I probably have enough stories from covering three Olympics to cover a couple of chapters in my memoirs.

One that will forever stick in my mind was the night in 1988 that Bill Benner, then with the Indianapolis Star, and a few other guys went to dinner. It was my first time to visit the hustling, bustling district of Itaewon, and my first time to eat in a local restaurant. I think this was about my second night, and long before I discovered the Nashville Club that served real American hamburgers.

I had no idea what to order so Bill, who had arrived in Seoul, Korea a week earlier said he’d be glad to order.

He knew I had a fondness for Mexican food but he suggested the lettuce wraps.

That was five years before P.F. Chang’s opened the doors on its first restaurant, but Bill described it as sort of a taco but with lettuce instead of a tortilla.

So they brought the freshly grilled meat, lettuce, spices and some veggies.

It was just okay, a little on the stringy side and slightly tart, but anyone who has traveled outside the USA knows things just taste different.

After we finished the lady brought our check, looked down and said: “Good dog?”

I immediately looked under the table to check out her pet and I was about half bent over when I heard Bill’s laughter and his explanation to the other guys I had eaten dog.

I could have won the 100 meters that night as I sprinted to the rest room.

Bill and I have remained friends all these years, he’s an assistant commissioner with the Horizon League now, but I’ve never gone out to eat with him again.

I promise, this blog will not always be about my sweet wife and her health but I’ve had so many inquiries that I thought I’d give a quick update.

She is suffering from gastroperesis, a disorder that keeps her stomach from digesting food quickly enough. Bile has to go somewhere and in this case it is up. Several times a day it is up.

There is nausea and pain but she doesn’t complain.

She continues to work, mostly from home because throwing up is not something to behold in any office other than medical.

Dr. Blake McGowan, our family doctor, has mentioned a specialist in Memphis so we expect to be making a construction-delayed drive over soon.

There is a medicine that helps some with this condition, but it isn’t available in the USA.

Go figure.

I have to share this, on one of her really bad days Lisa Fischer, a long time friend, from B98 came to visit and she had us both laughing and smiling.

And her heart-felt and deeply personal prayer almost brought us to tears.

It wasn’t just Valentine’s Day.

It was my anniversary at the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. My 33rd consecutive year.

Yes, I started here as a paperboy when I was 10. OK, bad joke and I have a birthday in three weeks that would easily dispute that claim.

It seems like yesterday I walked in to John Robert Starr’s office and he said I had a choice to make.

I could go to the Capitol and write politics or I could be the sports columnist.

If I went to the Capitol I’d get a raise (if memory serves it was $10 per week, which was a lot more money in 1979 than now) and if I went to sports I’d get no raise.

I chose sports and have never regretted it.

I work for great people and with great people.

Many readers who travel out of state write to tell me how superior our product is to what they read in other cities, and for that to happen, it takes a lot of teamwork.

For 33 years I’ve been blessed to be a part of a great team.

As for Valentine’s Day, Rachel and I celebrated in St. Vincent’s, and while we would have preferred to be home, the main thing was we were together.

In a few weeks there will be one of the most grueling and unique events in the country, the Pike’s Peak Marathon.

It is like a forced march from Manitou Springs Colo., up Pike’s Peak Mountain to an elevation of 14,110 feet.

The marathon is on Sunday, but on Saturday they have the ascent race that is approximately 14 miles, but you get to ride a bus down the mountain.

Twice I did the ascent race, and it was about as much fun as skipping rope with a high ankle sprain.

The first time was 1990 and I had been free of cigarettes for six months. I trained for six weeks, and the longest run I had was less than five miles.

Probably the best thing that happened to me was going out early and running into Jim “Marquis de Sade’ Johnson, who was more well known in the ad agency business but very respected by the running community.

Jim insisted on driving me to the top of Pike’s Peak two days before the event, and up there we had some sort of special doughnut _ yeast doesn’t rise at the elevation _ some hot chocolate, and then spent an hour getting accustomed to the thin air.

To be honest, I didn’t originally think it helped, but as you’ll find out in the next blog, it was a huge move.

It was almost six years ago when Jermain Taylor won his first middleweight championship title.

He had to have one judge in the 12th round for the victory and that’s exactly what he got.

I’ll never forget that night.

What I’ll also never forget was going to a media-only workout of Bernard Hopkins.

I was standing by the ring watching him get taped and then start to do crunches and he was talking nonstop.

For some reason he suddenly zeroed in on me and I was wondering why until I realized at the bottom of the logo on my hat it said North Little Rock Arkansas.

He was still doing crunches when he started talking about the suckers who were betting against him.

He got up and was almost ranting about how dumb anyone would be to not bet on him, that it was better to win with short odds than lose to long ones.

Slowly he started approaching me, and he was talking louder and louder and staring at me.

I had already backed up against the ring and had no where to go. When he was within six feet I was wondering who would write my obituary and if they be kind.

Who was going to tell my daughter I was beat to death by the middleweight champion of the world, or that I died of fear?

In what seemed like was a heartbeat he’s inches from my face and now he’s got his left hand raised and jabbing it in the direction of my forehead.

“You should not bet against,’ me he said and jabbed again.

Did I mention I was terrified?

So I did the only thing I knew to do, I reached up with my right hand and grabbed his left hand.

If I was going down he was going to have to do it with one hand.

Only someone yelled, “That’s enough, Bernard.”

And he stopped, walked up the steps and hopped in the ring and started shadow boxing.

I was leaving when someone from his camp snarled, “Don’t touch the champ’s hands again.”

To which I replied (over my shoulder as I almost raced out of there), “Keep him out of my face.”

I didn’t go to any more Hopkins workouts.