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.
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.
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.
"Grief never ends but it changes. It's a passage not a place. Grief is not a sign of weakness nor a lack of faith. It's the price of love." - Unknown
There are many memories that seemingly sneak up on me. But as of late, his memory has been especially present, his absence painful. The fact is - I miss him. If you choose to read the enclosed, which is from early 2011, you may learn something about me, and what we, meant to one another. Who should NOT read: people who think 3 years is too long to write about lose, love and the missing of a loved one; anyone who thinks this type of exercise would be viewed as 'living in the past' by revisiting writings from long ago; and those who believe one should simply rise from the ashes in some kind of lost love resurrection. A phoenix I've never claimed to be.
My training partner is tireless, never grumbles, never heads home early and always beats me in a sprint across the park. Born with a marathoner's heart, he can run all day. Of course I can whip him on the bike and in the pool, but I have to admit I have an unfair advantage. His little legs don't quite reach the pedals and his Siberian breeding means that he never really wanted to learn how to swim.
When I first met Butch, he was a skinny little pup with ears and paws way to big for his fluffy little body. He quickly won me over with his piercing blue eyes and his endless puppy kisses. Watching him over the years, I have realized something: We human athletes just might have it all wrong. Our canine friends may hold the secret to health, happiness and optimal endurance training.
I have never seen anyone as excited to get up for a morning run as Butch. Being a dog, his life is pretty routine: run, eat, sleep, chew on stuff, eat, sleep and so on. But Butch bounds out of bed like there is no end to the wonderful possibilities that might be in store for the day. Like humans, dogs crave the structure of a daily routine, but in Butch's mind, every day is a potential lottery-winning day.
Dogs have an instinctual need to exercise every day; otherwise they become destructive and antisocial. I find it hard to believe that humans have evolved so much that this doesn't apply to us as well. Many of us have just become better at suppressing the instinct.
Butch treats his exercise sessions like a reward. All day he looks forward to the time when he can go running and he takes full advantage of every minute outdoors. He runs and plays hard and then he stops when he's tired. It may be simplistic, but there are worse models which to base your training program. Too often training becomes a chore rather than a reward. If only we could re-frame in our mind the idea that the track workout is really just a giant game of tag and a chance to run around outside with our friends.
If Butch had a motto, it would be, "Run long; nap often." Dogs don't have coffee or deadlines and responsibilities; their days are instead dictated by their internal clock and therefore are more in tune with their bodily needs. When Butch is tired, he doesn't grab a latte and keep plugging away. He flops on his rug and takes a nap, belly exposed and feet twitching as he dreams of chasing squirrels. It's not always feasible at the office, but if you have the choice between a quick nap and a double shot, take the nap.
If there is one thing that dogs have mastered, it is nutrition. After every run Butch diligently laps up a few ounces of H2O, in keeping with his instinctual need for hydration. And every time we return from a run, without fail he trots past his food bowl to make sure no one has secretly slipped in a treat while he was away. No one taught dogs about the glycogen window, but millions of years of "eat or be eaten" still resides in the mind of even the most complacent dog. Of course, he is not the choosiest eater, outside of what he is supposed to eat, he chows down anything that looks delicious only to barfs it up in the back yard an hour later. So perhaps we should use caution with the eat-like-a-dog example.
While many may think of dogs as impulsive, haphazard trainers, they actually demonstrate in their daily lives the components of a complete training regime: endurance, speed, agility and even mental skills.
Dogs seem to have an inexhaustible and innate optimism toward life from which human athletes could benefit. Even though he was not breed for smarts, Butch still chases after the cute whippet at the dog park. He won't ever catch her, but he never stops trying. Hierarchies exist within packs of dogs that may seem arbitrary from the outside. Sometimes the Chawawa rules over the Great Dane with an iron fist. So go chase that greyhound, even if you feel like you're more of a St. Bernard. Sometimes the race doesn't always go to the fastest dog but rather the one that just keeps on running.
This time of year I often reflect on the things, large and small, I feel are in need of change or the things that are important to me. There are times or occasions in life that ask me to ponder things such as "the hourglass turning now into the past". These occasions can pull at the fibers of who I am, even though it's part of life itself.
There are few things impacting my daily life that don't leave me with second thoughts. Trust me when I say Butch has an impact on my daily life. But he may be one of the only things that has never left me second guessing. Never! Not once! Now he has the ability to anger me, don't get me wrong. But every day as he nudges me with that wet nose or cuts me with those piercing blue eyes, everyday is better because he is around.
As Butch begins to show age, I have had to limit his long runs. About an hour best suits his body where he at one time was running as long as 2.5 hours or up to 18 miles. Seeing his bodies need to slow down pulls at my heart, but his spirit has never wavered. His endless zest for life is still intact.
In the end Butch is a dog. What I mean by that is, in the grand scheme of things his role in my life is relatively small. This has brought into focus the fact that I to often let the little things in life be over shadowed by life itself. So thank you Butch for yet another life lesson learned.
Well got to go…Someone is resting his head on my knee. It must be time to head out the door.
I love to take photographs. While it can be hard to organize photos, it can be joy-filled to fish through them in an effort to categorize or frame them to remember those lost. I find it soothing to "see" them each time I walk past and sometimes I stop to take a closer look.
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.
Today is the 39th running of the Ironman World Championship. Every year under the first full moon in October the best triathletes in the world gather on the shores of the Big Island at the city of Kailua-Kona. Here an odyssey of 140.6 mile will begin at 6:30 a.m. local standard time. But for each of these athletes the journey began long before they step into the blue of the Pacific, a like journey that for me began no less then a decade earlier.
One year ago I was lucky enough to stand on the pier in Kona about to go into the water to begin what would be for me, an epic journey. Every athlete that day had a story and not one of those stories the same in any way other then the distance of the race itself. But for me my journey to Kona and her start line began in the early spring/late winter of 2006 as Bootsie and I started our official training program for the 2006 addition of the Ford Ironman Coeur d'Alene. Little did I know or could have I ever imagined this would lead to the start line in Kona in the fall of 2016. As I stood there looking out over the start line and the massive crowd beyond, Bootsie by my side, I took a moment. In that moment, that exact instant, I would be moved and changed forever.
Photo by James Richman
"There is nothing in the world like this moment. Thousands in anticipation of what they will do and what they will see. Every athlete is well aware of the magnitude of the moment. They are all prepared physically now it's a mental game."
Today in Kona for over 2400 athletes their lives will change in some manner as they all pursue a dream whatever that dream may be. This event, this spectacle, this inner battle with ones self is just to great not to effect each of them in some way.
At Kailua-Kona the Ironman World Championship and her course will provide challenges for each athlete, be them mental, physical or both. That's what this course provides and that's what makes this course so special. They will want to quit during that long period of time maybe a hundred, maybe a thousand times. But for reasons known only to the athletes themselves, they will keep going, with it in them. These athletes, the athletes that make up the 2017 running of the Ironman World Championship will simply keep going. They will keep going until they reach that finish line, their finish line, be that today in Kona or where ever their dreams may take them.
So I say good luck to each of these athletes. May today be all you ever hoped it would be, all you ever dreamed. Today we watch those lucky enough to have a dream so we can watch as those dreams come true. Live your dreams!
So June is rapidly approaching and the question has become....what now? Well for the most part, shoulder surgeries. My bike crash and challenges to get to and through Kona have been well documented but where does one go from there? Any other year the plan would have been to get right back on the horse, back to training. But this has not been any other year.
Bootsy and I had decided not to go long this year prior to the end of last season. We would take a break from full iron distance training and focus on just enjoying the training and the shorter 2 to 3 hour workouts instead of the 4 to 7 hour workouts that iron distance training demands. Bootsy had decided to make a run at a B.Q. (Boston marathon qualifier) but outside of that we would do what we enjoy most and that's training for mid distance events. Unfortunately Bootsy spent the better part of the spring injured, so an attempt at a B.Q. will have to wait.
This February 14th. I had surgery to repair a 100% tear of the post labrum in my left shoulder. Yep, happy Valentines Day Honey, you get a drooling, drowsy, narcotic laced bozo for a Valentine this year.
Fast forward six weeks as I'm sitting in my surgeons office receiving the news that I now have a frozen shoulder.
Frozen shoulder, or adhesive capsulitis, causes pain and stiffness in the shoulder. With time, the shoulder's mobility becomes limited and very hard to move.
Frozen shoulder occurs in about 2% of the general population. It most commonly affects people between the ages of 40 and 60, and occurs in women more often than men. So I am beating the odds per say and not in a good way.
Dr. Tycho Kersten has been great to work with through out this process. We worked through the details of a frozen joint as he put it in terms I could grasp. Basically no one knows why joints freeze or as he explained it "Frozen joints are like a big black box. We are not sure what makes up the box but we do know a few pieces that are in there." One of which is heredity.
Mike at B&B Physical Therapy is, in my opinion, one of the best therapists in the region. As we worked to rehab the shoulder post surgery I began to wonder how it was going. In hindsight Mike had begun to foreshadow the possibility of a frozen shoulder. It's not his place to make a diagnosis but it was becoming clear that he had begun to wonder if (or believe) we were headed down that road as he started to introduced me to the concept, explaining what others had gone through when afflicted with the issue.
One of the problems with a frozen joint and PT is you're making the joint mad by stretching it. Because of the discomfort or pain this creates I couldn't get off the narcotics. Six weeks on narcotics is no picnic especially for someone who doesn't like to be on them....at all! I don't like the narcotics. Outside of masking the pain, I don't like how they make me feel. And I most definitely do not like the side affects.
After about 10 days on the narcotic I wanted to be done. I tried to ween myself away from them, going to just Tylenol but I had next to no success. Because of the continued aggravation of the shoulder, my pain levels grew through the weekend and when I walked into Mikes office on Monday at 7:30 a.m. he took one look at me and knew something was wrong.
Chasing pain is a funny game. Once behind on the pain it takes a bit to catch up. And because I wasn't sleeping, my sleep pattern already a bit of a mess do to the fact with this type of surgery you are required to sleep in a recliner (not my favorite) I was on a very slippery slope.
Mike recommended a couple days off from work to try to get the shoulder to calm down and try to get some sleep. He would strongly suggested (or flat out tell me) if I didn't get back on the pain meds and get some sleep he would "suggest" sleeping aids, explaining in no uncertain terms that I simply could not heal without sleep and managing the pain was the only way to do so.
The entire process right out of the gate has been a challenge. The pain and discomfort along with trying to sleep in a recliner have led to a disrupted sleep pattern. Being monumentally tired for extended periods of time can lead to problems with perspective. Perspective is the area in which I have struggled the most.
The effects of sleep on negative mood. - Both correlational and experimental (yes, I work in a building with one of the premier sleep centers in the world. Here researchers actually bring people into a lab setting and keep them up all night for days on end… any volunteers?) evidence suggest that when people are sleep deprived, they feel more irritable, angry and hostile. Sleep loss is also associated with feeling more depressed. In addition, sleep deprivation seems to be associated with greater emotional reactivity, people who suffer from sleep loss are especially likely to react negatively when something doesn’t go well for them. Sleep loss leads to increased negative mood, and decreased ability to regulate anger. From my perspective, anger wasn't my primary issue but negative mood, that's certainly has been.
So what do the folks in the sleep center suggest other then the obvious? Try not to take on frustrating tasks, interact with irritating people, or generally engage in too much social interaction when you are very short on sleep. i.e., NOT a good time to argue with Bootsy about counter tops, style of range or tile color! Oh yeah, we had a major home remodel start February 20th. Not our choice in timing, it just played out that way.
The weight of this entire process has skewed my perspective from time to time. Not in a continues fashion, I have good day mixed with bad. Some of the bad days can be pretty dark, as shown in a following text with Bootsy from that point in time.
Bootsy - "How are you doing?"
My response - "I'm tired. I'm tired of the pain. I'm tired of the house. I'm tired of work. I'm tired of it all. I just feel like I don't want to do this anymore. I'm tired."
This representing what was hopefully one of the darkest days.
A diagnosis of a frozen shoulder sent me home to do nothing, no PT, no nothing. Just wait for the 3 month marker post surgery.
It's been so hard to be still. As an endurance athlete it's exceptionally hard to do so. Endurance athletes have trained themselves to want to go, go, go. But to be still in the fact that I was to go home and do nothing for an additional 6 weeks, except for watching the calendar, this was very challenging.
M.U.A. or Manipulation Under Anesthesia - When the progress in rehabilitation is slow, manipulation under anesthesia can be recommended. This means you are put to sleep with general anesthesia and a nerve block is administered. The doctor then stretches the shoulder joint. The manipulation stretches the shoulder joint capsule and breaks up the scar tissue. In most cases, the manipulation improves motion in the joint faster than allowing nature to take it's course.
This procedure has risks. There is a very slight chance the stretching can injure the network of nerves running to the arm. And there is a risk of fracturing the humerus.
"Family history and racial predilection as markers for genetic association, both of which indicate the presence of a genetic predisposition to frozen shoulder." In other words - it hereditary. So when one falls straight forward off his mountain bike and lands squarely on his chest with both arms outstretched, one not only tears the labrum in his left shoulder, he tears the labrum in his right shoulder as well.
The plan last February was to move forward with the labral repair in the right shoulder as soon as possible. An outline if all went well would have put me in a position to be having that surgery about now. In a perfect world I would have been recovered enough from both shoulders to maybe do Coeur d'Fondo this fall and/or Spokane's half marathon but that's all out the window now.
I asked Dr. Kersten how mentally prepared I should be for the second shoulder to freeze. He said "very". A loose outline for recovery could be three months for the M.U.A. before moving on to the right shoulder. If we were to head back down the same road with the right shoulder as we did with the left then it could be next March before moving past the right shoulder and next September before a return to the pool.
Bootsy and I have booked a trip to Tempe AZ for IMAZ this November. We will volunteer at one of our favorite venues. I had originally planned to sign up for IMAZ 2018 but that race for me is now in question. We will make a game day decision but my mental focus may need to shift to a return to iron distance racing at the 2019 edition of IMAZ instead. Maybe the 2018 IMAZ 70.3? Who knows and in lies the issue.
So have I earned the right to feel blue? Absolutely not! But the fact of the matter is I can get that way from time to times. Ultimately, I am learning to deal with the (chronic) pain and sleep loss with all the things that go along with them. The thing I haven't learned to do is to deal with the affect all of this is having on Bootsy. To watch her suffer in this too, that's what brings me tears. She has been asked to pick up all the slack and to deal with me in my current form, yet through it all she has never mentioned what is going on with her, not once. She has remained focused on my needs, our needs I guess and recovery. But I can see it in her and that's what hurts - a lot.
Many theories abound when it comes to social media and how it's supposed to work. Part of my social media package has been to maintain many different platforms, one of those platforms being this blog. As avenues for contact with a general audience shift to the hand held so better your chosen platforms. Blogs seem to be drifting as a platform with a society that in my opinion is moving to a bullet point based consumer. So then why chose to support a blog at all? Especially in my case where posts can get very lengthy and long winded, as represented here. To be honest the reason I continue to support this blog is largely for myself. I for the most part continue to choose this platform as a method of capturing memories - for myself. Before sponsors began to believe in me and my journey I chose private platforms. Once I moved to a public platform my writing style too would change. Public consumption is and should be approached differently then private. A chosen audience may be let behind the curtain a little more then the public.
One theory about blogging may be the need to post more then just race reports or a 100% race based product. It's hard for me to think this way and still produce a product I feel suitable for public consumption on this particular blog spot. A bit of growth is never a bad thing just maybe not in this particular post. The following may be a departure from a direct race based post but not a departure from triathlon, it's training and how it's lessons continue to shape who I am and the direction I chose to pursue.
In an effort to grow and learn from lessons of this season past I have attempted to boil it down. When you are given the opportunity for what should/could be the largest season of your triathlon career trying to reduce it to a few single moments that have shaped your season isn't as easy as it could/should be in other years.
One of the best moments from last season was watching with great pride as Bootsy qualified for Kona for her third time. Another key moment was my qualification and racing in Kona. These were monumental moments for both of us as individuals and as a couple. I couldn't have dreamed for such a scenario to play out.
Once these phenomenal opportunities are removed, what's left? What else can I point to as the moments that helped shape my season and carried the larger lessons? There where two seminal moments in the 2016 season for me. The first moment being injury unlike any I have ever experienced, the second was the loss of a training partner.
If there were a way to improve your chances for fitness success by 10, 20 or even 30% would this opportunity get your attention? How about a technique to make exercise more fun on a daily basis? A tool that automatically creates space and time in your schedule for run workouts? A proven way to help push you out the door, out of a rut or through a plateau?
It may all sound too good to be true, but countless endurance athletes, including myself, have found the right training partner can do all this and so much more.
Exercise partners provide a powerful combination of support, accountability, motivation and in some cases, a healthy competition. Although never one to take to the water and those little legs could have never powered a bike, they could and would however out sprint me across the park to the front porch of our home every time. Even in his latter years.
The emotion of grief may be triggered by the loss of something loved or as a result of a life circumstance. It could be believed that if we have effectively mourned a loss we will then achieve closure. The notion that one mourns a loss and then gets over it, to the extent that emotions about the loss are not triggered in the future, in my opinion, is a myth.
It's my belief that any personal loss, later and repeatedly, brings longing and sadness. As time passes, the intensity of feelings about the loss may lessen, we might also find ways to soothe or distract ourselves, this beginning the process of partially burying grief-related feelings through the process of creating new memories. But we may never get over the feeling of it being next to impossible: for me I have found it hard to erase emotional memory. Besides it's maybe not about achieving closure at all. Instead maybe I should attempt to figure out what I'm going to do when emotion of memories are later triggered.
My experience with the breed began in college. A lifetime friend had a Siberian Husky as a companion who traveled most places with him. Sasha was bright, beautiful and full of life. Throughout my college years I wondered if the day would come when I would bring a Siberian into my life with everything the breed has to offer.
In the early 2000's I had the opportunity to do some photography work for an international company who had bought the Carnation Corporation. Part of the Carnation brand at one point was a line of dog and cat foods. In development a line of dogs and cats were held. To keep in the tradition of this history, Nestles introduced three lines of dogs to be breed on the grounds, one of which were the Siberian Husky. These three breeds were cut from some of the best lines in the world and were available only to employees from around the globe.
When I placed my order for what would eventually become Butch, I was looking for some very explicit features starting with a male, the females are generally higher in intelligence and have been known as escape artists. I also sought the traditional black and white markings, piercing blue eyes and a reasonably low key temperament suitable to be a training partner and the companion I craved. The staff at Nestles were very professional in all aspects of the health of the breeds and furthering a world class line but they were also very thorough with the needs of all special requests so after 18 months Pavlov Butch Chinook was delivered.
Smile Butch
Those eyes got him out of a lot of sticky situations.
A Siberian is an athletic, intelligent breed that can be independent and challenging for a first-time dog owner. They are not know to be aggressive, do well with children, and will welcome everyone into their home - even intruders. The fact is that they tend to love everybody. Ordinarily your most extreme danger with a Siberian is being licked to death.
Siberians are a high-energy, gregarious breed that must have an occupation. They are a working dog bred for strenuous work hauling sleds in difficult terrain and weather conditions. A Siberian will demand attention and will get it one way or another. If not provided an occupation, they will find one, and you may not like the method chosen.
Siberian Huskies dig. If your lawn and flowers are the pride and joy of your life... I may caution you against this breed. Butch would dig holes to cool off in the summer and would dig what would appear to be cozy nests in the snow. It didn't matter snow or no snow Butch's instinct said, "Dig!!" Butch and I had few contentions through out our time together so in this case we would simple agree to disagree.
Butch was strong, stubborn, independent and rambunctious. Another way to say that may be Butch was powerful, persistent, smart and full of energy and stamina, desirable traits in a training partner, but in a house pet only if he were well trained. In time Butch became a polite and relatively calm house pet but only when met with companionship, training and exercise - lots of exercise.
We all have those days when we have no ambition to do what's best for ourselves and our goals. I was struggling to get back into the endurance world, this is when Butch entered my life.
Running long distances is what Butch was bred to do. This ability didn't go away when it wasn't part of his normal routine. Butch had a special way of getting the chosen off the couch and out the door.
There just would be no saying no. No matter the season, no mater the weather, he was going to get what he wanted and what he wanted was exercise, preferably a run. Butch loved doing anything with us especially if it were what he was bred for, it helped satisfy his natural desire to work and to be part of a pack.
Dogs shouldn't start running until their growth plates are closed. That meant we would wait until Butch was one or even two years old before we would begin any type of structured running. We worked with our vet and were given the green light to start running Butch at 18 months old.
So we were first time dog owners with a puppy with plenty of energy and the natural instinct to pull when on a leash or in a harness. We had seen plenty of example where a Siberian owner had failed to teach their puppy not to pull when walking. In many cases the argument could be made that the dog was walking the pet owner not the other way around as the pet dragged the owner around the neighborhood. We were warned of this early and made the decision this could not be in our case.
When faced with the task of training the instinct to pull out of a rambunctious high energy Siberian puppy lots of short-long walks are necessary. How this is done is when on the collar each time your puppy pulls or creates tension, what the puppy is looking for is tension on the collar against his neck, each time this would happen we would stop and sit. Eventually teaching the pet that tension meant a stop and sit or a diversion from the goal, a goal of covering distance through exercise. Butch and I had many long walks that would only cover the distance of around the block, each time he pulled we would stop until he was sitting along side of me. There were plenty of times we wouldn't take a step forward without Butch leaving the sit position only to start pulling again. We wouldn't cover much ground in the beginning but with time he would begin to learn tension means sit, no tension means freedom, freedom to move as one with whomever would take him out to be exercised.
Since Butch was brand new to running, we started with just a few minutes as few as five and at most as much as 15 minutes. It's a mistake thinking dogs are born with some sort of mysterious fitness. They're not. Their bodies need to adapt to exercise the same as a person's.
I loved running with Butch, his enthusiasm and sense of adventure always on full display. He would push for additional exercise on every run, only heat as a motivating factor to wrap it up. Butch would accompany us on 3 to 4 runs a week on average. We would eventually train him to run as far as 18 miles mostly on trails through Riverside State Park. We would carry a small collapsible water bowl so we could get him water along the way or we would pull over along the river for a short time to allow him to drink and cool standing waste deep. Days that were unseasonably warm we would leave him at home or just take him for a longer walk. It would always prove a challenge to get away from the house in running cloths on warmer days. It didn't take Butch long to figure out the difference between running and cycling cloths. If I were in running shoes I would have a Siberian stuck to my leg.
There would come a time when we would begin to ponder Butch's retirement from running. Because there are days when Bootsy needs to train in the early morning hours we would bring in another running partner as Butch approached his retirement years. We decided to bring in another breed and that's when Kailua came to live with us.
Two big dogs in our home was never something we would have considered if we were not in need of another training partner. Wanting to be sure Kai would be ready to pick up where Butch left off, we decided to bring her in when Butch reached the age of 10 and had begun to slow down. We understood the life expectancy for a Siberian is between 12-14 years so we would need time for Kai to mature into the running partner and companion we looked to move forward with.
My two favorite ladies.
As Butch's body began to slow his spirit did not. He would struggle when Kai would be harnessed for a run but he would not. I had a great deal of guilt when forced to leave him behind for the run portion of the workout. We would return post run and pick him up for a walk during the cool down portion.
Although it was best for Butch to retire as we could see his body had worn to the point where his spirit would carry him a little to far from time to time and we were left to watch as his aging body paid the price. My guilt when leaving Butch behind was based largely in the fact that I knew he felt deprived of the very thing he was bred to do but it was personal as well. Butch had been there for every step of my growth in the endurance world and I didn't want that to change - on a personal level. I moved up an age group last year now racing in the M 50-54 A.G. which by the way is a line in the sand of noticeable magnitude. I have to wonder if the opportunity to P.R. (Personal Record) is also beginning to dwindle. To stand by and watch Butch on the back side of his "arc of fitness", I would have to evaluate if this were a mirror image of mine. Never a bad idea to evaluate where you are in your endurance career from time to time but also never an easy exercise.
When Butch left us I was heart broken in the same way anyone would be with the lose of a long time companion. But there was something else for me in this case, something I wasn't completely prepared for. After all it wasn't a secret he would someday soon be gone, he was a large breed at the age of 13 for goodness sake. I however was surprised by how much emotion I had tied to his little wagon.
I get it Butch was "just a dog" and his only true fault was that his life was to short, but what he represented in my head, in my heart and as a partner in the my growth in the endurance world, this would take some evaluation.
In the few years leading up to Butch's arrival, I had gotten to a place where I had lost confidence in myself. The softball diamond became my outlet for my competitive spirit and for a while it had become my sanctuary. Although I was having some success on the diamond my drive to stay at the competitive local level had began to dwindle along with my confidence.
Be it right or wrong, sport has had a huge impact on how I view myself, how I define myself and that in turn affects my self esteem. This also has an affect on my confidence because confidence comes primarily from self esteem.
Sport brings goal setting, strength and structure. Without these I began to tear myself down and in the process lose confidence. It was reflected in the lose of passion for things away from sport, weight gain and in the fact that I began to look at only the things I didn't like about myself. Sport provided the avenue to once again embrace who I was and a to re-establish a missing confidence.
Butch helped begin the process of healing most of these issues as he pushed me back toward an old friend, toward a form of sport that is triathlon.
As Butch aged and his running health began to decline, I found myself re-examining the time in my life before his arrival and all things that brought disappointment in myself. So it would seem natural that I would link his companionship and drive to most of the good things I enjoy through sport.
Kia is a wonderful training partner and companion. I can rest easy when Bootsy steps out into the early morning air for a run with Kia by her side. But for as wonderful as it is to be out there losing ourselves in a run on the trails through the park, I often times find myself revisiting time spent with Butch as Kai and I cover the same ground covered with Butch by my side. Creating new memories with Kai is a welcome and enjoyable activity but to be honest there have been runs were I have been forced to stop and walk as I worked through the emotions and memories of runs with Butch. The need to work through this style of emotional memory is expected but there have been more then enough memories that continue to catch me off guard.
I have a longstanding tradition each Saturday in the fall of the year. Fall brings football season which in turn brings the ESPN product Gameday. I have for years been out of bed each Saturday by 5:45 a.m. in preparation for Gameday viewing, Butch at my feet as I sit in solitude for 3 hours of football zen.
This year at 5:45 a.m. on the much anticipated opening day of College Football I could't get out of bed knowing Butch wouldn't be at my feet. My heart just to heavy to carry forward in a tradition I completely revel in. It was a defining day as I eventually would make my way through something that was a complete blindside.
Emotional memories are all part of the process and some of it's moments keep surprising me. But I am also beginning to celebrate the memories as they sneak up on me. For example, this fall I was gifted with a weekend on the Grande Ronde River in pursuit of Sea Run Rainbow. As my fishing partner and I stepped into the clear cool water of one of our favorite spots on the river he mentioned rather matter-of-factly "The last time I took a fish in this hole Butch was with us". A great memory that brought a smile for both of us.
In the end, triathlon is a large part of my life because it is my chosen lifestyle, a lifestyle Bootsy and I continue to enjoy for all it gives us on a daily basis. Butch's roll in this lifestyle going forward will be largely unfulfilled as we move forward without him, Kai by our side. As I continue my growth in this lifestyle I will carry the lessons learned with him and from him but his presence and what he represented can never be replaced.
Butch was never much interested in family portraits.
I don't know, maybe one day we will chose to bring another Siberian into our lives. The joys of the breed have been a life long pursuit. But for now Butch has set the bar pretty high and any comparisons to that bar would be unfair to everyone involved.
"Until one has loved a dog, a part of one's sole remains unawakened" - Anatole France
