Tuesday, June 28, 2011

FIlthy good

Two things are filthy in this post:

First is the "Filthy Fifty" workout at Willie's House of Pain from this morning.

Second is the fact that you can now read this blog more easily from your smart(?really?)phone, iPad, or other mobile wizardry. I'm mobi-friendly now. Evolved. Filthy.

See? filthy means more than un-clean. Learn something every day.

PS: Chelsea, I heard this morning that you might be considering CrossFit...do it. I'm calling you out. That's filthy.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Monday, June 20, 2011


I didn't go into the weekend with many expectations, only those of spending some quality time with the two most perfect children I know. That wish was granted, and I had a wonderful day with them yesterday, which included a lively brunch at the Stonehouse, and a good romp at the park on Plumas, including some fetch with Bodie and some hoops with Sean on the 10 foot rim, which was impressive...in fact, if animal control hadn't shown up to tell us that Plumas Park was now an "on leash" (*bullshit**Cough*) park now, I think Sean had a good chance of beating me at horse.

So we rounded off the afternoon with a swim/sun session at Gramellen's Montage condo...delightful. Those two are so affectionate and easy, and they seriously make me realize just how blessed I am every day.

It crept up on me when I knew that my time with them was coming to a close that there was something missing in my day yesterday. I got pretty sad, and I looked at the slide show of my dad for the first time in a couple of months, and I let it out a little bit. It's not like father's day was some huge deal between my dad and us kids, but it was one we paid attention to. There wasn't a father's day that went by when I didn't enjoy golfing, a bbq, or something special to recognize that he was the man, and the best dad I knew, and he was loved and appreciated. Sitting alone, thinking about the fact that I can't call him up, at the very least to say hi, got to me a little bit yesterday.

There was one year I wasn't quite as excited to make that call. I was back from San Diego for the summer, and I was borrowing my dad's brand new Jeep Grand Cherokee for the weekend whilst he was out of town, Atlanta I believe it was, on a trip. When, at about 4am his time, he picked up the phone to hear me explain that I had just about totalled his new car through the fence of a house up by Manogue, I don't think "Happy Father's Day" were the 3 words he was looking to hear. We got over that one, and several other little speed bumps over the years, but I always, ALWAYS talked to or hung out with him on Father's Day, and so yesterday was something new. It hurt.

But there are so many things, on top of being a very, VERY lucky father, that make me appreciate this life and this world, and even the day yesterday. Being able to call or text other fathers I know, and wish them a happy day. Receiving calls or texts, or even posts to my wall that wished me a good one too. Some of them coming from people very near and dear to me in a fatherly way.

Thanks, Mark, for the message. You are like a dad to me, too, and it means a lot to have you in my life.

Thanks, John, for spending some real quality time with me lately; you are a wise man, and a kind one, and more fun now than I ever remember. Shooting off a few rounds was just what the doctor ordered, and the talks have meant a lot to me.

Dick, you won't read this post, and I hope you got my card, but just in case I'm putting this out into the universe for you: you'll always be a father to me, too. You have always treated me with love and respect, and what I have learned about the world from just hanging around you has a value that will never be adequately measured. You are an amazing grandfather to my kids, a kind and generous man, and you speak from the heart, always. I hope we get whatever this is figured out pronto. Life is short, as you well know. I love you.

Sorry to take this post in such a personal direction, but I guess that's what the day is really all about: taking it personally. Fatherhood is not for the weak or timid. It's not for the non-committal. I am not perfect at anything, and I have a lot of work to do to even be good at a lot of what I take on, but being a dad is still the most important thing I know and I work at, and that's because I had the best one there was. Thanks, Pops. I miss you.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

I can't...

By the end of this, I started thinking it must not be real.

But it might be real.

Still unsure.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Life is busy...

...couldn't be happier about it. The alternative sucks.

Even Bodie is pulling weight at the office.

Friday, June 10, 2011


Both times that we showed up a little late to take advantage of the twilight rate they told us, "well, the carts are being put away, but if you want to walk as many as you can get in, just go ahead, I won't charge you."


This is seriously one of the best ways to spend a warm early summer evening. Takin' her easy for an hour or two.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011


My Aunt Teri used to pick us up on the last day of school, and we would go up to my grandma's house and hang out and call 97.3, KWNZ, and ask Wild Bill Cody if he would play Alice Cooper's song "School's Out For Summer"...every year. Every last day of school. I don't even like Alice Cooper, but Teri's vicarious excitement for us was amazing, and she was always having so much fun with us when we were little. And there IS something to be said about the last day of school. An energy in the air with the knowledge that there is a whole summer of swimming and play ahead, and an exciting, unknown world of the next grade level up just a few short months away.

Ireland's excitement was pretty easy to spot. All she wanted to do was grab on to her big brother and squeeze him and share the love. She got a hold of him. These two got a hold of my heart in a big way.

Monday, June 6, 2011

It's not wasted

I just hobbled into work today after a great weekend in San Diego with family and friends. And when I say hobbled, I'm not exaggerating...in fact, that's probably a generous description. The truth is that on the way back from paradise, I actually considered using a wheelchair at the airport, I thought about the genius of escalators for the first time in my life, and I held back tears that were neither joy nor sorrow. The reason for my new swagger was an injury I sustained while doing my best to run the Rock and Roll Marathon yesterday.

After my
dad's passing, a few of us decided we were going to do something that would honor his life, and we would all run in the marathon in his honor. Initially there was a lot of big talk from everyone, including myself, about doing the full marathon. As time wore on, most of us decided that a half marathon would be just fine, or even as many miles as we could do. Not all of us were, after all, made like the "Man of Steel" who, in his very short 56 years on this planet, managed to run many races including over a dozen marathons, which he started doing after his first heart attack at age 43! If he could knock out a few hundred miles over his lifespan, surely we could suffer a few for him, too.

I had run a few races with him, from the Journal Jog here in Reno, to the bridge-to-bridge runs in SF when I lived there. He always wanted me to step up and do a marathon with him, and regrettably I never did. So this time I started training and mentally preparing myself for a long one, knowing it would hurt. I had no idea how bad. It wasn't the fatigue or mental toughness that ended up getting to me, as I had expected. Instead, it was the extremely painful snap of my left Achilles tendon around mile 8 that let me know the day was going to be a rough one. I'm still not sure what exactly I did to my Achilles, causing a grape-sized ball to appear on it after I passed Spreckles' Theater in beautiful downtown San Diego, but knowing I had a long way to go, I started compensating for it by putting an unbalanced load on my right foot as well.
According to the black tone and swelling of the top of my right foot today, whatever I did wasn't a good choice. The back of my left ankle is now much mellower, and almost looks normal, but I am walking like an old man that lost his cane at the moment, and my stats from the race are equally as unimpressive. In fact, after reaching the halfway point, knowing I wasn't going to have a good rest of the race, I slowed down a bunch, and decided I would just cut over and finish the half marathon with the majority of the group at the merging point. Unfortunately I didn't do that correctly, and added an additional 2 miles of doubling back and forth on the "half" course until I finally started the last one mile stretch to the finish...walking across the line in less than my greatest form.
All said I did about 17 miles and got a medal I didn't really want. I wanted the medal for the 26.2. But the amazing thing about the human body is it's ability to heal, and I know that I'll have another shot, another time, and I intend to get it done for him. For me.

And looking back on the weekend, I have a lot of highlights to reflect on. The weather in San Diego was so perfect; sunshine and soft winds welcomed us in and wafted in my memory as we landed in the grey, rainy conditions of our Juneuary in Reno.
Anna and I got to enjoy the Gaslamp District, a USD Alumni Retreat mixer, Ocean Beach, Mission Beach, and the lovely hospitality of the good people and great accommodations of the Sheraton Harbor Island...a surprisingly great value with a balcony overlooking the ocean and a great view of the infamous SD skyline.
I got to spend some awesome time in my old stomping grounds, and I got to enjoy the sights of one of America's greatest cities in a way I never had before.

And despite my slightly sullen outlook on the minor details of "my" race, in the big picture I am actually pretty stoked about what we did for my dad. After all, this is a family, and we all pitched in as follows:

  • Erin knocked out 8 miles
  • Beccy stepped up and did 13.1
  • Paddy flew through his 13.1 (and may or may not be suffering some similar injuries today)
  • Mo and Matt (from their "satellite" race in New Zealand) each did 13.1
  • Chelsea did 13.1, and in the most impressive gut-check of the weekend,
  • Brendan, my uncle and my dad's younger brother, sucked it up in a big way and knocked out the whole damn 26.2. A studly job for his studly brother...and he thought about him along the way, to be sure. Brendan, there is no doubt in my mind that my dad would be proud. Way to go, dude.
All told, we knocked out about 116* miles for Pat Egan, (and for my personal "motto" that I came up with somewhere along the journey over the last new months: "Cancer Can Lick My Balls"). While I don't think anyone outside of our little group had the same motto...actually, maybe nobody except for Brendan, really, I mean he made it happen...there were plenty of like-minded folks along the way. I was often, throughout the run, overwhelmed with emotion when I would pass by someone who had a picture of their father, mother, sister, brother, friend, neighbor, etc on their back.

The people they were running for had all died from cancer, I noticed. They were all pushing themselves hard to raise awareness, emotion, and spirit for the same thing. I was both impressed and humbled when I tried to get my camera out in time to take a picture of a guy running the full marathon with one leg and a prosthetic spring-like device where the other one belonged. My humility turned to near-shame when I couldn't get my camera out fast enough, and couldn't catch up to him as he disappeared into the horizon on the 163 highway. "Fuck," I thought, "I just got my ass kicked by a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest." So true.

And that's what so many people did and continue to do every day...they kick ass. They don't make excuses. They don't get held down by adversity. Just like my dad, they don't subscribe to the philosophy "Youth is wasted on the young." It's not if you continue to enjoy what youth you have up until the day it is gone. That's exactly what my dad did, and that's why I know I'll be back to knock out the whole thing as soon as my crippled-ass allows. In the meantime, I'll enjoy some nice memories of a great weekend, and a wonderful effort by a family that misses it's strongest member every day.

*Updated...sorry, Matt.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Wednesday, June 1, 2011


The top blue line is Sean. The other lines are not Sean.
So fucking proud of that kid.