GOODBYE DALI Part 3: All in Your Head (#86): I was often the first to arrive at the Museum, and when I was, I had a little ritual that might sound funny to you. I would spread my hands and slide across the Lobby singing, “ Hello Dali. This is Scotty Dali. It’s so nice to be back where we belong…”. I really loved that job!
One morning in early 1988, mid-slide, I heard and could feel my left ankle “crunch”. It was a little sore that day. That night I told my wife what happened, “Weird, I didn’t misstep or stumble. Nothin at all. Does it look swollen?” “No. ” The next night, “A little.” The next night, “Definitely.” A few days latter my right ankle was sore and swollen. Strange. I had quit dancing across the lobby. There had been no “crunch.” A few days latter it was also my left knee, then my right knee.
Time to see the doctor. By the time I saw the Doc, my left wrist was sore. He took X-rays, didn’t see anything, and gave me an anti-inflammatory. Then it was my right wrist and time to see a specialist. The specialist took more X-rays and didn’t have a clue, although he noted the left to right progression was “unusual.” He doubled the dose of the anti-inflammatory.
I had bought a 1987 Mazda RX-7, a fast, light, rotary engine sports car with no power steering. My wrists got so sore that I couldn’t parallel park the car. Time to see a rheumatologist. More tests, negative for rheumatoid arthritis. A new anti-inflammatory along with, “We’ll need to monitor you for liver damage.”
Still no improvement, so off to the USF Med School. Still no idea, except that it could be rheumatoid arthritis, where the rheumatoid factor wasn’t yet showing up in the blood test. A new medicine along with, “Now we’ll need to monitor your kidneys as well os your liver for damage from the medication.”
The new meds worked a little, and eventually there was no pain unless I tried to run. I never did test positive for RA, and in 1989 I backed myself off the meds. There was no pain, except in my ankles when I tried to jog. Interesting, 1989 was when the Dali print scandal died down and Susan Taylor Martin, my nemesis, as I used to think of her, moved on to other stories. I realize that Martin, was just doing her job and we could have handled the situation better. As I said in #82, I have made my peace with everyone except that POS Wittner.
I missed running. Joe Vinciquerra and I were on the track team our junior year at BCHS, before I bought my first VW. I remember that we used to practice for cross country and often ran barefoot. I can’t imagine that now. One night we were able to sneak into the football field and ran laps around the the track with no shoes and no gym shorts. I loved to feel the wind through all my hair! I can’t imagine that now either.
My last memorable race was in January of 1987, the Dedication Run for the new Skyway Bridge. When the race was over, we froze our asses off waiting for buses to come and take us back to our cars. A Sheriff came to tell us it would be a little while longer. Someone (not me) yelled, “Let’s charge him and take his car. He’s only got 6 bullets!” The Sheriff got in his car and left.
In 1985 there was a race around the course of the new St. Petersburg Grand Prix. That was my favorite. In my mind and with my right hand, I was shifting and down shifting as I ran around the course.
I remember beach runs on Pass-a-grille, from the Concession Stand to the Don CeSar, or further, and back. One year, Susan Jowett, by then Walker, ran. To my embarrassment, I never came close to catching her. Not even running!
My first race in years had been the 1978 7.5 mile Bay-To-Bay. I had just met Linda and hadn’t been jogging much, but I thought I would give it a try. I started at the end of the crowd, so I actually ran an extra block. I took it easy and as we approached downtown, I could see Pat Allison and Doug Williamson running together. I got in behind them without them noticing me. As we made the turn from 1st Avenue South towards the Pier, I made my move. I passed them and sprinted to the finish line at the base of the Pier.
Oops! That wasn’t the finish line, it was all the way at the end of the Pier! I’ll be damned if I was going to let anyone that I had just passed, pass me. It was a struggle to finish the last 1/2 mile, but no one passed me until I collapsed after crossing the finish line.
Several runners walked around me to get their numbers. Finally two guys helped me up and I staggered to get my number. After the ceremonies everyone walked back to the base of the Pier, where they had rides waiting. I just walked to the first bench and sat down. I walked from one bench, rested, then walked to the next and rested. That night there was a party at Coquina Key Arms where Linda had an apartment. Several of the Bay-to-Bat runners were there. Linda walked over to the party. That was too much for me, I went to bed.
