News Flash - 2020 Sucked!

I have always contended that I keep a blog mostly for myself. I let those who are willing take a peek if they so desire but I guess what this thing, this blog represents is a diary of my athletic approaches, and this diary is open to the public.

Wow! What a stinker! Flatten the curve. Social distance. Wash your hands. Wear a mask. Stay away from friends and family. In my case, don't see your parents. Cancer. Cancer care. A postponed wedding. You work in retail, whoops. And so on. And so on. And so on...

The afore mention list is a very rough outline of what my 2020 looked like. But there were additional things missing as well, one of them being racing and the motivation to train when there is no finish line. The finish line for me being the toeing of a start line.

This morning as I sit here, a local blend coffee in hand, Kai at my feet, it's cloudy, damp, 37 degrees and as with a fair amount of January mornings, there is a light fog around the area of the Spokane River and across Riverside State Park. Not exactly a morning calling me to hit the trails on the old mountain bike or to get Kai out on those very same trails for a light jog as she chases down the local squirrels and chipmunks, me with a constant eye out for one of the many deer who have taken up residence in the safety of the park. For it is these deer that can give Kai "a run for her money" as I'm not in any kind of shape for an early season interval workout and sprint across the park while screaming and cursing at the dog. With apologies to any parents with small children within ear shot of course. But anyway...

I should get out today. There is so much to be thankful for. No snow so a light ride through the park will do me all kinds of good. There is no such thing as bad weather just bad clothing. Hey, look on the bright side. It's all about perspective.There are many out there who would love to be in my situation, who would love to just be able to go for a light spin. Feel the wind in their face and soak in the beauty of a park that is literally a stones throw from my front door. A stones throw on a good day that is. My shoulder is old and a bit tired.

So 2021 is here. Happy New Year! But for me at least, the new year is not some strange Line of Demarcation, some sort of finish line if you will, it's just that, a new year. And for me it is a time to reflect, a time to celebrate wins, and a time to learn.

As mentioned, I keep this blog thingy as a diary for use in reflection. This morning I came across part of an entry from 2016 that reminded me not only of some of what I had lost in the calendar year of 2020 but it reminded me of the good that is out there as well. It is, it's still there, the good in people, the passion we hold, the desire to be better even if the measuring stick is some silly little race we like to call Ironman. 

The outtake from that July, 2016 post is as follow:

After all these years and all these races, why do I continue to sign up?

For this, I drift back to Ironman CDA 2003 and 2004 while standing on Sherman Avenue in Coeur d' Alene Idaho. I expected to see ripped, superhuman athletes pushing themselves further than any average person could ever conceive of doing, which I did.

But I also saw so much more.

I saw average people; Butchers, Bakers and Candlestick Makers, young and old, thick and thin, all accomplishing something they might have never before dreamed of. I saw athletes cheering on athletes. Bystanders cheering on total strangers, sometimes running along with an athlete they didn’t even know because he or she looked like they needed some extra support. I saw a racer, her husband walking with her, children in tow. She was bawling her eyes out because as she stated "I just can't do it and I'm letting us all down." I watched as her husband walked with her, encouraged her and gave her a gentle push only because he knew something in that moment she could no longer see. I took note of her race number so I could later check the results. She did finish - for all of them. I saw all that is good in people playing out on that one day in that one race.

Standing alone in a sea of people that had gathered on Sherman Avenue, I watch, I got chills and I cried.

Maybe it was the bigness of the Ironman, the almost-insurmountability of doing it while trying to maintain a job, or a family, or any semblance of a life. Maybe it was the dedication, not only of the athletes, but of their friends and families. The dedication evident in the signs they hold and the pride in their eyes as they recount endless stories about getting their athlete and their entire team to the start line. Proud of the fact that they were out there on the day too, as part of a team who picked up the groceries or cleaned the house or did any one of a thousand things throughout the year so their athlete could get a six hour ride or two hour run or both. Maybe it was all of this combined that had gotten them to this exact moment.

Whatever it was, it stayed with me and the next year I found myself again standing on Sherman avenue at 11:55 PM. The last hour of any Ironman always moves me. Again, I got goosebumps. Again, I cried.

Well fingers crossed, vaccine in tow, I hope we can gather again this year. I pray I am once again standing alone on Sherman Avenue in a sea of people. A crowd of people who have come to watch as dreams come true. I also look forward to getting back to a start line, back to what for me will be an old friend but with a newness. New goals, a new excitement and new PRs as I feel as though I have retired the old. 

Photo By Kelli Dahmen

So here's to old passion anew, gathering in what I would call some sort of normality and of course a trip down the aisle with my beautiful bride. That is if she will still have me, some days can be a bit touch and go. And yes, I plan to cry, not because she won't have me but because she will.

Cathedrals?

What makes a patch of land - sacred?

What makes simple spaces - hallowed?

Photo by Bootsy

Plots of earth on their own hold no meaning.

We assign their value and designate their worth, through memory and history.

Photo by Renee Guerrero

It's why we call them shrines.

It’s because there is something spiritual in the air and ground.

Something divine that stirs the soul.

It's in Penticton - 

It’s in Madison - 

Photo by Tristan Brown

In Arizona - 

Photo by Bootsy

On Sherman Avenue in Coeur d'Alene Idaho -

Photo by Kelli Dahmen

And on Alihi Drive - 

But in a sport that is different, so solitary

There is common ground to be found here in the cathedrals of this sport.

Photo By James Richman

On courses that breath with history and reverent, spirit and soul.

In a way they host our awe, hold our memories and allows us to be moved by the memory of what we might see, over what we may expect. 

Only church is church. But these events, these arenas, these cathedrals, Lord, these places can feel like home.

Why COVID? Why?

So I've been away from triathlon a while now; a long while. The last time I raced was October 8th., 2016. In July of that year a low speed bike crash left me with a torn labrum in both shoulders. After five shoulder surgeries over the course of two and a half years the shoulders are back in working order. By the way, two and a half years of shoulder surgeries, accompanied by three years of PT left me longing for normality. Or what I perceived as my normal anyway.

Then I was handed a game changer.

One Sunday in late February of 2018 as I dressed for a morning run I began to have chest pain. As I bent down to tie my shoes I began to have what I would call significant chest pain. I wandered around the house for a few moments convinced it would clear. Now Bootsy had left a little earlier for her run so this gave me time to do what boys do, time to think it's a good idea to head out on a run to "shake it off". To rub a little dirt on it if you will. I ran the sum total of about three blocks before images of Bootsy finding me face down in a ditch started playing in my head. So I turned around, took my chest pain and went home.

Of course I didn't say anything to Bootsy about what was truly going on. Again this is what boys do, or in this case what boys don't do. The next morning I had an appointment with my PT. After spending huge volumes of time in my PT's office Mike had figured out when things other then my shoulders are ailing. I told him I had chest pain. He immediately asked me to get up off the table and head to Urgent Care. I of course balked so he then told me of a very fit local runner who had recently gone out for a run when sudden onset of chest pain during the run had him in heart surgery within the hour. I took heed and headed to Urgent Care. I of course made a few phone calls along the way.

After a few tests at Urgent Care I was sent to E.R. Now Bootsy was working out and away from her phone so as I sat in my car I text her "On the way to E.R. Please call". Full disclosure: I was scared! Like shaking scared. Can I/should I even drive myself to E.R. kind of scared. My mind was racing. When the Urgent Care doc said I needed to go to E.R. and to do it NOW, it left me in a bit of a fog and the only thing I could think was "What about Bootsy?" There was so much I needed to say. And if this thing would have gone south it could have become, so much I should have said. That's the part that shook me most, the should have's.

Tests, tests and more tests. Cardiologists, nurses, and support staff all working for a diagnoses. And I couldn't work because we didn't know.

Now it takes time for a new patient to get in to see a cardiologist and we were not willing to wait for test results for what in my opinion was way to long to see the cardiologist so we took an appointment with the physician assistant.

Bootsy and I both went for what we thought would be a meeting with physician assistant but when the cardiologist walked through the door I knew he was not there to deliver the news we were hoping for. The diagnoses was a thoracic aortic aneurysm in what is the worst possible place and it's sizable. Thank goodness Bootsy was there. My mind was immediately overwhelmed as I drifted away from the all to many details to ponder what my new normal may now look like.

My head was swimming. I wanted to get to the car so Bootsy could breakdown for me what just happened. I was on overload. As we left the cardiologists office he said "Please stop by the front. You will need to make an appointment to see a thoracic surgeon." I had no idea what this meant in that moment other then I was just told I needed to be prepared for open heart surgery.

So today I'm walking around with this thing, this thoracic aortic aneurysm. We monitor it closely but it's a large aneurism and I have been told that one day it will grow to the point where it will need to be fixed. But until then there are restriction. No contact sports of any kind and no short course racing are just a few don'ts. The stress of short course racing causes an increase in blood pressure during the period of elevated heart rate. But I can race 70.3 as long as I keep a close eye on heart rate during activity, training and racing. One of the frustrating things about the condition is the professionals will tell you what you can't do but they won't necessarily tell you what you can do. So no one is willing to say if I can get back to full iron distance training and racing. I feel that I have races left in me and multiple race venues I want to either race for the first time or return to.

So why this long winded "poor me"? Why now with all that is going on in the world? Or in this time of COVID, what is not going on? With all racing and so many other activities being cancelled across the globe it's simple, I am missing the community.

Recently in my memories on a social media platform the following video popped up. Which is how this post got started. So I watched and well....

I miss it. I miss iron distance training and racing. I miss everything that goes along with it. I miss just being out there, the fitness, and the camaraderie. In this time of COVID-19 I hardly think I'm alone in the missing it part.

Riding around our neighborhood and through Riverside State Park is both respite and torture. I love seeing people out and about, training, walking the dog or just talking to a neighbor over the fence in the back yard; it reminds me what life was like before COVID-19. But I can only imagine there are plenty of people for whom, seeing families playing in their yards, folks going for a jog or walking their dogs can send them plunging into a spiral of loneliness.

There is a bit of irony in the fact that I may have not been happy with my fitness level or lack there of before the pandemic hit, but I was enjoying things away from my fitness lifestyle and new found distractions from health concerns. But with the changes in community due to the pandemic, I too have felt some emptiness and loss of my home acutely.

Unfortunately, I am one of those who are driven by the race calendar. I need a point on the calendar to focus on, something to drive me. Without it I flounder, to say the least. It's been hard to or it has been easy not to get out. I have days where I sit on the couch in lieu of getting out and enjoying all the beauty the Pacific Northwest has to offer. As I sit I wonder how much longer can this go on? Can this continue for months - a year? No one knows.

Bootsy has been very careful in pushing me to do things that I myself would consider constructive. She continues to make suggestions almost daily but she also understands that I can sometimes step into my "walled city" so she treads lightly, as do I. When I get "the look" from her I begrudgingly realize I should "stop in my tracks for fear of walking on the minds I'd laid."

When might there be a return to normal? Who knows. Or if you do know might I suggest a trip to Vegas? Or to a virtual Vegas in this case I guess.

From battles on the front lines to social distancing from friends and family, to which in my case include my parents who lets just say aren't as young as they used to be, COVID-19 has caused a massive shake-up of our daily lives.

After second-guessing everything from hugging our loved ones to delaying travel, there is one big question that everyone is likely to think about: will we ever get back to the status quo? The answer currently is not very clear-cut.

(And no, because I did not mention "wearing a mask" it does not mean I do not believe in wearing a mask. I wear a mask. Let's just leave it at that.)

So what's next? Bootsy and I are signed up for IMCDA 70.3 rescheduled for September 6th. but honestly I don't see a path where it could be held this year. Also we have received communication from someone who works in conjunction with Ironman and he has cautioned against signing up for any Ironman races on this years schedule. Stating that in his opinion "IRONMAN is done for 2020 and possibly 2021."

If IMCDA 70.3 is a go this year, I have strong doubts I would be comfortable enough to toe the line with the current COVID trends around the nation and in North Idaho.

Bootsy and I have had discussions as to whether or not next years IMCDA is something we should take a look at. But will it even be staged next year? If Ironman St. George is canceled this year will that push IMCDA back a year? The purpose for the rotating race venues, amongst other reasons, is to serve as the North America Championship race.

Lots of "I don't knows" which may mean we are hesitant to throw down a bunch of cash on a 2021 race in hopes that things return to "normal" and we would be delivered a race day experience that is worth the price of admission.

I also would need to address health concerns. As a proud member of Team Ironheart there are avenues available to put me in touch with one of the worlds leading cardiologists as it pertains to long course racing. When I feel travel is a good option I will seek her opinion on any and all risks involved with the stress of training and racing long course at this time.

So for now everyone is forced to look at this in a different way. We can't ignore it.