He Promised to Defend.

Today is Veterans Day. A day I choose to reflect and to honor all those who have promised to defend this great country. Each year I consider those who have "laid so costly a sacrifice upon the alter of freedom". Those who have fought and died on foreign soil while protecting my freedoms back home. But sadly enough, it never stops there.

I have many people in my life who are military veterans. My father proudly served in the US Navy. My uncle Raymond served in the Army and fought in Vietnam.

I grew up with an uncle I never really knew. Yes he was present at all the family gatherings, Christmas Eve, 4th of July picnics, those types of things. We never get to know anyone through simple presents but being present may be all he could offer, on the surface that is. Uncle Ray was in my view distant but loving. Not loving in a hug and a tassel of the hair but loving in an I've got your back kind of way. This is a love lost on a child but honored as an adult.

We all carry traits given to us by family members. Physical appearance from our parents and grandparents being an obvious one. I have many idiosyncrasies that manifest on an almost daily basis and when they do I turn around and look for my father. I wonder if a large portion of my personality can be directly linked to Ray's father, my grandfather. Which leaves me to wonder the roll Uncle Ray has always played within myself.

Raymond Dean Newman was born the fifth of six children to hard working parents in what could be considered a lower middle class home. In my mind Ray was a fun loving, hard driving kid. A Bruce Springsteen kind of upbringing. The characters in Springsteen songs not Springsteen himself. Was this only in the mind of a child one would wonder? You may have to ask my mom on that one. (Bring your Springsteen "albums" if you do.)

Enter the Vietnam War.

Ray enlisted in the Army, fought 18 months in Vietnam and after completing his tour a Raymond Newman, or a semblance there of, came home.

I would imagine most veterans of war experience, combat or none, a very long period of extended absence from comfort, security and family all while under the constant threat of attack and all the horrors of war they are then asked to live with. In my Uncle Ray's case I don't wonder about the short periods of intense violence I would think he endured, I wonder about the months and months of a slow drone of it all and a psychological beating he must have been subject to.

And then he came home. Everything was fine now right? Not really...

Ray never spoke of his experiences in Vietnam - at all. Never. Ever. Except one. It involved a cleaning lady that worked for them who proved to be North Vietnamese and what happened when a spy was exposed.

Raymond returned from a war in a time when no one said thank you and PTSD was something they were told would simply subside in time. He was one who was asked not only to fight battles in the jungles of Vietnam but back here at home as well.

Memories, images, smells, sounds, and feelings of traumatic events can "intrude" into the lives of individuals with PTSD. Sufferers may remain so captured by the memory of past horror that they have difficulty paying attention to the present. Some of those who return home just give up living. They start dying little by little and over time piece by piece.

I always admired my Uncle Ray from a distance or a distance when seen through the eyes of a child. As I have grown I see him less as "Running on the backstreet where he swore he'd live forever. Taking it on them backstreets together". I see him less as a character and more the man he truly was. But never less then a hero. I understand the word "hero" gets thrown around a lot these days but for a now adult child, this flawed and troubled human being always has been and always will be my often silent, often stoic, American hero.

So today Uncle Ray, I think of you. I reflect on the parts of you I carry in me and I say thank you for everything you gave.

"Don't Dream It's Over."

"I might become a passive stone that escapes in thinking instead of taking action." — Cynthia Kittler

I continue in the hope of getting back to an active lifestyle. To break free from a lifestyle I may not have completely chosen. This all while feeling underwhelmed by the idea of being still. Left to ponder the thought that things beyond my control may leave me on the outside looking in. When with all my heart I try to engage in the overwhelming preface: It’s not over.

I stood with others gathered at the a recent start line, a race I had long ago signed up for and choose to walk the shorter 5K instead of a half marathon DNS (Did Not Start). Here I watched as so many were living an active lifestyle. As I watched the overlying question became - What am I afraid of?

As much discomfort as my current situation and what it could mean, as much weight as I continue to put on the importance of a return to an active lifestyle and a start line of choice, as much fear as I may have of disappointing myself, I cannot continue in the belief that it is over.

Most are afraid of disappointment. I have fallen into the trap where I have told myself I’m not good at much other then what I do. I too can be terrified by change. As of late I have spent far to many hours convincing myself - it's over.

The only way I could ever be truly disappointed in myself is to not move forward, whatever it may look like. To not try. I must never fall into the belief that deep in the darkness my heart still sees everything I will never be. It's only over when I quit in the pursuit of what my heart holds.

We are all given our own path, like it or not. When that path leads to unchosen and/or uncharted waters it can allow for exploration of one's self. A period of time where everything is scrutinized. I have learned the sound of each rock and stone on this path. One of the lessons learned has been to embrace what others fear. It's very uncomfortable by the way, to examine something where in time each of us will be asked to do so. To be placed on a path of resistance or a path with far to few stones.

So the best thing I can do is to get back to a start line, whatever that may be. Even if my start line has been redefined. For in lies the truth. It may never be over as long as I choose to continue in the pursuit of what my heart desires.

"The Best Way to Get Something Done is to Begin".

When training and/or racing have been removed, what could be left to write about on a blog designed for adventures in and around triathlon? Maybe things such as weight gain, sleep loss, blood pressure, loss of fitness, alcohol consumption or middle of night reality checks of always changing mental strengths. Maybe the consideration of never getting back to racing at all or at least to a level that would be considered a success. These are the things I'm left with as I sit typing with one hand only because over the past year, in large part, one or the other arms have been in a sling and under rehabilitation. Currently my dominate hand is affected and because of this a one finger hunt and peck with what I might call my "Dumb Hand", much like almost everything in life right now because of it, takes twice as long.

Friends and acquaintances alike have asked: "How's your training? What's your next race?" To which I refuse clarifications, telling them that I'm focusing on other things in life right now, which is technically true despite a few serious omissions. Watching their confusion is selfishly far easier then hearing the insidious answer that lies between my ears. "I have been injured. It is unclear at this point but I am hoping to get back to training and racing again soon. So I don't know, maybe I will get back to racing at some point this year."

The competitive void has left me moody, frustrated and at times down right surly. Just ask Bootsy, she always speaks in honest truths instead of my oft-chosen convenient or half truths.

I am, of course, one who has decided to devote myself to a lifestyle that involves semi-regular bouts with injury. A place where you could be asked to pay dearly for the answers of your day. So being laid up as a result of multiple surgeries to both shoulders and forced by the sports gods into a bit of self-reflection could seem almost - natural, all in the effort to move past in any type of timely matter.

Training and racing provide me with more then simple fitness, they have taught me to better maintain focus on long term goals while finding safety in a world of constant risk and uncertainty. They have taught me to be mentally quiet. Training and racing have been my chosen avenue to mute emotion, while removing stimuli. They have taught me to simplify. Physical exhaustion can muffle doubt as well as certain types of fear. Whereas injury can muffle joy, inspiration and honest inward reflection. After years of finding protection from certain aspects of ones self as well as the outside world, living this lifestyle, it has felt safe. It at times has felt, what I would consider beautiful. But once removed I have felt somewhat bare. The feeling of lost in a lifestyle where the compass has been removed or at minimum distorted, is something I long to step beyond.

I long to be fit again. Fitness can provide a feeling of joy in my life that without has left me with the feeling of an unfulfilled journey. There have been times where I have felt as though I am merely a spectator in my own life. The frustration isn't in the fact that I can't achieve goals and dreams, it lies in the fact that I can't start chasing them. So maybe this is just part of my given journey, but it's a journey I must once again - guide.

I was struck by the contrast when comparing the heaviness expressed in the above portion with the lighter more goal focused arena where growth is the resounding theme, replacing suppression by circumstance.

There came a point when I realized I wanted a comeback to an iron distance start line - in the past. But how can this happen? There is only one way to do this and that would be to simply begin. Begin what I would consider a return to what was once my normalcy. 

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While running the 2004 addition of the Portland Marathon, our first marathon, Bootsy and I were passed by a man juggling. That's right we were passed by a juggler - juggling - while running a marathon. Now juggling is impressive in an of itself but this guy ran past us at the 18th mile all while holding a conversation with a young lady which I could only surmise was his girlfriend. I hope I’m painting the picture for you here. If I were juggling while walking within the comfort of my own home, trust that all my mental faculties would be focused on not falling over something. But for this guy, the most difficult thing he was doing, was the thing he was taking for granted. I doubt I could walk and talk with the grace he exhibited while running and juggling. And the great thing is that he wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He was just trying to get to the same place as the rest of us that October day - the finish line. Perhaps he had run many marathons in the past and was looking for a new challenge. Or maybe he had lost a bet during an adult beverage fueled stop on the way home from a training run with his local running group. Or maybe it was a penitence to be payed for a girlfriend mess up. I don't know. Does it really matter?

Imagine being stressed. Now imagine being stressed while on a balance beam. See, suddenly you’re forced to put your stress aside and concentrate on keeping your teeth.

Sometimes the spectacular is cloaked in normalcy. For instance, the women I love and continue to date (I love the fact we still date) is the cutest and most adorable in the times when she isn’t trying to be. There’s something about someone just being that is fun to watch. Endearing even. 

So if normalcy is what I seek, then let us begin today, but I must remind myself that NOBODY gets through life unscathed. Nobody. Everyone has or will have a condition, disease, accident, injury or event in their lives that knocks them around a bit and sends their life spinning. It’s one of the prices we pay for the gift of living.

I should probably consider the word "normal" - "Don’t be normal. Be better than normal!" I haven’t been put into a box because of this; I just broken out of it. Armed with a unique perspective on how quickly life can change and how blessed we are to still be alive, the survivors of injury and like conditions/situations get to learn what many don’t learn until far later in life.