Dave's #5 Fit For Shame

So how do you stay fit? Well, some buddies and I tried a couple years ago to do it through FEAR and SHAME. As the pictures will soon reveal, I might as well name names, Ryan, James, Brent, Barrett and me (Dave). After several weeks of negotiations, we decided the loser of the challenge would put on a speedo, get on the #6 Train and ride it the length of the city. This holds a little more weight and humiliation after knowing this is the same group that put together the "Apprentice Prank". The film footage was going to be easy pickin's and the end product another great video.

The challenge was simple, first, take BEFORE & AFTER pictures then give the pictures to professional trainers that would then rank them from BEST to WORST. The rankings would be based not on who has the best body, but on who has the MOST IMPROVED BODY. This was the major part of the final score at 50% (and also what Barrett was counting on for the victory). The remaining 50% of the race would be tallied on three physical races a 1/4 mile swim, a 6 mile bike race and a 1.6 mile run in Central Park.

We each agreed to the terms and then the three month race was on. Barrett started training by drinking 3000 calorie shakes composed of whipping cream, James hit the pool, Ryan lifted some weights, I hit the bike track and Brent looked for some older and more out of shape pictures with his shirt off. When our training was complete, we all met in NYC for the competition.

The First Event - 1/4 Mile Swim
At the pool, strangers caught wind of our race decided to put odds on their favorite. They all looked at Barrett and his fine-tuned body and was picked as the trifecta favorite. The shot was fired and we were all wet, but not all of us were necessarily swimming. James had almost lapped us and took first, Brent and I battled for 2nd but on the last lap I passed him and silver was mine. Brent then took bronze and Ryan and the piano he was dragging took 4th. Barrett floated in last and waved off the life guard has she was reaching for the life guard pole. The spectators all looked on in shock.

The Second Event - 6 Mile Bike Race

Ready, Get Set, Go! Brent and I set out first like a champion drafting team. Ryan hung on tightly behind like a barnacle. James was no where to be seen and had long faded into the back ground. Barrett disappeared almost immediately. Later on, we learned that after a lazy and false first effort, Barrett short-cut across the park and hid in the bushes at mile five. His plan was to wait for us to come around the corner then jump in for the last mile sprint. Barrett's wily plan was brilliant, the only problem was that by the time he had come back to mile 5 and set up shop to watch for us, we had already passed him and finished the race. Barrett doesn't do much while waiting in the bushes, so we will get back to him a little later—he isn't going anywhere. Brent's desire to gain a little glory on the bike track lead him into taking the lead and cutting a delicious and unrestricted path for me. Breaking into mile 5, we looked back to find the barnacle was hot on our trail and catching up fast. My fresh legs kicked in but left Brent to fend for himself. Ryan passed him by the MET, but I held him off for the victory. 8-10 minutes later, James came strolling up like he was riding a Puerto Rican tricked out bike, smiling and ringing his bell. I am tempted to believe that he forgot that he was racing. 20-30 minutes later there was still no sign of Barrett and we figured he was lost. Tara and Anita got worried, and got on the bikes to go and look for the Wily Coyote. They find him bent over a bush and acting like he has just thrown-up. This will not be the last time that the Wily Coyote lites the fuse and throws the stick of dynamite over the cliff, but mysteriously finds it has returned to his hand.

The Third Event - 1.6 Mile Run
Holding off Ryan in the biking race emptied my tanks, but since James had just rested on his tricked out bike for six miles he was fresh as a dew-filled morning. Brent was out for blood and Barrett was still more interested in having us believe that he was sick so that he wouldn't be questioned about his whereabouts on the last race. James and Brent took off first, with Ryan falling behind them a bit but keeping a respectable pace. My 1st place bike finish and noodle legs kept pace with Barrett for about 1/3 of a mile. Barrett would have loved to take a 4th place finish if only for pride's sake, but as the heavy whipping cream flowed through Barrett's heart it suddenly turned into butter and blew a gasket and the race is over. Damn, he looks great, but he didn't manage to finish better than 5th in any ONE of the races. The final tally from the foot race had James in 1st, Brent 2nd, Ryan 3rd, me 4th and Barrett 5th (for the 3rd time that day).

Well, you may think Barrett is worried at this point, NO WAY! This entire race was his brain child and design. As planned, 50% of the entire competition would come from the BEFORE & AFTER photos. He still had a very good chance at victory, well, if not victory, a respectable placing. For the last three months, he hadn't dared run, bike or swim for fear that he might loose a little muscle, or water weight, for the final photos.

I will not reveal the final results for the Fit for Shame competition until Sunday, April 20, and against my better judgment and the counsel of the "Illegal Skin Bronzer Alliance", I am now posting below our BEFORE & AFTER pics for your perusal. Take a moment and rank the five contestants, (in photo order James, Brent, Barrett, Ryan and me) from BEST to WORST. Remember the challenge is based on the MOST IMPROVEMENT. Let's see if you all judge the results the same way that the professional trainers judged the results.

Tara's #4 Big City Lights and Big City Baby

When I was a kid, I drove across the desert with my Grandma Beth, my sister Marissa and my brother Jared. In order to keep us occupied on the long trip my grandma played all sorts of road trip games with us. She must have ran out of games—with three squirmy kids in tow that equals trouble—because she started making us "gifts", contingent on us being good until we reached our destination. These promised gifts weren't the typical road trip gas station treats and Made in China whatnots, but something only a time-tested mother could dream up.

To my sister, Grandma Beth promised the sound of the sea, to my brother she promised the first snowfall and to me she promised the glow of the city lights at night. Grandma Beth explained that every time we saw, felt or heard our "gifts" we would know that they are our gift alone from her. I was captivated by her "gift " and became even more charmed by it when we passed by the twinkling lights of Las Vegas at night just a few hours later.

Years later, when I saw the lights of New York for the first time. I knew they were mine and felt an immediate affinity with the city. It may sound like a trite experience, but it was one of the major factors in my decision to move to New York.

Fast forward to 16 months ago, when Claire was just a few hours old. Claire was born at Mt. Sinai Hospital on the Upper East Side. She was born shortly before 11pm and by the time we got to our room it was well after midnight. Dave had to leave after a short visit, so Claire and I spent our first night together alone. My adrenaline was pumping way to hard to even think of sleep. I held my baby at first in bed and then even managed to stand up for a bit to show her the world outside our window. Our room overlooked the Central Park Reservoir and had an amazing view of the Upper West Side. It was then, with my newborn baby in my arms and looking out at the crisp glimmer of the city lights at night, that I gave Claire "my gift". It just felt right. It was hers all along. My big city baby.

Dave's #3 An Unforgettable Day

The first place I met Tara was on the observation deck of the World Trade Center Tower #2 . That was the beginning of a three year chase that eventually ended in us getting married. At the time, I would have never have thought our on-again off-again romance, would out last the World Trade Center.

A couple years after I met Tara, my mom, dad and sister, MaRea, came into town to visit. My father wanted take my sister, MaRea, to visit the "top of the world". We debated back and forth if we should go visit the World Trade Center on 9/10/01 or if we should wait until 9/11/01, when the weather was forecast to be perfect and visibility endless.

For whatever reason, my dad talked us into going on 9/10/01. That day, as my father and I ascended the escalator leading to the outside observation deck we wondered out loud how long the WTC would be around. I asked him if he thought it would be here in a 100 years? As an experienced builder, he responded that it was definitely possible for them to last that long and that if they actually wanted to deconstruct the two buildings it would be an enormous feat.

On "top of the world", the city looked proud, fearless and beautiful—like the New York that Frank Sinatra sang about. After only 15 minutes on the outdoor observation deck, the wind picked up and security sent us down to the glass observation deck on the 109th floor. After retreating to the 109th floor, we looked out over the Hudson River toward Staten Island where massive dark storm clouds were building and coming toward us fast. We continued to watch through the protective glass as the ominous storm rolled over us.

The next morning one of my roommates called and told me to look out the window toward downtown and the WTC. From my apartment window on the 19th floor, my family and I could see the smoke and flames coming from the WTC North Tower. We quickly turned on the TV, but got little information outside of the possibility that a small plane had just hit the North Tower. Shortly thereafter, the second plane hit and things changed instantly to panic on the airwaves. Immediately, it became apparent that this was no accident. Later, as we watched the TV coverage, the first tower collapsed. We ran to the window and couldn't see anything but smoke and dust and then only ONE tower standing where just seconds ago two stood so prominently. This is literally the only time in my life that despite seeing something with my own two eyes, I didn’t believe it. It held no more truth than a big budget Hollywood movie—incredibly, the drama kept on rolling. In less than one and a half hours, both towers had fallen, the Pentagon had been hit by a third plane, and another plane flown into the ground in Pennsylvania.

America's innocence had been stolen—well, at least to me, it had. Pearl Harbor, and the 2,404 people that died there, was part of the past for me. But now, 2,998 people from over 80 different countries had just died in MY city. The tragedy was real, immediate and all around me.

Silent, with only the sound of sirens, is the best way I know to describe the city over the next few days. Remarkably, it wasn't an eerie silence. It was the silence of the greatest city in the world on its knees praying. New Yorkers were reverent—a term you never hear associated with descriptions of this vibrant city or it people. There was a willingness to help, talk, and slow down that characterized the city for months after.

A couple of days after the towers fell, I went over to visit Tara. It was an amazingly clear and crisp September day. As we walked down the street we saw Tara's neighbor sitting on the front steps of his building in his filthy fireman's uniform. His face, hair, clothes and boots were all stained with white soot and ash from the World Trade Center. We watched him weep, with tears of joy streaming down his face, as he held his newborn baby girl for the first time. I force myself not to forget the death and destruction that occurred in New York City that day, but the most powerful and unforgettable image from September 11, 2001 for me will forever be that soot-stained firefighter and his new baby girl.

 

Tara's #2 The Summer of the Boat

Everyone knows a car, specifically a large car, is absolutely incongruous with NYC way of life (for practical reasons why see my post Why I Heart Dave). While a car is mainly unsuitable for city dwellers on a budget, a boat might be described as heretical (unless of course you are a multi-millionaire, which we aren't, ask our tax accountant—oops, that's Dave, since we can't afford a tax accountant). So how did these two items end up on our doorstep? Enter Dave, my unstoppable husband who had a dream. After spending too many summers in the humid NYC heat with no escape in sight, Dave had had enough. He started by spending countless office hours (thank you for your generosity of spirit NeighborhoodSpice) surfing every website imaginable for a boat. Not any run-of-the-mill boat, mind you, but a top-of-the-line wake board water skiing boat.

The search continued and at last, with Maurice's help (thank you for your generosity of spirit AIG) the perfect piece of equipment was found—a Mastercraft X30. How might you ask could we afford a boat and a truck to pull it if we can't even afford a tax accountant? Good question. I asked the same thing, several times. "Details, details" was about the best response I could get. Once the boat was located, Dave set out hard core to figure out how to work out the other "details". He went to deep and shallow pocket friends first and tried to sell the idea of "The Summer of the Boat". The idea was simple: purchase a time-share boat and truck at the beginning of the season and sell it at the end of the season. Unfortunately, this idea, although sold hard, did not take root.

On to plan B, get Sid (Dave's prosperous, but frugal father) to buy a new truck and a family boat and then let us keep it for the summer. This was going to be an up hill battle and Dave knew he would have to use every Thatcher salesmanship trick in the book to pitch this one to his dad. Salesmanship is akin to a form of art at the Thatcher household. I have literally heard several debates where the Thatcher clan argues over who is the best salesman in the house. And none is as legendary, or as gutsy, of a salesman as Sid himself (ask Dave to tell you the story of Sid's inspiring sales trip to Germany).

I won't get into the miraculous details, but after a week of persistent cold calling Sid, Dave had the go ahead to get the boat and a brand new black GMC crew cab HD2500 to pull it—financed exclusively by Sid. Still to this day, Dave and I marvel about the divine intervention it took to achieve this unbelievable coup. Truck and boat in hand, our summer was off to a brilliant start.

Rather than sweating it out in Central Park, we spent the weekends and many mornings before work in the Hudson River and in upstate NY lakes. The boat even accompanied us to Maine that summer for a glorious Fourth of July with our good friends, the Jensens. Anita, Brent, McClain, Maurice, Lillian, Ian, Laurel and even Cody (outfitted in her doggie life vest) were found sunning themselves or wake boarding, wake surfing or skiing with us on most weekends, but many others joined us too. Those of you who live in wide open spaces and have access to all the recreational devices God intended for man, will never understand the freedom of driving in the skyscraper canyons of NYC in a truck, pulling a 25 foot yellow boat, headed for the nearest body of water. By far, it was the BEST. SUMMER. EVER.

Dave's #1 Welcome to NYC, Boys!

Through the two-inch crack in the window water poured in on my brother, Brent, as the man in the white tux with the black bow tie and broken umbrella started to spew his emergency. “I am so sorry to stop you, but my white Mercedes is four blocks down the street and I ran out of gas." he says as he holds up his empty red gas can. “SOLD” I say to myself as I pat my pockets and find them empty. I look up to the man’s eyes that I see staring back at a bulging wallet between Brent and me. Filled with charity and compassion for this down and out man I instruct Brent to give him some money. Brent opens his wallet and searches for words and small bills to limit his loses. “Brent, give him $20 bucks", I tell him more fervently this time. Finding nothing smaller Brent painfully hands over the money. The broken umbrella is letting just enough street light through to light up the man's grin and the now apparent, and strangely odd headphones, the man is listening to.

“That is a total scam!” Brent exclaims. I defiantly state “No way”, but at the same time flash back to the giant headphones which start to tip me off that maybe Brent wasn’t actually being Greedy Gonzales, but street smart. With a spark of trust still left, I less confidently state, “No way Brent, that guy told us exactly where he was broken down and everything”. I could see by Brent's expression that this was turning into a moment that I wasn’t going to easily live down if I didn’t prove the earnestness of our stranger to Brent.

I hopefully state, “Let’s turn around and go look for his out of gas car." Brent quickly agrees and heads for the spot that the man had told us about. Nothing but a few yellow taxis trolled down the barren street. Having lost the battle but still trying to hold moral ground on the cause, we pull up to the same exact stop light were it all started. Right in front of us the man with the red gas can was waving people over. I jumped out of the car and walked up to the man, “Dude, I want the $20 bucks back, we looked for your car and it isn’t there!” Shocked he looked at me but insisted again that he was out of gas. “Fine, let’s go get you some gas and we will take you to your car” I told him. My down-and-out New Yorker ignored my last appeal and continued to pull cars over. The cars would unroll their windows and I would yell, “Scam artist, keep moving.” Getting mad now, I exclaim, “Give me my $20 bucks back, or I will stand here all night.”

At this point, the man starts to cross the street and is walking away from me and explaining that he has now decided to go and get some gas. I follow him on foot while Brent is watching and listening from the car. Suddenly, a taxi pulls up across the street and the man scampers into the cab and then squeels off. Jumping back in Brent’s car I yell, “Follow that Taxi!” Hydroplaning across the standing pools of water, we catch up to the cab as he runs a red light. Brent exclaims with a big adventous grin on his face, “We can at least run his cab fare up to $20 bucks!”

New to New York we are flying up 3rd Avenue and into Spanish Harlem. Brent and I have just entered a movie set and the cameras are rolling. The movie set is complete with projects, burnt out buildings and washed out graffiti. Pulling up to a red light the action stops as the cab comes to a stop. Brent and I look at each other as if to ask each other “LINE?" And as with all great action movies, lines are secondary to the action. The door to the taxi is flung open and the dripping wet mud slinger is now running for the alley. With no help from the casting director and now improvising, Brent throws his door open and starts running down the street after the man. At this moment I realize there aren’t any cameras, there isn't a script, and there definitely is no safety net. Immediately, I jump across to the driver's seat and shoot down the alley after Brent in hot pursuit.

Brent is in full stride is now on the man’s heals as he slows his pace and looks over again at me driving next to him as if to ask “Line?”. The look of shock on my face let’s Brent know that I have nothing for him. The man Brent’s chasing is now yelling at him, “I wouldn’t follow me, my boys will cut you up!” Brent yells back with bravado to match, “Bring it on!”, but starts to slow his pace giving the wild eyed and wounded badger some room. Fumbling for his keys the badger holds onto door knob of a broken down apartment building and yells, “Don’t come any closer, I will cut you!” Brent now knowing he can out run him and pops off, “What are you going to cut me with? And by the way we know where you live”. Shaking and with his tail tucked between his legs, we have no desire or even the courage to pursue the ill-gotten gain. The man slips in the doorway and into the darkened hall.

Having tree-ed the varmint, we have now been paid far more then 20 bucks. Climbing into the car and trying to process the events of the last 30 minutes, a taxi suddenly screeches in front of our car. The driver jumps out and screaming in broken English, “He stole from me, that man no pay his cab fare!” The cabbie grabs his phone and yells for the police. Within minutes we are surrounded by Five-O. The cabbie explains to the six police officers that arrive on the scene that the man told him he gave him a 20 dollar bill and then as he drove off he noticed he had handed him a dollar. The officers enter the building and Brent and I exchange stories with the cab driver as we bond in our stupidity.

A few minutes later, the cops walk out of the building and explain they can’t go door to door in the building at 3a.m. looking for 20 bucks. The officers then ask what Brent and I are doing. We quickly explain what happened to which they respond, “Where you boys from?” Brent jumps in and starts to tell them that we are from Philly, as I cut him off and firmly state “We are from Utah”.

My response was far better than they had hoped for as they all erupted into laughter and yell back “Welcome to New York City, boys!”

Start Spreading the News...

In case you haven't already heard, it's official, we are packing our bags and moving to California. Dave accepted a new job in Palm Springs this week. After eight and a half years, Dave and I are excited for a new opportunity, but ever so sad to be leaving New York and especially all of our friends here. I can't say enough how much we will miss this crazy city and our life here. It is strange to think we will be leaving behind the city where we officially became independant adults. We made careers here, met here, had Claire here and along the way amassed an amazing circle of friends who inspire, challenge and stick by us through think and thin.

Somehow, even after an almost decade in the city, we feel like we are abandoning ship and keep asking ourselves if we are at the point where we can say "If we can make it here, we'll make it anywhere". Dave compares leaving New York to leaving behind a jilted lover. As he describes it, the City has a living feel to it. It is so much more than just a dot on the map, but the City has an attitude, a point of view, and we are not quite sure where she stands on our departure. To attempt one more time to gain her favor, over the next month we are going to share with you our top ten most memorable moments in NYC. We hope you enjoy them and just know how much we enjoyed having each experience in this great place.

See You in Another Life, Brother

Friday night I watched Thursday's LOST and I am still speechless. It is unreasonable how much I adore this show. Despite last years intolerably long winter hiatus and this years commitment to only 13 episodes, I am unwaveringly hooked. Dave is always begging for answers and "The Constant" finally gave us some—of the supernatural variety. **Spoiler Alert!** During this episode we find out that Desmond is able to travel through time, or at least his consciousness is, due to some puzzling "side effects" that occur when traveling to and from the island and the high level of electromagnetic exposure he received when the hatch blew up. Although his ability to travel through time could be particularly helpful in sleuthing out the mysteries of the island, at present it is a short death sentence. In order to stabilize Desmond is instructed to find his "constant", a link from his past to his future or an anchor in time.

In true form, Desmond selects Penny—his once scorned love. The episode takes us on a hair raising jog back and forth from 1996 to 2004 as Desmond attempts to ensure that Penny will be at a certain space in time when he needs it. I was biting my nails to the last minute. Ring, ring, ring—will Penny ever pick up the phone? And then she does (my tears were flowing freely at this point) and then LOST did what LOST does best, unfolds a human drama that was believable, moving, beautifully written and acted. Proving for the umpteenth time, that LOST is so much more than Sci-Fi and just might be the best drama on TV ever.

If you are not watching you must start. It is never too late to become a Lostie. If you did watch, did you love it as much as I did? Last note, and sorry Dave, if anything goes wrong with my plan Desmond Hume will be MY constant.