My Bootsy - Your Nurse

I stood with you today. 

I stood silently next to your bed and watched you as you tried to process the devastating words, “I’m sorry. There’s no heartbeat.” 

I moved you to a room away from the cries of babies being born. 

I held you up as you labored and encouraged you when you said you couldn’t do it anymore. 

I held your hand as you delivered your beloved child. 

I spoke words of support as you did what you never thought you would have to do. 

I sat quietly with you as you held your baby for the first and last time. 

I ached for you as the tears streamed down your face in heartbreaking grief. 

I watched the Father struggle to be a part of this woman’s work and try to be strong for his partner, all the while fighting back his tears and grief. 

I captured moments some never wanted to remember, and some never wanted to forget. 

I carefully chose the tiny gown, hat and crocheted blanket lovingly knitted just for your baby - pieces that represented your heart, bruised and broken. 

I gently imprinted your love’s handprints and footprints into the soft clay plaque so you would have something tangible to remember them by. 

I did all of this with a reverence for the journey I was on with you. 

I sat on the edge of your bed as I handed you the pictures of your baby which brought on a fresh wave of tears. 

I gently handed you the death certificate for you to sign and gave you time to do the unthinkable. 

I carefully observed your face as you stared at the pen because to see it in black and white was a brutal reminder of all you lost. 

I slowly helped you into the wheelchair and took you to the entrance of the hospital - the same door you came in through with hopes and dreams. 

I saw the hesitation cross your face as you climbed into the car. Terrified to leave for all you would have to face at home, yet too painful to stay in the place where you lost something so precious. 

I hugged you and reminded you to take care of yourself; to seek the support you would need. 

After you left, I turned to make my way back into the hospital.

You didn’t see me find the nearest bathroom and lock myself inside. 

You didn’t hear my muffled crying. 

You see, I was your Nurse. 

I see you, sweet Mama. 

I see you.

Grief and loss is something that all people will experience in their lifetime. The loss may be actual or perceived and is the absence of something that was valued. Nurses may experience this personally, or they may need to be the support system for patients and their families going through grief and loss. It is the nurse's role to provide compassionate care to their patient and loved ones, and this care will be different from person-to-person. It is also important for the nurse to maintain emotional resiliency, so they are able to provide the best care for those grieving.

It is important for the nurse to assist the patient and loved ones in their coping with their grief to include anticipatory grief. Educating them on what is expected to include the stages of grief and what are some normal feelings as well as what are some resources to help adjust to this loss they are experiencing.

But who is doing this for the nurses themselves?

When you work in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit), patient lose is part of the job. Bootsy is a NICU nurse. Part of her job is to focus on the needs of the dying and their families setting aside her own feelings in order to tend to theirs, it comes with the territory. In this, losing patients would become almost normal, the cycle of life and death, and part of her job, but in her heart of hearts she knows that it is all affecting her in ways she may not be able or willing to acknowledge.

Still, Bootsy does her duty as a nurse, comes home to tend to her family, and tries not to think about the toll that so much grief may be taking on her.

To break down is not an option, I would guess, I don't know, I'm not a nurse - a nurse in the NICU. But, on the other hand, you have to allow yourself to be human. When losing a patient gets to my nurse, she will use coworkers to vent and to lean on. I see very little of this at home. Most settings in this modern world don't encourage outward grieving. Not even between a man and his Bootsy, when he could never begin to understand the process.

So for all you do for the community, and for what you bring in making our house a home...

I see you, sweet Bootsy.

I see you.

Life With a World Class Athlete.

"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.

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. 

-

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.

Live Your Dreams!

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!

Frozen - And the Likes.

In a lot of ways frozen is a good thing. It helps in the preservation of food sources, it sparks new life by resetting plant growth for spring time and it can assist in recovery. It also makes for a pretty darn cute movie.

So lets talk about it, that word - Frozen. But what we should talk about are the things that I like about frozen.


Pizza - But only when Bootsie is not home or should I say I only have/get frozen pizza when she's not home. I like it best when placed on a pizza stone and cooked in the Traeger. So a paticular type of cooked pizza is what I like I guess. Hmmm... Could that mean I don't like frozen pizza - in the true sense of the word? But what I like is a Tombstone, Digiorno or Titino's brought to temperature, where the cheese has melted to a gooey mess and the pepperoni sizzles as if to call my name. But could this mean I don't like "frozen" pizza at all? I ponder.


Daiquiris - Plural. Raspberry please. But only when in season. Best consumed in the presences of loved ones while perched on the deck at a Priest Lake cabin after a long summer's day of doing next to nothing at all in an effort to hold down the dock as the world passes me by. A time to reflect and enjoy the simplest of things, that although always there, seem to escape my grasp. So maybe it's not the Daiquiris themselves, but maybe I like what they represents in all their frozen wonder.


Popsicles - Who didn't sit under the shade of a backyard evergreen enjoying your favorite flavor or as I knew them, my favorite color. The sticky liquid running down covering my hand to prove it's adhesive power when wiped in the grass and dirt.

Or better yet, running while waving a dime at the beloved Ice Cream Man. His choices endless in the eyes and mind of child.


A Mountain Meadow - I did not grow up engaging in outdoor winter sports other then bombing down a local hill on runner sleds at break neck speeds in an effort to spill other neighborhood kids by grabbing one of their runners from behind and pulling it crosswise. This sending the bundled teen spinning and crashing into what we hoped would be the soft powder lining the majority the chosen city street. Not always the case might I add, the powder that is, the crashes were inevitable. I, a scrawny teen where gravity when applied sent the older heavier sledders down the frozen streets at a much greater speed. But I'm not bitter. Yeah Yeah - I'm getting to the mountain meadow part but first I find it necessary to exercise a few childhood demons.

As I aged I would be introduced to winter mountain sports such as downhill snow skiing. Where a frozen slope is not my favorite by the way, again preferring powder. Winter mountain sports are phenomenal. I have spent many winters carving mountain slopes across the Northwest and Western Canada but when introduced to cross county skiing this is where I found serenity.

When cross country skiing in the backwoods and mountains in the Pacific Northwest it is inevitable that you will come upon a frozen meadow as you silently slide your way across the trails of a mountainside. It is here that I like to stop, to enjoy the beauty the good Lord provides and to sit in silences as nature plays out in front of me. Maybe a distant bird, deer or in this area, a moose are the only others enjoying the beauty. Them, not knowing they are part of the beauty. Me, the one granted the opportunity to share.


Panties - Yes that's right - panties - frozen. But only after an entire drawer of panties have been placed in the sink, for moisture, then carefully arranged in a colorful bouquet on the windshield of the owners car in the dead of night one mid January in a winter of my college years. Oh she earned it. And yes we showed early the next morning to watch. After readying herself for classes early that Monday morning, she would first curse when she saw it, our Michelangelo in frozen panties, but she then laughed as she knew the anticipation of what was to come was now over. She had been the ring leader in a lake cabin prank earlier that summer. I had chosen to wait for my revenge knowing the anticipation of something, anything, would be greater then the act itself. We stood watching as the owner of the car, a rainbow of panties frozen to her windshield, putting her defroster to the test as the entire apartment complex of college students now on their way to classes streamed past only to wonder. A crescendo of defrosted panties hitting the pavement as she carefully peeled from the windshield. Revenge was mine.


So - Frozen - I would imagine I will be back with things that I don't like - that are frozen.