Running Man

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Tuesday July 29, 2014

Running Man

Time is a blur. Mom and Dad are heading home from Las Vegas to Walnut Creek this Thursday. I had the distinct joy of taking my family to Yosemite, for about an hour, and then Lake Tahoe this past weekend. When we left I was concerned about the last three months of therapy unraveling as my dad had hit a plateau and my mom clearly wants to go home. All of these things stirring at once led into a panicked phone call from my mom about five minutes before our morning session with Dr. DeMartino was scheduled to begin. Apparently my dad left their hotel at about 8:05am to go for a walk. As per usual, he did not have his phone on him (my dad’s frequent disappearances without any way to reach him are “an issue”). His walks normally last about twenty minutes. By 8:30 my mom was concerned. By 8:45 she was downright scared and understandably so. This is a man who has Parkinson’s, is always a fall risk, is in a busy area of a somewhat familiar town and is running late to an appointment he very much looks forward to.

I turned my car their way. My mom told me where I should start to look when I arrived. A ton of scary thoughts ran through my mind. In 2004 I remember seeing my dad as vulnerable and having strong protective feelings about him – almost flipping the parent/child relationship. Ten years later, with my dad markedly more vulnerable and on his own, my fears were piqued. About five minutes into my trip I got a text saying he was okay and they were on their way.

Dad tells me his morning story

At Dr. DeMartino’s, my dad walked in out of breath – almost like he walked there. I wondered if this wasn’t far from the truth considering how my mom likely tongue-lashed him – or maybe he was just hustling for safe cover after a getting an earful during the drive. I asked him how his adventure was. He said it was a good/bad situation. He said he lost track of time. My first thought was, “Oh no – this is a cognitive thing”. Then he added it was because he was enjoying the walk so much. He simply forgot to look at his watch because he was out exercising and wasn’t in pain as has become the norm. When he did look at his watch he saw how late he was. This is where it gets great: he ran a half mile back to the hotel.

My dad was an avid runner in the late 70’s through the early 90’s. He continued to run after that, but golfing became a bigger focus in his retirement in 1994. But running was very dear to him because of the mental peace it brought him as well as the physical satisfaction. After his diagnosis in 2001, he didn’t give much of an effort to run. His last effort was in 2005 while Annamaria and me were living with them. He did a 5k and it hurt – a lot. He hadn’t run since.

When I asked Dr. DeMartino about it, he smiled, shrugged and said he wasn’t terribly surprised. He’s been telling us for weeks how impressed he is with my dad’s physical makeup. For all of Dr. DeMartino’s athleticism, he has said he’s never been a distance runner. He laughed and said, maybe I should run with you (Dan). I am going to do my best to hold him to that.