Organizing the Rubble.

Well few and far between followers, this is a long overdue post that is really hard for me to write.  Generally I think that social media, and blogs are for topics that you would discuss with anyone, at a bar, on a group ride, things of that sort.  This post, however is something really personal, something that I feel selfish for writing because it's to help me more than it is to help anyone here reading.  I hope that, somehow, it does help anyone who finds their way here. Remember that as always this is an N=1 experience, and you must read it as such.

The last fifty days or so have been more than just shades of grey for me. I've seen red, blue, and a few glimmers of gold. My "series of unfortunate events" started at the beginning of May. May 4th, I was at a race which I had driven to at 3am that morning, I woke to wonderful words of encouragement from my girlfriend, my family, and my friends.  I made my way on the two hour trip to the race site to find less than ideal conditions, wind, rain, chop... I was excited for the challenge.  I battled from the gun, trying to swim above and beyond my ability through seriously tough conditions. Eventually I made it to the bike and hammered through a gnarly headwind for a top 5 bike split. Then I made it to the run and ran an OPEN 10k PR, and an off the bike 10k PR to take second place at mile 4.5 and run home in about a 5:20 mile.  It was one of those races where you finish and say, this is what I spend 15 hours a week training for.

Excited with the news, I called my Mom, no answer. I called my Step-dad he picked up and we chatted about the great day. I text a few friends while cooling down and let them know about the successful day. About 10 minutes until awards as I jogged around cooling down I got a call back from my Step-dad. He went searching for my Mom to tell her the good news, and found her unresponsive in their bedroom.  Apparently some time in the middle of the night she had had a left side ischemic stroke in the early hours of the morning, 2am is the estimate, and hadn't been discovered until 10am the next morning. My heart sank, my usually unbreakable appetite dissipated from existence, my high was gone.

Not only had I gotten the most horrifying news that one could possibly get, I was a thousand miles away at a race that wouldn't let me out of the parking lot for the longest twenty minutes of my life up to that point. A record which was not held for very long.  Eventually I was on the road, heading to my apartment, and then to the airport. I arrived to the Iowa City Neural Intensive Care Unit around 1am to find my Sister, Brother in-law, Step Father, Uncle, and Aunt hovering over my Mother with concerned looks. I don't know why I didn't mentally prepare for what I would see when I arrived. Over my 6 hours of travel and I just zoned out. That's what had worked so well for me at the race, as I battled the day. Why should this, which on a superficial level posed itself as another challenge for me to battle, be any different. While my preparation for an Olympic distance triathlon may have been spot on, my preparation for the emotional triathlon of denial, acceptance, and action was not quite adequate.  Without the knowledge, or information to back it up I kept telling myself she would be okay as looked upon her barely responsive face. Despite doctors telling us the possible need for brain surgery, the long term implications, and evident signs of the damage done on CT scans, I was optimistic. Optimism, in hindsight is something that takes a lot of strength mentally. Mental strength can be mistaken for dependency on routine, and consistency easily.

Over the next five days that I spent looking over my Mom she didn't get any worse, this was a beacon of hope. No worse, not necessarily meaning better, but no worse. We took it. I traveled back to North Carolina on Wednesday to continue working.  It was so hard leaving family and friends with the subconscious fear of being 1000 miles away and having something else happen.  Though this was one of the most heart wrenching experiences of my life, I continued training rather consistently despite moving into a new apartment and living in a whole new part of town.  After all I did have a race the next weekend.

Fast forward to two weeks after my last race, I was traveling to Charlotte, NC to do my next Olympic-ish distance. May 17th -  As I packed my car that afternoon after readying my gear, I got a call from my Sister. My Grand Father had died the night prior.  At first I was numb, my mental reaction was "Okay, talk to you later." As if I were just having some small talk conversation.  Then it hit me. My Mother's Father had just passed away. My Mom has no Idea. And I'm alone, 1000 miles away from everyone I've ever loved.  We talked a little, but mostly we were just silent, "what about Mom?" I said, "we decided not to tell her" My sister replied. My Mom had just started understanding speech again, but couldn't herself speak. To throw this on her when she had no way to express herself would have been more than most human beings, even strong as I'm learning that she really is, could handle.  A four hour drive ahead of me, with a lot to think about, I was unsure of the outcome of this race. Just now I find myself writing "needless to say this race didn't go very well," because in hindsight how does anyone muster a clear mind after all of this happening in just two weeks time.

The race went okay,  I found myself battling the little things from keeping me down. Flat tire in transition for no apparent reason, logistical head aches of point to point races.  My mental game was off, and I settled for an okay race that I could have turned around if I really wanted to dig.  I had hit bedrock, to dig anymore I would have needed a bit more fire power.  After the race I was disappointed, but apathetic, I had accepted the day for what it was.

Fast forward to the next week, Wednesday after recovering from the race, out for my first ride from the new apartment.  May 22nd I'm struck by a vehicle passing me from behind. Luckily it was only their mirror, and I was not too badly injured. Some scrapes, yes. Some blood, yes. Some bruises, yes. The injuries, and the circumstance weren't what bothered me. As I cartwheeled through the middle of the lane my bike flying over my head, my things catapulting out of my jersey pockets, fix-a-flat exploding and covering my back, I didn't think about the possibility of a car behind the one that had just patted me on the back, I didn't think about how close I was to death. Initially, I didn't think anything at all.

Further mentally numb I came to accept that bad things will continue to happen to me, with no regard for the previous three weeks of misfortune.  Just like flipping a coin will sometimes land heads, heads, heads, and heads again, with no regard for having landed heads the previous three times. Random isn't consistent, random isn't fair, random isn't predictable. Life is random. It wasn't until I went to call for help that I realized how scary the situation was for me.  I had no one.  My closest family was 16 hours away, my limited number of friends were not answering. I was bloody, bruised, beaten, and alone. Again.

After riding home I delayed cleaning my wounds, still letting my brain catch up with what has happened.  A few hours later I called my parents and described what had happened.  Describing the situation to them, I realized what if a car had been behind the car that hit me? What if I wasn't able to ride home? What if? All these thoughts and worries came rushing in, the flood gates had opened.

I didn't write this so that some unknown group of followers would like, or comment, or pity my circumstance. I didn't write this so that anyone reading this would feel bad for me, that's not how I deal with things.  I wrote this because a few days ago, I did a google search for "What to do when I just want to quit, when I don't want to go through this anymore, and it feels like too much," and I found a blog post that helped me. If you're in the same boat, learn what I learned, just keep going, just keep breathing.  When your head hangs low because your sad, just look at your feet and take it one step at a time.

I don't deal with things by posting a bunch of sad pictures, usually, or telling people look at me look at what I went through and I'm okay. You can do it too. I'm not saying what I went through is any better or worse, or any different than you might be going through.  If i've learned anything as an endurance athlete, and as a person that's gone through just about all I can bear, it's that suffering isn't a quantifiable thing. It's not something that you put a number on and say that you suffered this much today. People suffer through finding their keys in the morning, people suffer through a bad meal, people suffer through death, and people suffer through broken hearts. It doesn't matter what you suffer through, you suffered, and human suffering is all the same.  So don't feel bad, or don't feel like you don't deserve to suffer because what you suffered through is any worse or any better, or and easier... seemingly easier than what I've gone through. Allow yourself to suffer, feel, hurt, cry, laugh, cry again. It's okay. We're made to feel, and I know I'm no less of a man or a person because I hurt and because I cry, and because I feel. I'm just another person, and so are you.

At the end of the day all you can do is just keep going.

One analogy that's helped me through this, that I just thought of today, with the help of someone who's become a really good friend in the last seven months to me, is the analogy of the tunnel. Everybody says that there's light at the end of the tunnel. Sure that's true, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Who know's how long that tunnel is. Who know's how little that light is peaking through (at the other end).  What you do know is that you were at the start of that tunnel once, and everything was illuminated. Everything was clear. And you entered that tunnel and there was still light coming from behind you, and you couldn't stop looking back because that's where the light was, that's what was closest to you. But you have to keep going forwards, you can't go backwards. You're on a train with invisible tracks, and you don't know where those tracks are going, and you don't know how to slow down, or how to stop. Because you can't (you need to accept that, you can't stop). You have to keep going. So although it may seem brighter behind you, it may seem better, it may seem easier, and it may seem like there's no light in front of you, you have to keep going.

You're at the beginning of the tunnel, there's more light behind you than there is in front of you, but eventually you'll come out and you'll be back into the light, and it will be okay.

The last few paragraphs I pulled from a recording I took on the cool down of a late night ride through the forrest. Nothing clears the mind quite as well, I have to say. If you want to watch, but mostly listen, I attached the video below. 

I've said this before, but I think that it's worth noting again. I've written a lot of things that people will probably have heard before. Cliche sayings that you'll hear in movies, you'll hear your parents, or your grandparents, or your Aunt's, or your Uncles, or anyone say. They'll become phrases you use to describe situations you've never been through... "there's light at the end of the tunnel."

Have you ever really been in the tunnel? Do your really know that there is light there? I'm not judging your past hardships, I'm just saying have you lived the cliche yet?  We are all meant to live our own cliche's.  We're meant to learn the hard way what "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," really means. (I could not have told you what it really meant up until two weeks or so ago.)

I can't tell you how many times I've heard the saying, "it's all going to be okay in the end, and if it's not okay, it's not the end." To tell you the truth, I've wanted to physically harm who ever came up with that phrase the last two weeks because I've heard it time and time again and I just don't think it's that helpful when you're in the place you're likely in when you really need it. Now that I see a fleeting glimmer of light, I see what it means, and I appreciate it a little bit more.  I still think it's a little more annoying than helpful, but I appreciate it.

I appreciate living my cliches even though some of the cliches that I've lived have put me down lower than I've ever been. Don't be afraid, to live your cliches. There's a reason they are so common, it's because they are true. Even my introspective, questioning, disbelieving mind will admit that these common sayings are true. Although you may have heard them thousands of time before you ever lived them, you will one day live them, and they'll be yours to pass on.

I couldn't knowingly say this before, but now I can.  Everything will be okay.

Who am I to give you advice? I'm still figuring it out but as always, your results will vary.




As I wrote this I have just gotten a text that my Mom was walking today, without a cane.