Freddogg Off The Chain

The difference between heat exhaustion and heat stroke is like the distinction between dead and real dead.

Every summer I take pictures and interview road racers by the thousands, I watch and I don’t wonder what drives runners because I’ve been there. I know about running through common sense and pushing fitness to an early and untimely but nevertheless timed demise.

But hopefully when a delirious person completes a race, doesn’t sweat but wobbles profusely someone will exercise good sense and get them off their feet. I consented to no one to take a picture of a post traumatic race wobbler, got scolded, but retaliated, ”At least I’m not holding her up saying “walk it off. And in case you haven’t noticed there is still a standard poodle clipped to her waistband. Could that possibly be a good idea?”

I am the same person that years ago when a whiny kid down the street sat on my front stoop and told me he broke his wrist stopping a bike after one of my twin toddlers tried to run over him I handed him a brick.

“What am I supposed to do with that,” he asked, protecting his bad arm with him good one? “Hold it in your hand, ”I instructed in all seriousness. ‘If your wrist and arm are broken you won’t be able to do it.”

He just cried harder and slinked her sorry ass on home. Later he returned with his arm in a cast and his overprotective red necked mother at his side.

“Robbie said one of the twins broke his arm and that you told him to shake it off and grab a brick. Could that possibly be true?”

“Absolutely Robbie is lying. I’m an experienced coach and sports person so why would I tell him to grab the handle bars of a huffy under full power and then pick up a brick to check for arm breakage? Does that sound like a logical story to you?”

Robbie and all his insecurities would reach his senior year in high school and we laughed together about the time I sold him out to protect myself in the grab a brick story.

But then his mother called me and said, ”Robbie is not only on drugs but he’s selling cocaine. He’s a dealer.”

I responded, ”are you cracked like a 12 year old ulna bone? Robbie isn’t close to cool and certainly no user or dealer. Where would you ever get such an idea?”

“I read it is his notebook from mechanical drawing class, ”she said. “He and two friends said they were expecting a large drug shipment any day.”

“They’re in mechanical drawing class. What do you expect them to write about? Protractors, compasses, right triangles? They’re just joking to pass away the protracted minutes of tedious time.”

This mommy dearest once again didn’t believe me, called the state police who found nothing but she kicked Robbie out of the house anyway for ever and ever amen.

There comes a time in every person's life to unhitch the poddle and to get along with it all. Just cute the bitch loose!



Peace Freddogg M.D.