Throwback Thursday #39: Puking My Way Across Kentucky (The Finale)

“Courage is the discovery that you may not win, and trying when you know you can lose.”

~Tom Krause

In case you missed the first three parts of this miniseries, you can read them here, here and here.

Well, if this were a movie, I would be able to tell you that despite the food poisoning from (you know where), we won the National FFA Livestock Judging Contest. But we didn't. Just wanted to get that out there right now so you can overcome your disappointment and read the rest of the blog. Don't feel too bad for us....we would end up Reserve National Champions in Dairy and Poultry, and I'd finish my career with 4 gold emblems from National FFA Convention. Not too shabby. But winning livestock would have been awesome.

Anyway, back to where we left off, because one of the boys, KP, shoved the horrible soup down my throat, Mr. F did not take me to the hospital the night between the two contest days. As I said before, he was more competetive than any of us.....he was bluffing. Instead, we finished up the contest the next day and all survived.

At the awards banquet, they served chicken. I will never forget that because here we were, at a livestock judging contest and they served us chicken (ironically at the Poultry awards banquet two years later, they would serve bacon....go figure). KP had several comments to make about that. He did not eat chicken. Ever. Under any circumstance. So that night, there were two of us at the table not eating. Mr. F didn't make threats this time.....but he did go to the coke machine and bring me a 7-Up for dinner. I think he felt bad about the soup incident.

Anyway, when the results came back, our team finished 6th, which was a Gold Emblem, but not what we had hoped for. KP and I finished in the top 10 individuals and both won scholarships. And, I ended up second high on the test, which, as you will recall, was the whole reason we were up late and went to eat at Arbys in the first place. Was being second on the test worth it? Not a chance.

Anyhow, we trudged back across the country and I think for the only time in my life, I was really happy to see that old school station wagon parked at the airport.

The next week, Mr. F finally did take me to the hospital. I was still feeling terrible and we were in the middle of ag class. Out of nowhere he said, "Tiff, get your stuff. We're going to the hospital. I'll call your mom." I guess maybe he felt guilty for not making me go a week earlier. Whatever it was, he loaded me up in his grey truck and hauled me to the nearest hospital. Turns out, I was dehydrated and my electrolytes were all out of whack. Oh, and I passed out when they took my blood pressure. Yea....the traumatizing moments just kept coming.

So, in the first blog about this adventure, I told you that this story seemed to follow me everywhere. It came up in my State Star Farmer interview. Here I had been preparing by memorizing feed tags and conversion ratios....and they just wanted to hear about the Livestock trip. It comes up every time I see Dr. Wagley or the college judging coach who traumatized the poor women in the bathroom.

It came up most often anytime I was hurt or sick and told anyone I was fine. Mr. F always felt the need to immediately interject that I was lying and tell them the livestock judging story. "You've gotta watch her. She'll lie right to your face, but she's a tough one." Yea, it's true. I think he used that as one of those ag teacher badge of honors we talked about before....crappiest car, crappiest hotel and toughest girl. Was that worth it? Absolutely.

Throwback Thursday #38: Puking My Way Across Kentucky (Part 3)

"When the world says, 'Give up,' hope whispers, 'Try it one more time.'" ~Author Unknown

Here goes part three. If you missed parts one or two, read those to get caught up!

Luckily we all made it to picture time. The boy in the hospital arrived literally with about 10 minutes to spare. And considering the last two days, I'd say that we looked pretty darn good in the team photo! (We also look pretty darn young....but I guess that's another blog for another day).
Anyway, I don't remember exactly what we did on day one and what we did on day 2 of the contest. I think that the first day we took the test (which ironically, as you will recall from part one of this story, is the reason we were in this food poisoned state to begin with), and then we did cull/keep as a team, and then we did grading. Then on the second day I think we actually judged classes and gave reasons.

I do remember having to leave the area where the livestock was twice on the first day because I was still sick. And let me just tell you, a whole day of being outside, in the dirt, standing up, wearing the awesomely hot FFA jacket and black pants was not what a girl needed on a sick stomach!

Anyway, somehow we made it through the first day. By this time, the boys all felt a lot better and were back to eating. I was not so quick to go back on feed, which lead to several references to sick cattle and discussions of what needed to be done for me. Mr. F decided that the answer was to drive around Louisville until we found soup for dinner. Now, the last thing I wanted to do was crawl in a van and drive around a city that we were not used to.....hello car sickness! But when Mr. F had an idea, you just went with it.

Finally we ended up going into somewhere like an Applebee's or Friday's. Mr. F asked the hostess if they had soup. She said yes. And he said, "Give us a table." What he forgot to ask was what KIND of soup. The options were something like spicy corn cowder and seafood gumbo. Not the chicken noodle that I had in mind.

Mind you, when you go to a restaurant and Mr. F knew what you should order, you didn't get other options. For example, had I wanted a sandwich instead of soup, he would have said no. He was famous for this. Several times he would line up the boys basketball team and make them all drink Theraflu, whether they were sick or not. Other times, he would take a basketball or a judging team to The Fontier and no matter what you ordered, you had to get orange juice for the Vitamin C. (FYI--green enchilladas and orange juice are not the best combination).

Anyway, back to the soup, I don't eat seafood whatsoever, so spicy corn chowder was pretty much my only option. I honestly tried to eat it. I sort of poked around, and then excused myself to the ladies' room. When I came back, Mr. F announced to the group that if I didn't eat all of that soup, we were going straight to the hospital.

I was game to call his bluff---I had known this guy my whole life, and there was no one more competitive than he was. He was not going to haul me to the hospital with a day of judging left. One of my teammates was not as confident. The meal ended with that scared teammate LITERALLY shoving soup into my mouth with a spoon. How I survived this meal is beyond me.

Anyway, the next day we made it through the rest of the contest. Up next was the awards ceremony.....the moment of truth. Would we even place? Would I get sick at the awards ceremony in front of everyone? Could some other sort of disaster occur?

Stay Tuned for the Conclusion of Our 4 Part Miniseries Next Week!

And....last reminder....enter this month's giveaway....click here!

Throwback Thursday #37: Puking My Way Across Kentucky Part 2

“Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength.” ~Unknown

Well, as most of you guessed after reading Part 1 of the story last week, my Dad won the battle of the parents. My mom always says she lives her life being outvoted 3-1 and at least in this case, it was true.

I convinced Mr. F not to haul me to the hospital. Instead, I curled up in like three jackets on the back row of the bleachers at the sale barn (between frequent runs to the bathroom) and tried to sleep it off. Realizing that the aformentioned green Mexican pill had failed, Mr. F and some other ag teacher decided that Alka seltzer would for sure do the trick. Yea....it didn't. It just made me feel worse. I've never had it since. I was traumatized.

So the grading workshop ended (with me maybe seeing one steer) and we went to the hospital to check on the boy who had been admitted. They were going to keep him overnight. So here we were, stranted in the hillbilly hills. Lucky for us, a caravan of ag teachers and 4-H agents from New Mexico stopped by and picked us up. I got put in a brand new Cadillac (because Dr. Wagley, who you've read about before on the blog, made the reservations and that guy had style) with a 4-H agent and a college judging coach. I prayed the whole way there that I could make it to the hotel before I got sick again.

And then we pull up to the hotel. I bail out of the car, run for the trash can (which turned out to be one of this cigarette thing with sand in it) and got sick again. Go figure, this was the ONLY time in life that Mr. F decided not to stay at some ghetto dive. No no, this place was super nice, on the river, rich people walking in and out, and here I am, puking at the front door. Great times. I was traumatized again.

I headed into the hotel and found the bathroom. About that time, in comes the college judging coach who had been riding in the car with me to be sure I was okay. The other women in the restroom didn't seem to appreciate his checking on me so much. He just looked at them, threw his hands up, and said, "What's your problem?" They left, traumatized as well. (Do you see a pattern here??)

At one point that night, Mr. F got off the phone with the doctor of the other boy at the hospital, looked at me and said, "The doctor says that if you are having stomach cramps we really need to get you to the hospital." My response (as I lay on the floor of his hotel room curled up into a ball because my stomach hurt so bad and I felt so terrible), "Oh no, I'm fine. No stomach ache."

Later, we gave a set of reasons. Mine were terrible. Mr. F lied and said they were fine and that I should go to bed. (Frequently in the years after this incident he would tell people that it was hands down the worst set of reasons I had ever given in my life, but that he smiled and sent me to bed. It must have killed him!)

Because I was the only girl, and the female sponsor was the mom of the boy in the hospital so she stayed with him, I was alone in the motel room that night. Mr. F, who was staying across the hall, called me LITERALLY every hour on the hour of the whole night to be sure I was still alive. It was a very restful evening for us both.

So, the next day was day one of the livestock judging contest. A couple of small issues.....I couldn't go an hour without being sick. And, if we were not all there for the the team picture...including the boy who was yet to be released from the hospital two hours way, we couldn't judge.

Stay tuned to find out what happens next week on Puking My Way Across Kentucky.

Throwback Thursday #36: Puking My Way Across Kentucky (Part 1)

“You never know when you're making a memory.” ~Rickie Lee Jones

Well, it's National FFA Convention week. I knew exactly what my Throwback Thursday blog had to be......but I didn't realize I would have SO much to say about it. So, we're going to break this baby into several parts. (And we have a serious lack of pictures.....mind you it was before digital cameras and I was deathly ill.....so we'll have to work with what we have even if they realy don't fit the particular part of the story).

In case you might have missed my prior FFA posts, I was super involved in the organization when I was in high school. I was on a team competing in a different judging contest at National FFA Convention 4 different years. (I know I'm mentioned this before, but Mr. F was the best ag teacher ever in life.....clearly!) We won the State FFA livestock contest my freshman year, so my first National FFA Conventon was back in the good ol' days circa 1999.

Little did I know that this trip would lead to a story that would follow me for the rest of my life.

The week started when we loaded up in the school station wagon to head to the airport. We're talking old school 1970 model with the bench seat and then one seat in the very back that faced the rear of the car (this would be a time I wished I had a digital camera). Now, mind you, we leave the brand new Excursion and the two year old Suburban behind because Mr. F had some insane love for driving the oldest, crappiest vehicle possible. It was some sort of badge of ag teacher honor apparently. Anyway, we flew to Kentucky and worked out at tons of different ranches. It was great to see so many great operations and see some really great livestock.

Then, the fateful night happened. We were in a flea bag motel (also an ag teacher badge of honor apparently) in the middle of nowhere Kentucky. We were studying for the test and it was NOT going well. We went through lots of punishments for being stupid.....standing up until we got a question right, listening position until we got a question right (think doing a pilates plank), dead coakroach until we got a question right, etc. Finally, at like 10:00 at night Mr. F decided enough was enough and we could eat. He drives us to Arbys. And we order (trying not to gag as I type the words) an Arby's Roast Beef sandwich. We wake up in the morning, and several of us feel pretty queezy. But we had a grading practice up in the hillbilly hills. We load up in the car and hit the windey roads up to the sale barn where the practice was. Now, mind you, I get car sick on windey roads when I feel perfectly fine otherwise. And Mr. F usually thought it was funny to drive too fast or do some extra weaving. This trip, as I was trying not to puke all over the rental car, I knew I must have looked bad, because he was driving slow and calm.

Well, we get there and one of the boys on the team goes to the hospital. The rest of us went to the sale barn. When we got there, Mr. F decided to give me some huge green Mexican pill (literally, from Mexico) because this thing apparently was supposed to cure anything. Well, it didn't. Before long, I was puking my guts out. Mr. F and I head to the sale barn office to call my parents. He tells them that I am really sick and probably have food poisoning. Then he puts me on the phone.....first with my mom, then with my dad. And let me explain how the conversations went.
Mom: OMG, you get to the hospital now. You're going to die. I should fly out there. This is bad. Drink more water.

Dad: You'll be fine. Be tough. You only get to judge livestock here once. Don't ruin it. No one dies from food poisoning.

So what happened next? Who won the advice battle?

Stay tuned next week for Part 2 of "Puking My Way Across Kentucky!"