Operation Jack

Fighting autism, one mile at a time.

Name Calling I Condone

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Back in 2001 when my first son was born, my wife spent four nights in the hospital recovering from her c-section. It was our home away from home for a little while. Over the course of four days, with tons of visitors, we accumulated a few things. When we left, we left something behind.

I don’t remember exactly what it was, but I remember going back to the hospital to get it. When I got there and small-talked with the nurses, I joked that they had forgotten to give us the owner’s manual for Benjamin. We were about a day into our new life, which was life at home taking care of a child. There was a lot of help in the hospital, but once you get home, you’re on your own. With the first child, that’s kind of scary! And I like to crack jokes, so I couldn’t resist asking for the manual, as if he was a car and there were simple instructions to take care of him.

We had no clue what we were doing, and in a way, I feel like we still don’t. We’ve taken it day-by-day from day one, adding a Jack into the recipe and then Ava. Jack’s autism has brought on even more twists and challenges for raising the other two, but we pray that we make the right decisions as we keep doing what we think is best for the kids on a daily basis.

Last week, we got a confirmation that we might be on the right track with a name Benjamin called a classmate. He was in an after-school chess program that he likes to go to. He’s actually starting to get pretty good. We’ve been playing for the past few years and he’s never come close to beating me. I rope-a-dope him, stringing out the game until bedtime and then putting the hammer down, executing a checkmate within a couple of moves.

I’m not competitive with my own son like that, but I want to challenge him so he’ll get better. Letting him win won’t help him. He finally beat me fair-and-square on Saturday. I beat him in a tight rematch, even though he accumulated two queens, but I know I need to bring my A game when I play him from now on!

Anyways, back to the name-calling. He was in an after-school chess program that he goes to every Monday. There’s another boy in there that he doesn’t get along with. Sometimes kids just don’t get along. They all have their individual personalities, and sometimes they clash. We’ve dealt with the issues between Benjamin and this child with the teacher, Tiff spoke to the mom once — it’s been an ongoing problem, one I definitely blame on the other child after last week’s incident.

I’m not sure what triggered this — from what I understand, it was something trivial and inconsequential. The boy told Benjamin, “I did your mom last night.” Benjamin was confused. So the boy continued, “Do you and your mom make babies?” Benjamin didn’t know what the boy was talking about, but he got angry and snapped.

“I don’t even know what that means, you … banana head!”

Now, I’m not totally OK with him calling other kids names. But I’m totally OK with him defending his mom. And if he must call another kid a name, let it be “banana head”! That’s the kind of thing a fourth-grader should be saying.

We still have a lot of things to work on with Benjamin. I’m sure the parents of every child in his class would say the same thing about their kids. But I’ve been pretty happy with the son we’re raising, and him calling another classmate a name confirmed my thoughts.

We never did get that owners manual, but so far, I think we’re doing OK.

Getting The Blues

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Last year at this time, I was getting ready to get the Blues — the Mississippi Blues Marathon. It was marathon No. 2 of 61 for the year, January 9 in Jackson. I’m getting the blues again, although this time I’m staying in California.

Just in case you’ve never been here before, I’m a father of three and a marathon runner. My middle child, 7-year-old Jack, is severely autistic. I ran 61 marathons last year to raise money and awareness for a charity I’m a part of called Train 4 Autism. It was a successful mission, ending on December 26 with the Operation Jack Marathon.

I suspected all along I’d get depressed when it all ended. I was so used to my routine of traveling, checking into dirtbag motels, running marathons, racing to the airport, writing my blogs, trying to raise money, etc. I figured I’d miss it. As exhausting and demanding as it was, and as difficult as it was to leave home so much, it was still fun to get out there and meet people and see things.

Eleven days removed from my last race, I don’t miss it at all. I have enough memories to last a lifetime and enough was enough. It’s nice not to travel and it’s nice to not have to get up and run a marathon because I “have to.” I’ve been getting back into training, running my 15-milers in the morning before work and eating more. I don’t miss what I was doing last year at all.

I come home from work, I don’t have a blog to write, I put my phone and my laptop down and I hang out with my family. It’s easier to spend time with the kids and I hang out with my wife at night, actually paying attention to the show we’re watching instead of just being there physically while I write a blog and make travel reservations and answer emails.

Yes, this new routine is nice. Really, really nice. I’m getting to be the me that I used to be.

So why am I depressed? Why am I getting the blues in California? I feel like I have nothing to do, as odd as that sounds. For 18 months, I pushed and pushed to get things done. I pushed to raise money and awareness for Train 4 Autism. I was banging my head against the wall and struggling for 18 months. I love a challenge and I never quit trying last year. Even after my last race, I still went after donations.

But now what? I feel like I have nothing to do, even though I’m doing a lot more in my personal life. Everybody who was talking to me is still talking to me, so it’s not like I’m getting ignored, but for some reason, I just feel like the world has tossed me
aside. It’s kind of tough to feel alone with nothing to do, but that’s where I’m at.

We go to Saddleback Church, which is Rick Warren’s church, and the message is very purpose-driven. I found a purpose last year and I loved it. I have a wife and three kids and I love them dearly. I love playing with my kids, spending time with my wife — you know, being a typical dad and husband. But for whatever weird reason, I just don’t feel much of a purpose right now. I don’t know if it’s wrong to think that taking care of my family and raising my kids isn’t enough for me to do, but that’s where I’m at.

This morning, I got up for my run and just wasn’t feeling it. I wanted to go out for 15 miles, but I didn’t have the heart to. A lot of people use running as a release, but I can’t do it without a clear mind. I was going to go back to bed, but then I figured I’d be mad at myself for eating too much yesterday and not using it today. So I went out for a run and got about 1/10 of a mile before turning back. I just didn’t have it in me, although it has nothing to do with running.

Why am I writing this? Heck, I don’t know. I have mixed emotions about whether I should really be posting any more. But I guess until I get zero page views, it’s not totally a waste of time. And maybe some of you who have been following along still want to follow along as I come down from my cloud?

Anyways, that’s all, I guess. Have a great weekend, everybody. Sorry to be such a downer!

Post-OJ, Week 1

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I was worried about how I’d mentally after my 61-marathon endeavor last year. I thought I’d be depressed and sad. I mentally prepared for the letdown and through seven days, it never came. I was never really bummed. Not until now. I’m writing my first blog since I completed Operation Jack on December 26 and I can’t help but think … what do I write about? And why would anybody care at this point? At least I have a couple of cool video clips for you.

Anyways, just in case you’ve never been here, I ran 61 marathons in 2010 to raise money and awareness for a charity I’m a part of called Train 4 Autism. My middle child, 7-year-old Jack, is severely autistic. So I named the endeavor Operation Jack, after him.

I ran marathon No. 61 of the year on December 26. And then life went on. I worked 18 hours the next day and I didn’t run. That was last Monday. I was worried I’d feel like the world passed me by, but I was fine. I was still on a high and getting a fair amount of attention.

I was busy as heck last week, working about 75 hours. I start working by 9 a.m. and worked until 4 a.m. Monday night, 11 p.m. Tuesday night, regular hours on Wednesday and again until 4 a.m. on Thursday night. Friday, allegedly a day off, I worked from about 10 a.m. until 11:30 p.m., although I took a break for about an hour in the middle for a media interview (keep reading — I embedded it a little ways down in this blog). I got too tired to keep working at that point, watched the ball drop with my wife, Tiffany, then called it a night at about 1 a.m.

On Saturday, I was at it again by about 10 a.m., then finally ran out of brainpower at about 7:30 p.m. I was so tired I decided not to run yesterday morning. So, in my first-week post-Operation Jack, I ran zero miles and spent about 75 hours in front of the computer. Man, what a bummer.

But I took yesterday off. I slept in, went to church with my family, took care of some Operation Jack stuff that I still need to finish up on, completed my honey-do list, visited with my parents, watched a little football, played Uno and squeezed in a tiny bit of bodyweight exercises (pushups, pullups, crunches, dips, etc.). I felt unproductive for at least 2 or 3 hours, which was amazing. Is that what the rest of you do on Sundays? It’s been a while — I don’t really remember.

Anyways, I haven’t checked in for about a week, so that’s what I’ve been up to. I knew I wanted to write a blog for today, because that race report can only stay up for so long. And then I started to write this and I got pretty sad.

What do I do now? And who really cares? I want to keep pushing this cause. And I’d love to help out with a few other causes that I believe in. But I don’t really know how I can help or what I can do.

I feel like Superman when he lost his powers:

I guess for now I’ll stop dwelling. Well, at least for today. I did get out and run 15 miles this morning, which was nice. I kind of found the old me.

My Wife Says I’m Not Funny, But I Made Her Laugh
So on Saturday night, we were watching some movie called The Backup Plan or something like that, with Jennifer Lopez and some guy who, according to my wife, has the perfect upper body. It was a chick flick, and in all fairness, I fell asleep about halfway through the movie. I can keep my Man Card.

In that first half, there was a scene where there was a first date and they went into some kind of garden setting and it was romantic and the kind of stuff that chicks dig and guys don’t really do in real life. So of course, my wife has to jokingly nag with something like, “Why didn’t I ever get something like that?”

I guess being funny all depends on timing, so fortunately, it took about half a second for me to come up with my reply.

“Because I didn’t have access to a movie set and a million-dollar budget.”

I would say that shut her up, but it didn’t. She was laughing for a good minute or so. I’m funny, even if Tiff and my friend Nicole say I’m not.

Media Coverage
We got featured on the LA NBC station and on the LA ABC station. The NBC piece made its way around the country and folks saw it all over, even in Australia! Here they are:

That’s Enough For Today
I’m guessing I’ll blog again later this week. If you have any questions about anything, let me know. If you have anything you want me to blog about, let me know. If you have any ideas for things I can do make the world a better place, let me know.

Beyond that, have a great day!

Race Report: Operation Jack Marathon

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Normally I try to keep race reports from getting too long, because I know they probably get pretty boring. I mean, how many times do people want to read about my heart rate getting too high and me taking another gel pack? But there are so many things to write about the Operation Jack Marathon that I don’t know if I can keep this short.

First, just in case you haven’t been here before, I’m a marathon runner and a father of three. My middle child, 7-year-old Jack, is severely autistic. I ran 61 full marathons in 2010 to raise money and awareness for a charity I’m a part of called Train 4 Autism. I named the endeavor Operation Jack, after my son.The Operation Jack Marathon was the 61st and final marathon of the year for me. If you didn’t see the blog I wrote last week as my swan song, click here to check it out.

So anyways, when I originally looked at the calendar to set up my race schedule, I knew this weekend would be a challenge. Christmas on Saturday and the day after Christmas on Sunday. Where would I find a race? I couldn’t possibly leave the family on Christmas Day if I found something on the Sunday. I launched Operation Jack with that weekend as a TBD. It truly was a TBD.

I had a plan in the works, but it fell through in late September. So, in October, I started brainstorming and decided to put on a marathon to close this all out. I was nervous about it — I didn’t know how in the heck I’d be able to recruit people for a race — but I was optimistic I could get at least 10 entrants and cover the costs. I went through a bunch of red tape and several different government agencies to get a permit and insurance. We had a course, I created a spot on this site, worked with a registration company and we got it rolling.

I had the help of Operation Jack supporter Jake Rome, who was a huge help in planning this thing. I worked with my designer, Tara Larivee, to get shirts and medals designed. I had a committee from Train 4 Autism helping take care of everything. I was nervous and anxious about this for two months. I was worried about having enough participation to make it a good event and the last thing I wanted to do was let anybody down.

Before I knew it, registration started to climb in a hurry and I got anxious that we’d have too many people to be able to handle things. This 10-person race I was hoping for ended up with 151 registrants and about 40 volunteers! I showed up early to make sure everything was rolling fine and when people started lining up for registration, I got pretty excited. It was showtime. There were runners all over the place, mingling and waiting for the race to start. I knew they were all out there to support the cause.

I saw the Train 4 Autism popup go up, I saw familiar faces and I saw unfamiliar faces. I moved my dad’s car to a lot we rented, synced up with my mom, who was in from Atlanta, and walked the 1/2 mile back to the start area thinking about what an exciting day it would be. I knew that no matter what happened, it would be a day I would always look back on.

I did an interview before the race then talked with a good friend of mine for a bit. We looked around and basically said that wow, my dream from two years ago was a reality. New people were out for the cause, and it was going to be a great day for Train 4 Autism that probably wouldn’t have otherwise happened. I don’t want to say I did it, because I didn’t — a lot of people did it. And I KNOW it wouldn’t have happened if my son didn’t suffer from autism. So it was a pretty special day before I got going. I got on the megaphone a few minutes before the start and thanked everybody for showing up. It was amazing to look out and see so many people ready to start this race. My legs hurt, but it’s pretty sweet to be in my shoes.

Next thing you know, we were off. Immediately, the first thing in my mind was that this was finally the last race of Operation Jack. I was running, and I was only about three hours away from completing the goal I’d set. The goal of 61 marathons isn’t tremendously important on an individual basis. The biggest thing about it is that it’s a tactic to gain attention and increase awareness of Train 4 Autism. But it’s still challenging to run that many marathons all-out in a single year. I won’t lie — I was intimidated by what I was facing at the beginning of the year.

But finally, the last marathon was underway and I could put this thing to bed. Of course, I still had to cover 26.2 miles on foot, and no matter how many times you do that, it’s never easy! One of the benefits of putting on marathon you’re going to run in is that you kind of forget you have to go pound it out! But I showed up ready to run. I had no desire to take it easy and let my last race be a victory lap. I did a few things different with my training and fueling this week and I thought I’d have a chance to be ready to move pretty quickly. Not necessarily a sure-fire thing, but I took some gambles because … why not?

I started off holding the sub-3 pace I wanted for a couple of miles, but it felt fairly tough and I felt sick to my stomach, like I wanted to throw up. My calves got a bit tight early, but that’s typical when I’m pushing the pace in a marathon. They usually feel good by about four miles in. I was running with a friend of mine, John Loftus. John is a great guy, a blazing fast runner (2:41:19 PR, won his age group at the Boston Marathon in 2009) and also a running coach, so I had good company.

He kept me focused when I needed to be and we spent a fair amount of time chatting (when my breathing allowed — for him, it was an easy run). The course was flat and along the ocean before turning to head alongside a creek. There was some wind on the way out, but it was at our back on the way in. Temperatures were in the mid-50s. The weather was about as good as any race I ran all year.

I could tell by about mile 5 that I didn’t have enough to set the world on fire. My pace had slowed to somewhere around 7:15s or so I think. I was still going to push for the best finish I could, but I didn’t have as much in me as I’d hoped. I got over my nausea by about mile 8 and then settled into a groove running miles around 7:20 or so. The course was a 6.55-mile out-and-back, so half marathoners ran the loop once and marathoners went twice.

I hit the half in 1:35:35, a 3:11 pace. I saw my wife and kids which was cool. They were excited and Benjamin was having fun working at an aid station. At that point, I felt like I was on the track and they were ringing the bell for the last lap. It was finally time to finish this thing off!

The wind was a little stiffer on the way back out, but it wasn’t terrible. I started to run out of steam by about mile 18 and could only manage 7:45s. When we hit the final turnaround at 19.65, I was excited that all I had to do was run back in and this whole thing was done. I started to get a little nervous, because I didn’t know how I’d be emotionally when I got to the finish. I’d been dreading that, because I didn’t know how I would react.

I started thinking a lot about my first race this year in Texas, and that dread I had, and how it had all come full circle with the (almost) completion of Operation Jack. For the most part, though, I was staying focused on my running. I needed to get my body to the finish line and the fatigue was starting to set in. I really wanted to get done. Five miles to go. Four miles to go. I was counting them down and getting excited to be done.

I had worked out something with Tiff and Jack was going to be a half-mile out from the finish and I was going to push him in while he was in a jog stroller. We hit mile 24, which is a good spot for me in a race, mentally. It starts to feel easy at that point, because I know the finish is close. Me and John took a bit of a wrong turn, but got back on track pretty quickly.

At 24.5, John told me that I only had a mile until Jack would be there. With a little over a mile to go, I saw my good friend Ben Delaney with him. Time for the handoff, time to finally get to the finish of a marathon of marathons! It’s tough to push that thing if you’r not used to it. I also had to try to keep it fairly steady, because he had a sandwich bag with celery and carrots in there, plus a sippy cup with a drink, and I didn’t want them to fall out.

I asked Ben if Jack was having a good time and he said he was just checking things out and he seemed fine. He had seen a plane a few minutes earlier and got really excited. I kept pushing, talking with John and Ben and making sure Jack was OK. The tenths were ticking down, and I wasn’t feeling the emotional overload I thought I would. I was just feeling physically beat and pushing the stroller was getting tough. Ben offered to help, but I told him no, I’d bring it in myself.

Finally, I got to the finish line and saw a bunch of people waiting for me, applauding. I kind of suspected that would happen. I saw quite a few people who had driven a considerable distance and it was nice to see them. I saw Ben, Ava and Tiff and they all came over to congratulate me.

Oh, I went 3:18:43, as if that matters. I got third place (yay for a small field!) so I got a trophy, which I was really hoping for since it says “Operation Jack Marathon” on it.

Anyways, a reporter from the Los Angeles NBC affiliate was there to do a piece on us, so I had to go straight into an interview while I tried to catch my breath. I made my way around to try to talk to everybody who was there and thank them for being there. Then I just kind of hung out for a while, watching people finish and talking to the volunteers.

Everybody seemed to like the race, which was really my biggest concern for the day. Everything seemed to go off well and it was a fun day for Train 4 Autism. In fact, several people were asking if we were going to the race again next year! I told them to wait until Tuesday to ask me that. It would be fun, I think, to put something on like this every year. But I need to decompress, first.

A couple of interesting things: I found out that a runner flew in from North Dakota just for this marathon! He flew out Saturday night, flew back after the race and it was his first-ever marathon! That totally blew my mind, and I was relieved to hear he had a great time. There was also another runner who drove down from the Bay Area for this and it was also his first marathon. I took pictures with both of them but haven’t gotten the pictures onto my computer yet. I’ll update this later.

And that’s pretty much it, I guess. Operation Jack, mission accomplished. I ran my 61 like I said I would and I went all-out every time like I said I would. It’s tough for me to really measure any accomplishments other than the money, but I’m pretty sure it was all worth it.

I’m not going to disappear now. I’ll still probably blog once or twice a week and tell bad jokes on Twitter, plus I’m going to get to work on building up my local Train 4 Autism chapter. I’ll keep pushing to try to make things better in the autism world, even though I don’t have much of a gameplan right now.

I’ll give one more reminder, as we get pretty close to the end of the year … you can still make a tax-deductible donation by clicking on the Donate Now! link at the top of any page on this site. Also, don’t hesitate to spread the word! I did this so you would talk about it. Tell your friends on Twitter and Facebook to stop by!

If there’s anything for you to remember from what I did this year, please let it be Train 4 Autism. Not that some nutty guy in California ran a whole lot of marathons.

Train 4 Autism.
Train 4 Autism.
Train 4 Autism.

Ya hear? If you ever come across somebody impacted by autism, send them this direction so I can tell them how they can use us to raise money for the autism-related charity of their choice! ANY charity!

Oh, and if you ever suspect your child is delayed, don’t wait to get treatment. Have your child evaluated so they can get treated as soon as possible. Early intervention is critical!

That’s all. Thanks for reading!


Me coming in to the finish. Jack was having a blast — he thought it was like a ride!

Me and Jack coming in to the finish with Ben (bib 268) and John (bib 298) close behind.

Me and John after the race.

Jack checking out the microphone.

Jack really wants the microphone!

My new favorite photo.

Sweetheart!

Ben and Jack.

Tiff getting interviewed.

My Swan Song

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Well, this is it — my last blog before I’m finished with Operation Jack. I won’t post again until I write my race report. So, rather than wasting five minutes of your day with my silly jokes, I’m going to tell you one last time why I’m doing Operation Jack and what I want to come from it.

Operation Jack is my attempt to run 61 full marathons this year to raise money and awareness for a charity I’m a part of called Train 4 Autism. I’m a marathoner and a father of three. Running marathons is something I do, although I never ran more than 10 in a year before 2011. My middle child, 7-year-old Jack, is severely autistic, so I wanted to do something to make a difference. This was what I came up with. I’m through 60 so far. The 61st will be the Operation Jack Marathon on Sunday.

I came up with this idea to run all these races as my way of trying to make the world a better place. I’d like to think that everybody wants to make the world a better place. Maybe I’m wrong. I’m not going to sit here and say I’m 100 percent altruistic, but every since I started going to church with my family in 2008, it became increasingly important to me to not live for myself or care too much about myself.

Am I perfect in that regard? Heck no. I’m incredibly flawed. But I’m much happier with the way I approach the world and live my life. I enjoy running, but over time, starting in 2008, I wanted to use my running to do something for more than just myself. I wanted to make something happen. I want to make a difference. If I really think about it, I’m sure there’s a little selfishness in that regard. I mean, say I really made something big happen and made a lot of lives better. Well, maybe I’d have some kind of legacy. Who doesn’t want to be remembered?

But then Jack comes into play in that regard. I want Jack to be remembered. I want him to have a legacy. He’s going to have a tough time in this world. I look at him and get upset because he got robbed. He doesn’t get the same childhood I got, with friends and Little League and sleepovers and playing after school. He gets special ed and therapy and diapers. Me and my wife (his mom) Tiffany will always fight for him and do everything we can to help him along. But I’m realistic about his prognosis.

I mean, look at this video. He’s 7.

There are lots of bad things in this world that harm kids. But autism is what robbed my little boy of his fair chance. I believe that I’ve been led down the path I’m on for the past 36 years, and autism is what I’ve been called to fight. I hate it. I hate what it does to kids, I hate what it does to siblings, I hate what it does to parents and I hate what it does to families.

I want to see it eradicated from the world. I want researches to find the cause, I want researchers to find a cure and I want effective treatments to be developed. I’m not a scientist. I don’t have a lot of money to throw after this problem. But I do have one talent. I can run a marathon, and then run another one fairly soon, then repeat the process.

To me, it’s not a big deal. I can do it, so it doesn’t seem too difficult. But I’m aware that the average person gets some “wow” out of that, so I figured I’d find a way to use that God-given talent to help me fight autism. It took months and months of brainstorming, but this is what I came up with.

I’m fairly inward with a lot of my emotions. Writing this blog can be like my diary. I’m really numb to what my son goes through. I’m not in denial, and I’m 100 percent behind trying anything and everything to help him get better. Desperate times call for desperate measures and we’re desperate. But it doesn’t really seem real to me. It’s more surreal than real. I still think he’s going to come out of this. It’s tough for me to really process what he’s going through.

I know I hate autism, though. I hate hearing from people I went to high school with and learning that they have kids who have this wicked neurological disaorder. I hate autism and I’ll continue to fight it. I hate it. I think you get what I’m saying.

And I use Jack as my driving force behind this. It’s important for me to always remember that I would have never done this if not for him. Anything that comes out of this would not have happened if he didn’t struggle with autism. I want to make what he’s going through have a purpose. That wouldn’t make it worth it, but at least it could accomplish some good.

That good I’m seeking isn’t just me having 61 medals to hang on the wall. It’s helping Train 4 Autism grow, which will help people raise money for small, local autism-related charities. Or the big charities, too. It doesn’t matter. All of us fighting autism are in the same fight, regardless of which charities we support. I want Jack’s autism to end up making things better for other kids. Helping Train 4 Autism grow is my first attempt at that.

When all is said and done, forget about my ice cream and cheeseburgers and travel mishaps. If there’s anything I want people to remember from everything I’ve done, it’s Train 4 Autism. Sometime down the road, when you cross paths with somebody impacted by autism who wants a vehicle to help raise money for a local charity, I want Train 4 Autism to come to mind. If you want to run a marathon someday and do it for a cause, I want you to think of Train 4 Autism. Train 4 Autism. Train 4 Autism. Is it in your head yet?

One other thing I want to stress while I still have a platform is if you have a child someday that’s slow to develop and you discover they might be on the spectrum, don’t delay with treatment! Denial only hurts your child. Early intervention is CRITICAL. Do not ignore warning signs!

So that’s it, I guess.

Train 4 Autism, early intervention.
Train 4 Autism, early intervention.
Train 4 Autism, early intervention.

I think you get it.

I’ll post a race report after the race on Sunday and I’ll blog next year, maybe twice a week or so. But for the most part, I’m done blogging my way through Operation Jack. It’s been an incredible ride and I appreciate you all following along. It’s been a huge test. I’ve failed along the way, I’ve gotten stronger along the way. Individually, it’s really been a once-in-a-lifetime experience and it’s been awesome to have some many people along for the ride. And finally, I can see the finish line.

But remember, it’s not too late to spread the word on Twitter or Facebook, and of course, it’s not too late to make a tax-deductible donation! Pass this blog along — let’s make one last attempt to bring people in!

Remember, Train 4 Autism. Early intervention!