Fear of needles keeps him from trying acupuncture. (Originated from Knight-Ridder Newspapers) (Column)

    Baron Pierre de Coubertin, founder of the modern Olympics, preached that the important thing is not winning but taking part. 
    In case you haven't noticed, that's the message I've been peddling here: Don't be a spectator and sideliner; get off your bottom, get out there, and just do it. 
    Call me a George Plimpton wannabe; whenever I get the chance, I suit up and join the fray, sacrificing my aging, aching body for a visceral understanding of whatever I'm exploring. 
    But there are limits. 
    Like letting Randi Freedman stick it to me. 
    Freedman is an earnest devotee of traditional Chinese medicine. Basically, this means herbs and acupuncture, as in perforating people with needles. 
    I won't embarrass myself by telling the story about the time I passed out in college in front of a line of macho jocks while a nurse kept jabbing needles into my arms in search of a vein, and how, after the fifth or sixth try, with a blithe smile and without the slightest conscious warning, I keeled over, ripping the syringe out of my arm and splattering blood all over a perfectly nice orange and black rugby shirt. 
    So let's just say needles and I have a bad ...