded by kids of all ages hooked up to machines in different stages of serious illness.  There was a constant hum of machines, puffing of ventilators, and beeps from heart monitors.  I had nightmares almost every night I was there.  Five nights total.

Honestly, I never thought the asthma would go away.  We had a next door neighbor who was in her 50s or 60s who was always being taken to the hospital with asthma attacks.  That always scared me.

At the age of 14, as a freshman in high school, I had a pretty bad asthma attack that landed me in yet another ER overnight.  And then, it went away.

For the last 16 years I have not had a single asthma attack, thank God. I still keep an inhaler around just in case I ever feel the symptoms of an attack.  So far I've only had to use it about once a year and only for very mild symptoms.

When I first started to run six years ago and it got close to winter, I was scared of going out.  My first marathon was in 22 degree weather but I ended up taking two months off after that -- too scared to go back out in the cold.  When I did finally run in the cold I felt my chest tightening.  But, slowly, the more I did it and the better prepared I was (wearing the right gear also helps), it became easier.

Tonight, as I ran in windy, snowy 28 degree weather, I thought about how a younger version of me could never do what I was doing.  I hope that it's gone for good.  And, I hope that your lungs are stronger than mine. 

Judging by the volume of your cries, so far so good.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

when the wind tells you to stop...

Dear Chicken Nugget,

A couple of months ago I wrote about how I changed my diet for you.  And, for the most part, it's true.

Unfortunately the holidays came.  It's hard to eat a low fat plant-based diet when there's a beautiful, juicy turkey inviting you to enjoy it.  Combine holiday eating with a lack of exercise and it turns out my cholesterol is high again.

Having a family history of heart disease, high blood pressure, and diabetes, a high cholesterol worries me.  Since finding out a couple of days ago, I've recommitted to a low fat plant-based diet.

And, just as importantly, I've created a set of fitness goals to accompany the diet.  I've signed up for three small races for early 2011 to help get me back on track.

So, today I went out for a run.  Man, was it hard!

A couple of months ago I started coaching a Young Runners Club at my school.  I'm leading fifteen students in kindergarten through second grade through stretches, relay racing games, and some slow and steady running that amounts to no more than a mile a day.  I'm running about a mile a day! Just one!

This, from a guy who has run two marathons (26.2 miles)!

I decided that today was going to be the day that I ran two miles.  In the morning there was a strong hard rain that immediately made my decision easy.  Can't run.  But then, as if daring me to go out, the rain stopped mid-afternoon.  I looked out the window and not a drop was falling.  I looked for signs of wind, perhaps looking for another excuse, and there were none.

So, I told your mom that I was going for a run.  She, always super supportive of my health, told me to go ahead.  Then, it took me thirty minutes to get out of the house.  Not that there was anything pressing keeping me, I just kept finding something else to do.

When I finally stepped outside, I felt great.  My legs were moving, my breathing was good, and the weather seemed to cooperate.

As I ran towards Astoria Park I thought about how easy it felt.  Then I came upon a downed tree.  It looked like it had been chopped down and there were massive pieces of trunk laying on the side walk.  I slowed to a walk trying to figure out a way around it.  Not a hard obstacle to overcome but it was the beginning of the doubts.

After walking around the tree and starting back up I started feeling the wind kick up again.  Not only was the wind picking up, it was blowing right at me.  I wanted to stop.  The wind was strong.  Just then an older gentleman, probably in his 60s, ran by me. I kept running.

As I approached the one mile mark I thought about walking back home.  But, no.  Couldn't.  That wouldn't be enough.  So, I turned back at the one mile point, still running.

Making my way back home it suddenly started raining again.  There was the doubt again.  Maybe I should hop on a bus.  Then a strong gust of wind blew in my direction.  I swear the wind was telling me to stop.  For a second, I did.  I stopped.

I was about half a mile away from home and I thought, well, a mile and a half is still more than you've done in a while.  I looked at the time and realized that we had guests coming over in about thirty minutes.  I had to run home if I stood any chance at showering before the guests arrived.

I started running again.  The rain gave up but the wind didn't.  The wind was adamant about me stopping.  I almost listened to it.  But, I didn't.  I kept thinking about you, your mom, and my health, and I kept running.  By the time I rounded the corner to our block I was running pretty fast.  And I was tired.  It's hard to run against the wind.  The run was hard.

As if mocking me one last time, a breeze blew the outside door into my ankles as I stepped into the house.  &*^%!!  The wind is now my nemesis.  I'm sure it'll try to get to me again.  And, maybe it'll bring its friends freezing rain and blizzard along.  I've met those two before and I've still run through them. I can do it.

I ran two miles today, Nugget.  Two.  That's all.  I had every excuse in my head to stop.  But, that's all it was: in my head.  There are always days that are going to be too cold, too hot, too windy, too busy, and too tired.  All these excuses are going to be whispering in my ear to not go out for a run or just to stop.

But for every excuse, there's good reason to keep going: my health.

On the last line of my RoadID it says, "I run to add another day."  Really, I run to run to add another day to my life AND to add life to my days. 


Step one: Run!

Step two: Ignore the &*^%!! wind.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

Vivaporu: Grandpa was right!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I am sick right now - just one of those Fall/Winter colds that doesn't seem to go away. 

A few days ago, as I opened my medicine cabinet for some sort of relief I saw an old bottle of Vicks Vapor Rub.

I remembered the greasiness and the smell from my sickly days as a child when my mom would rub Vivaporu (that's what latinos call it) all over my chest and sometimes even wipe some on my nose.  It's powerful stuff and clears up your airways pretty quickly and I remember the smell lingering on my skin and clothes for days.

So, with that memory, I took some Vivaporu out of the little jar and rubbed it all over my chest.  Immediately, I felt better!  Of course, four days later I'm still dealing with this cold so Vivaporu does not necessarily "cure" you but it does make you feel better.  I guarantee it.

It also makes me smell like my grandpa, your great grandpa, Bolivar Santiago.  My grandpa was a firm believer that Vivaporu could cure absolutely anything.  Cough? Vivaporu!  Stuffy nose?  Vivaporu!  Sore muscles?  Vivaporu!  Arthritis?  Vivaporu!  Bad cut or open wound? Vivaporu!  Toe fungus? Belly ache?  Headache? Hemorrhoids?  Oh yes, Vivaporu!

I remember my grandpa having little bottle of Vivaporu on his nightstand, in his chest of drawers, and sometimes, in a plastic bag that he used to carry all his important papers. 

I have to admit, I do feel better rubbing on the Vivaporu, even if it hasn't cured me.  I'll make sure that when you're old enough, you'll get to experience the magic of Vick's Vapor Rub.  And maybe some day, when we both have a cold, we'll both walk around with greasy, mentholy chests and smelling like Great Grandpa.

Eternally yours,

Tu papa

Giving up Facebook for Advent. Sort of.

Dear Chicken Nugget,

As I write there are 500 million people in the world that are using something called Facebook.  It's a social network website that allows users to connect with one another around world.  It's also a great time-suck.

It's been absolutely wonderful to connect to old classmates that I lost touch with, be able to communicate with relatives in Ecuador, and let people know that something funny just happened.

But, checking in on others can take up time - especially if you end up checking in twice a day like I usually do.

So inspired by friends and family, I'm giving up Facebook for Advent.  Sort of.

First, your great uncle Barry, a pastor in Texarkana, TX, posted on a blog that we should try to read the books of the Bible in order.  I've already done that twice before and I've learned so much each time so I figured that's something I should do some day soon.

Then a friend from my running club, you may remember him as the guy in the chicken costume on Marathon Sunday, posted that he was going to give up Facebook for the rest of 2010; just as a challenge to himself.

Finally, as I was reading up on Advent I learned that people used to treat Advent much like they did Lent - they would fast to prepare for the birth of Jesus.  Although I'm not going to fast this Advent, I decided I could instead refrain from Facebook somehow.

So the end result is this:

I will read the books of the Bible in order and only check in on Facebook when I complete a full book of the Bible.  

Something you'll learn about me is that I set up challenges for myself just to see if I have the willpower to do them (like marathons, for example).  I find it's good practice to challenge yourself this way; it lets you know that you are stronger than you think you are.

Of course, I thought my Advent challenge was going to be easier.  Somehow I forgot that the first time I read the Bible straight through it took me two months.  Oh, and I also forgot to calculate the number of times I would be interrupted in my reading by you, Nugget.

had we picked a name out of Genesis you might have been named Gether or Nimrod

Not that I'm complaining.  Reading it in smaller bits has allowed me to meditate on smaller events.  But still, after Day 2 I'm on page 20 of 1,034 and just halfway done with Genesis.

So, I don't think I'm anywhere near on pace to complete the Bible by Christmas or New Year's Day for that matter.  No, this challenge might take me straight into Lent.  And by the time I get there, since it's Lent, I might as well set up a new challenge...


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

the sins of your parents

Dear Chicken Nugget,

It's been 12 days since my last letter and you've grown so much.  You've been laughing and playing and trying to grab hanging toys.  You've discovered your hands and are constantly playing with them.

I haven't been able to sit down and write much because of work-related activities.  I love what I do but sometimes it takes up a lot of mental energy; not the kids, the adults - more on that another day.

But, today I want to apologize in advance for the fashion sins of your parents.  Your mom and I are pretty laid back people and our philosophy on dressing you as been just as relaxed.  The way we figure it, babies don't care what they look like.  Right?

Well, in case you do some day and it seems you just can't get it right, it's probably our fault.

This is what happens when papi dresses you...

your mom would like to point out the overall shorts & yellow socks

This is what happens when mommy tries to fix it...

I'm just going to point out that you've got polka dots on your white pants

It's obvious that your mom and I differ in opinion on what you should wear.  I don't think either of us are too far off the mark but I also don't think we're cultivating any form of good fashion sense. 

Luckily, I do think you're too young to care at this point.  Someday you'll care.  Until then, God help you.


Eternally yours,

Tu papi

the sleep routine

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Today you are two months old!  It's been incredible having you in our lives and we look forward to so much more time with you.

You're growing physically and are becoming more aware by the hour.  You love hearing the vowels in Spanish and laugh when I howl like a wolf.

loving listening to the vowels in Spanish

And, you love it when your dad puts you to sleep.  You've been a really good sleeper, by the way.  When you're tired you'll fall asleep in a baby carrier, in the swing, on the changing table, and while feeding.  You've actually been sleeping through most of the night - waking up to eat once or twice but falling immediately back to sleep when done.

But late evening when you hit that over-tired point your mom and I go into the sleep routine.  While she goes off to get ready for bed, I get you ready for bed.  What started as an hour long routine is now usually done in 15-20 minutes.   It involves some walking, some white noise provided by the kitchen fan, and even some singing.

Now, while I won't promote my singing in any way, it seems that it helps you go to sleep.  I have two theories for this: my droning monotone has a hypnotic effect or you essentially give up because sleep is the fastest way to get out of hearing me sing.

So far I've used a number of songs to help lull you to sleep (in no particular order):

How's It Going To Be by Third Eye Blind
Lean On Me by Bill Withers
Stand By Me by Ben E. King
The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra
Motorcycle Drive By by Third Eye Blind
Amazing Grace by John Newton
Hound Dog by Elvis Presley
That's Life by Frank Sinatra
Donna by Ritchie Valens

Tonight, the song that made you pass out was Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra.

Somehow these songs work.  Then again, considering my monotone voice, they might all just sound the same and I'm simply boring you to sleep.  In any case, it works.

When it comes time for you to learn to sing I'm definitely handing the reigns over to your mom.  She comes from a clan of musicians and singers.

In the meantime, I'll continue to help you fall asleep for the night.  It's my pleasure to sing my baby boy to sleep.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

my a-ha moment with God

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Just last week I started teaching Young Family Sunday School at church.  Since our population of children is small and ages range from six weeks old to 10 years old, we decided to teach both the child and the parents together.  It's challenging but I pray that we're successful in growing the faith life of families.

As a starting point I had everyone draw on paper what God was to them.  There were pictures of crosses, hearts, train tracks (a three year old drew that one), and a mountain (that was mine).

When it was my turn to explain my drawing I told everyone about my "a-ha" moment with God:

As a child I went to church with my family but sometime around the age of 13 science became my basis for the world.  Everything in the world could be explained through science.

Then, the summer after my Freshman year of college, some old high school friends and I went white water rafting in North Creek, NY.  We drove up there in a ridiculous storm that gave drivers inches of visibility and we crammed eight college kids into a motel room.

The rafting itself was lots of fun with plenty of bumps and people flying out of the boat.  At the end of the trip down the river we came to this calm place where, after some hard paddling work, we could lay back and enjoy the view.

Hudson River, North Creek, NY, photographed by D.R. March

As we floated down the river I took in the amazing view around us: the tall trees, mountains, birds circling overhead, and friends smiling ear to ear.

Suddenly I had my "a-ha" moment.  Somehow all of this, the people, the trees, the mountains, were all there for a reason.  And the reason was . . . God?  It wasn't easy to change my "scientific" rational mind to a God-based reality, but it happened.  And, it started happening in that moment.

After that experience I found myself seeking out the Newman Club at NYU (the undergraduate Catholic club) and quickly became active in the Catholic Center at NYU.  And now, eleven years later, I'm teaching Young Family Sunday School.

It's hard to explain what I saw and felt that day.  But, I hope that someday you'll be able to see a mountain and see God the way I did.

Eternally yours,

Tu papa

you have me wordless you chubness monster!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I have to admit that I've gotten very little work done at home since you joined us almost seven weeks ago.

I'll start things - like lesson planning, writing letters, reading articles - and not finish them until 12 hours later.  Something that could take me 30 minutes will take a total of 12 hours from start to finish.

For one thing, you're requiring a lot of attention.  A lot.  I am more than happy to pay close attention to you.  I would much rather stare at you than have to figure out how make the texture of a rock exciting to a second grader.

Most of the attention you require is based around food.  You've continued to eat like a champ and put on weight like a sumo wrestler.  At 6 1/2 weeks we weighted you at 12lbs.  That's double your birth weight in less than seven weeks!  Luckily your mom is the provider of the food but that doesn't mean I'm jobless.  While momma takes care of you, I have to take care of the momma.

Even when you're not demanding attention I find myself struggling to find the words I need to complete my work.  Instead, I end up in wordless awe of the miracle that is you.  No words.  Just thoughts of you.

Speaking of which, I'm going to go stare at you while you sleep.

Te quiero siempre,

Tu papa

badass grizzly warriors of Astoria

Dear Chicken Nugget,

This afternoon when I came home from work I found your mom on the couch, holding you, and looking more tired than I've ever seen her.  She communicated in a series of twitches and grunts that she was tired, hadn't napped at all today, and needed sleep now.

I've been to Yellowstone National Park a couple of times and have read the manuals on what to do when you encounter a grizzly bear.  Basically, you assess the situation and your surroundings, you calmly and slowly back away, and you keep your pepper spray ready to shoot.

That's how I treated this encounter.  I swooped you up, placed you in the Ergo carrier, and slowly backed out of the room.  I took you for a nice long walk so that the momma bear could get her nap.

As we walked down the streets of Astoria, you sleeping soundly at my chest, I noticed another gentleman carrying his baby in a carrier.  As he walked by he smiled and nodded.  I nodded back.  Then, a couple of blocks later, another guy with an Ergo walked by, baby at his chest, and dry cleaning folded over one arm.  In the hour and forty minutes that you and I spent zig-zagging our way through the neighborhood I counted five guys carrying their babies.

But, here's the interesting part: they were carrying their babies alone.  Somehow, between 5:25pm and 7:05pm six guys from the same neighborhood found themselves carrying their babies in some sort of baby carrier with no partner in sight.

It made me wonder if they too had encountered a sleep-deprived momma bear back in the home cave.  This is going to sound corny, but every time I passed one of those guys there was a nod or wave exchanged.  It's like we belonged to a club that the rest of the neighborhood wasn't cool enough to know about.

Early on in my running career when I was stupidly starting to train for my first marathon, I experienced something similar.  When running in New York City you often end up running by another runner.  This is no big deal.  It happens many times during a run.  Sometimes you make eye contact and acknowledge one another and sometimes they run by as if you barely exist.  It's New York, that's just how it is.

But, on one cold, rainy Fall day I had to go out for a long run and the weather wasn't supposed to get any better; I either did my long run in the rain or I waited a day and ran my long run in the rain.  So, I suited up and got myself going.  As I ran that day something special started to happen.  Fools Folks running by, and there were few that day, actually waved and called out a "hey!" or "hello."  It's as if we belonged to some ridiculous cold rain running club.  It made me feel a little badass.

Of course, this...

...doesn't look badass, Nugget.  But it is.

What looks like just a regular guy carrying his baby around the neighborhood is actually a warrior who probably managed to narrowly escape the charge of a momma grizzly.

At least, that's how I felt.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa



[PS - Readers of Dear Chicken Nugget may have noticed an ad for BabyEtte on the side bar.  We love their products!  Although I mentioned carrying Nugget in the Ergo today, we also have a wrap and a sling from BabyEtte and we love wearing our little Nugget around the house and 'hood.  They're a small family-owned business and we highly recommend them for your baby-wearing needs.]

Happy One Month!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Today you turn one month old in the outside world.  Happy Month Day!

You are growing so fast!  It's incredible to think that just one month ago we were meeting you for the first time. You were such a skinny, sleepy little Nugget then and now you're this chubby, grunting little wide-awake guy.  Except for in this picture:

Some of our family showed up to celebrate your month among us.  You slept through the entire event.  Your cousin Luanha, who is ten months old, came by to meet you for the first time.  She was one of your mom's first doula babies.  It was fun seeing you together for the first time and wondering what the future holds for you both.

We've had a wonderful first month with you, Nugget.  And, God willing, we look forward to another fifteen hundred months with you.

Eternally yours,

Tu papa

I changed my diet for you

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Heart disease runs in our family, at least my side.  I've been diagnosed with a high cholesterol since childhood and it reached its peak in adulthood.  The problem, besides my own body's inability to control its cholesterol production, is diet.

Your Grandma Betty is an awesome cook as you will someday discover.  But, the Ecuadorian diet typically consists of white rice, a meat, and some sort of delicious sauce (made of corn, plantain, or oils and spices.)  It's delicious stuff and will always taste like home to me.  But it lacks a variety of vegetables and includes too much white starch and animal fat.  Tasty, but not great for a family that is prone to diabetes and heart disease.

I've been battling with high cholesterol for at least eight years.  As a young bachelor, straight out of college, and starting to teach, I was told by the doctor that I had a high cholesterol.  High enough that I had to go on medication or do something about it - like diet and exercise.  First I tried diet, which worked somewhat.  Then I tried exercise, which started my life as a runner, and that helped some.  But, failing to combine the diet and exercise together made the cholesterol stay high.

It all reached its epic peak in January 2010 when I went in for a routine checkup at the doctor's office.  He was a new doctor and hearing about my family's history of heart disease he ran the usual tests.  The results were disastrous.

My cholesterol was high and, even worse, there were several other indicators in the blood work that showed that I was at high risk for a heart attack.  There I was, 29 years old, having just found out that your mom was pregnant with you and being told that if I was 55 years old I'd be in serious, even deadly, trouble.

I immediately got to work doing research on cholesterol, diet, exercise, and magic potions; anything to ensure that I got my cholesterol down and lived a healthy life for you and your mom.  I ended up finding a book called Prevent and Reverse Heart Disease by Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn.  In it he describes what the body does when you eat a diet high in fats and animal products.  Essentially, you get heart disease.  Although most doctors recommend that your cholesterol be kept under 200, Dr. Esselstyn recommends that you stay under 150.  And, the quickest way to do that is through a low-fat plant-based diet.

I started the diet almost as soon as I finished reading the book.  I also found out that a friend of ours from Nebraska, Bryan, had started a similar lifestyle change.  It went well and the numbers dropped dramatically.  I was training for the NJ Half-Marathon, raising money for the American Heart Association, and all was well.  I was put on medication as a precaution but the doctor said that if the numbers continued to drop we could try without the meds.

But, slowly, I became overly confidant in my numbers and I started introducing foods that I should have been avoiding.  Then, an old running injury prevented me from running the NJ Half-Marathon.  Then, summer happened.  As the excuses piled up, I lost control of my diet.  Then, you came.

For the last 27 days I've been staring at you in awe.  You are incredible.  I love you tremendously and would do anything for you; including changing my lifestyle so that I can enjoy many healthy years with you.

So, I'm back to my low-fat plant-based lifestyle.  I won't say that I'll follow the diet perfectly - there's always a mistake here and there.  But, I want those mistakes to be rare.  This isn't just about me and my cholesterol anymore.  It's also about you and your mom.

Recently, former President Bill Clinton told CNN that he has lost 24 lbs following the diet that Dr. Esselstyn writes about.  He's trying to reverse his heart disease and live long enough to see his grandkids grow up.

That's a wonderful goal.  It's mine too.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

our feet

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I have the terrible burden of telling you about our feet.  I say our feet because, even though it's a little early, it looks like you inherited my feet.  Your feet look like miniature versions of mine.  Sorry about that.

My feet are a size 10.5, sometimes even an 11.  They are ridiculously flat and carry long skinny toes.  Actually my second toes are as long as the pinkies on my hands.  My littlest toe (the pinky toe) has a perpetual hangnail.  And, due to the last six years of running, I also bear some rough spots, callouses, and other marks of a runner's foot.

Despite all this, I think I have some pretty good looking feet.  Your mom disagrees.  She seems to think my feet look like built-in flippers. 

Mom can get away with it, but don't let anyone else tell you that your feet are ugly, abnormal, or inhuman.  Sure, they're not biomechanically efficient and may prevent you from becoming an Olympian but I think you have mighty fine looking feet.

Plus, your arches may still form in a year or two.  So, unlike your dad, you still have a chance.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa