Fortunately, I was living in the outdoor mecca of Denver, Colorado at the time, so there was no shortage of grueling events to test my mettle. Perhaps more fortunately, there was also no shortage of like-minded friends willing to respond to an early morning alarm and train alongside me in mutual pursuit of our goals.
I went through many a training partner during my time in Denver, but my favorite was a fellow by the name of Max Fulton, shown here shortly after punishing yours truly up the 8,000 vertical feet of the 2006 Pikes Peak Ascent. A great guy with unshakable determination, Max provided the steady Yin to my bipolar Yang. We shared more mornings than seems reasonable running the trails of Matthews Winters Park, urging our bikes up Lookout Mountain, and swimming the 1.2M loop at Chatfiled Reservoir. Good times.
On all those swims and all those rides and all those runs, Max was always a bit better than me. And when you train with a partner, if the same guy is always out in front, he's bearing a disproportionate share of the workload. When swimming, it's the man in front who has to fight the current while everyone else tucks effortlessly in his wake, keeping the same pace with half the effort. The same holds true for cycling, only instead of merely breaking the wind*, the man in front is obligated to point out potholes, glass, or any other potential danger to those behind. And when running, it's the man in front who is responsible for making sure nobody else gets whacked in the face with a rebounding tree branch he shouldered out of his way while leading on the trails.
I've always wanted to repay Max for consistently setting the pace and constantly identifying the obstacles ahead, but sadly, my fitness level has never matched my good intentions. I've never had the opportunity to be the man out in front.
Until now.
Max and his wife Andrea are due to welcome their first child, a son, into the world in the coming days. And this time, I'm in the lead, having enjoyed a three week head-start on fatherhood. As a result, I can finally return the favor and share the wisdom I've gained over these 21 days to hopefully help Max avoid a metaphorical pothole (great band name!) or two.
So Max, based on my recent experiences, here are the most vital things you need to be concerned with as a first-time father. Consider us even.
1. There's something your wife hasn't told you. She's 30% plant.
Look man, I can try and warn you, I can try and scare you, I can do my best to paint a picture of the horrors you're going to witness. But it would all be for naught. There are just some things in life -- war and Blues Brothers 2000 come to mind -- that forewarned as you may be, you simply has to experience them for yourself in order to fully appreciate their traumatizing effects.
Babies poop. They poop a lot. Lots of poop means lots of diaper changes. That, in itself, is not problematic. If you've got opposable thumbs and a cursory knowledge of human anatomy, you can figure out how to properly affix a diaper to your child. It's what fills those diapers that will leave you questioning God's existence.
While preparing myself for the worst over the last days prior to Ryan's arrival, I anticipated having to deal with a substance that at least resembled the conventional definition of poop. It might look more like dog poop, goose poop, whatever...but at a minimum it would meet the standards I'd established over a three decade period as to what poop should or could look like. I could live with poop, I decided.
What I got was tar and seeds.
I'm not kidding. For the first few days, babies expel a substance that could easily repair a roof or smooth a driveway. The smell, like the substance itself, is utterly unnatural, and is tougher on the stomach than the opening minutes of Saving Private Ryan.
You assume things will get better once the breastfeeding takes hold, but you would be very, very wrong. For reasons unclear to me -- and apparently to much of the medical community -- once they start breastfeeding, babies' poop consists of nothing more than hundreds of repulsive, yellow seeds.
This, as you might imagine, has generated no shortage of questions, starting with the obvious: What the hell are they? Are they coming from Mom or baby? By what bizarre gastrointestinal process is my child converting milk into seedlings? If we were to plant them in the garden, what would emerge come harvest?
After a week or two, your son's bowel movements will become...how should I put this...a bit more explosive. And when they do, those seeds will be everywhere. Bursting free from the diaper, you'll find them on his legs, his back, his chest...Lauren and I even found one on his shoulder an hour after we changed him. I know this may sound like a humorous experience, but I assure you, when it inevitably happens, you'll find it less than amusing.
I've had doctors saw through my skull, retract my brain, and place a tiny titanium clip on a tinier artery, yet I can't find someone capable of explaining to me why my son's diapers are brimming with something out of the Perinnials aisle at the Garden Mart. If you figure it out, let me know.
2. Your son is no Wildebeest
Did you know that on the African Savannah, the offspring of "prey" mammals are capable of sprinting moments after they're born? It's the product of thousands of years of evolution: without the ability to run from the get-go, the infants would be eaten by predators within hours.
And then there's my son, who a full three weeks after entering this world, still doesn't possess the strength necessary to hold up his own head. Somewhere, newborn wildebeest are out-sprinting cheetahs while my son lays here as helpless as a girl in math class.
Spare me the "big brain means early birth" theory. Humans spend nine months in the womb developing lungs, growing toes...all that good stuff. You're telling me evolution couldn't lend a hand and allow us to toughen up those neck muscles a bit?
Prepare yourself for a panic attack every time you pick up your son, hand him to your wife, or cruise through the drive-thru with him balancing on your lap. The doctors will warn you that his brain will move within his skull if not property supported, potentially causing irreversible damage. Isn't that a calming, helpful bit of information for a new dad? So now every time you pick the kid up and his head jiggles the slightest bit, you'll get to enjoy the guilt of knowing that he's one step further from the Ivy Leagues and one step closer to Arizona State. Awesome.
3. Insert R Kelly Joke Here
You will get peed on. Nothing more to say here.
4. Babies are the World's Greatest "Get Out of Jail Free" Card
There's no denying that having a child changes you in many fundamental ways. What you might not realize, however, is that having a child also changes the way others perceive you.
Allow me to illustrate my point.
I'm never been one for gatherings. I enjoy my simple life at home with my wife, dog and son, and I lack both the motivation and social skills necessary to be a good party guest. As a result, those close to me have spent the better part of their lives making excuse after excuse for my inevitable early departure from birthday parties, barbecues, funerals, you name it. "Tony's not feeling well...he's got work in the morning...his car is on fire... " All weak excuses, and predictably, nobody was buying them.
But now that I'm a father, if I have to leave early it's only because one of my many fatherly duties is needed and needed immediately. While wild horses normally couldn't drag me away from the thrilling conclusion of little Jimmy's fifth grade graduation party, my son looks like he's getting awfully sleepy. Better get him to bed.It's simply amazing how that eight pound addition to my life has completely changed the perception of my same embarrassingly bad etiquette:
Tony before baby? Selfish, anti-social jerk.
Tony after baby? Dedicated, doting father.
Reap the benefits, Max. If you play your cards right, you'll never have to miss the fourth quarter of a playoff game again.
Of course, fatherhood isn't all poop seeds, bobbleheads and golden showers. There's a magical side too, one that far outweighs the challenges I've laid out for you. Take the tough part in stride, and I can promise you the first time you see something even remotely resembling a smile on your son's face, you'll forget all about what was in those diapers.
Have fun.
*not a fart joke
