Thanks for the Pizza, Dad!

When I attended the orientation for this Bikini training adventure, my trainer, Stacey Cooper explained her expectations. We were to attend all required trainings, unless we were sick or otherwise indisposed. I remember her saying that "life" was going to get in the way and it was up to us to manage it and stay on track.

Apparently for me, life would get in the way in Week 5. The result was one super last minute trip to Northern Cali, yet another hospital stay for dear old Dad and one very welcomed Pizza dinner devoured by yours truly.

Many people who know me know that my Dad has been in poor health for many years. The same man who can kick my butt swimming laps in the pool even now at age 60 has battled a heart condition since he was a child. This year has been especially challenging with several hospital stays, a few signifcant strokes and his second heart valve replacement surgery. We joke that he just likes having his daughters and son-in-law drop everything to come visit. Or it could also be that he enjoys the pretty nurses who can't help but compliment his piercing blue eyes. He likes to chat with the nurses and then report to my mom who promptly and lovingly whacks him over the head with whatever is within reach.

On Tuesday of this week, I got a call from my mom and sister around 7AM. This is definitely not the norm as I come from a long line of serious "sleeper-inners". 7AM calls in my family are usually cause for alarm.

Mom said that dad had another stroke that morning and was taken my ambulance to the hospital. So, the plan was in action once again.

Pack.
Book one way flights.
Reserve a rental car.
Eat.
Call work.
Call family.
Get ready.



Last time we made this trip, I had packed jeans and sweaters for 110 degree weather and forgot a toothbrush and deodorant. Stress does funny things to the brain. This time, I was more organized and didn't have to cruise around my parents' little town sweating in search of a toothbrush and deodorant. Did I mention that they have only one Rite Aid?

Once we arrived and visited Dad, we saw that he was okay. He was alert and speaking just fine. He apologized for the panic and thanked us all for coming up on such short notice. The doctor gave him new medication and held him for observation for two days for testing. I'm sure he met some new nurses this time around and I'm sure he reported back to my mom who whacked him over the head with whatever magazine he was reading at the time.

After we left the hospital, mom mentioned that she was making dinner for us. Keep in mind that we hopped a plane last minute, thus screwing up my whole "weigh and pack" training diet plan. Mom served the yummiest pizza I have ever had. I had a few pieces with some pasta salad. It was then that I realized that I had not even had bread in 35 days and here I was devouring Hawaiian pizza with zero guilt.



As I reflected on Dad and my visit and my training I had a few observations:

1. I'm sure Dad will be beating me in the pool again soon.
2. Pizza is good, but getting "un-chubby" is better.
3. I successfully avoided all the cocktails in creation that were calling my name at the airports.
4. I did not get my 1 gallon of water in each day and I blame the airline Nazi who confiscated the giant bottle that was in my purse.
5. I resisted the temptation to blame stress and indulge in all the ice cream and cocktails known to man.

Dad is home now and recovering quite well. He will continue to fight all the health problems that creep up and mom will probably continue to whack him over the head when he mentions the nice nurse from Puerto Rico.

Dad is now in good spirits and looking forward to our visit in November. I won't be able to chow down at Thanksgiving dinner due to training, but I would like to take a moment to thank Dad for giving me a legit excuse to fall (or jump) off the training wagon and onto some Ham and Pineapple.

Thanks for the Pizza, DAD! (and here's to many more Thanksgiving dinners!)