The end of December is rapidly approaching and the traditional signs of this time of year are evident everywhere. Christmas music is played over radios in offices and homes alike. Carolers sing these same traditional songs along walkways and in common areas of shopping centers. Christmas trees can be seen in transport on the occasional vehicle roof and through open living room windows. Lines of white lights outline homes and landscaping throughout cozy neighborhoods. Christmas movies are played and holiday advertisements flash across our television screens. The season is even present in my daily routine. I wish my clients Happy Holidays as I conclude phone calls, but the phrase that is really on my mind is, "Merry Christmas." I am especially cognizant of the reason we get to celebrate this holiday that has somehow become commercialized over the years.
As I sat in church this morning, listening to a sermon about trusting in the Lord, I was reminded of my favorite Bible verse. Proverbs 3:5-6 tells us, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight." The tribulations I experience throughout my life are minor at most, however, I am still thankful to have a greater source of strength to turn to.
I've already begun mentally preparing for my Ironman this November, an entire 10 1/2 months away, and anxiety has developed within me. I think about the daunting task ahead of me and that infamous knot begins to tighten within my core. I know I have time. I know I have the discipline to see the training through. I know I have the willpower to push through the pain and exhaustion. But the questions still remain. What can my body handle? Can my knee keep up with my heart and mind? I understand that I can do the majority of the preparation, both physical and mental, myself and with the guidance and support of my family, friends, and KCM counterparts, but I also believe that the final preparations and ability to see this through will come from a source greater than you and I. I look forward to the confidence produced from faith replacing the feelings of anxiety that lurk in the pit of my stomach.
I'm also relying on my faith to give me strength and clarity as I reach a crossroads in my professional life. I refuse to settle for mediocracy and become an underachiever. I have rediscovered the vigor I need for the success I expect for myself, however I still need to determine or develop the most effective outlet for these efforts. I continue to prepare myself as best as I know how and have faith that I will discover the correct path. I have not soon forgotten that it will take a considerable risk to realize true reward.
The spoils of my faith recently became very apparent at a social event earlier this month. An encounter with my ex-wife reaffirmed the immaturity and lack of class that I chose to separate myself from. The differences in which this situation was handled by different parties speaks volumes to having the faith to make the right, and usually difficult, decisions. That leap of faith has proven very fruitful and I anticipate much more of the same in the coming months and years. Now, more than ever, I have faith that the path I'm leading will bring me everything I could possibly ask for in life. Fortunately, this isn't a path I'm leading by myself, as the footprints will show.
I'm not going to wish you all Happy Holidays. I'm going to wish you a Merry Christmas as I hope each of you will join me in remembering why we all are blessed with such an amazing holiday.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
new beginnings
This past Saturday marked the holding of Ironman Florida 2008. It also marked the official beginning of my training for IMFL 2009. The countdown has officially begun... 367 days as of this morning. November 7, 2009 is going to be the day I officially become an IRONMAN. The next chapter begins here... on multiple levels of my life, actually, and I couldn't be more excited.
I awoke early Saturday morning to an unusually thick layer of fog on a cool November morning. The houses across the street were barely visible through the dark as the yellow light luminescing from the street light was choked out by the fog. The air was brisk, visibility was dreadful, and daylight was still several hours away, however, I was undeterred from beginning my training regimen. I quietly dressed in my bike gear and slipped into the foggy abyss.
The elements seemed almost cliche for a post-Halloween morning. The cold air cut sharply through my extra layer underneath my cycling jersey and I longed to build that exercise- induced internal warmth. I made my way down the dark, deserted streets leading away from my warm home and soon realized I needed to deviate from the course I had originally mapped out. My bike courses have never been contingent upon the prescence of street lights, but this morning would prove it necessary to travel underneath only the most well lit streets. As I passed by the final street light, the street disappeared in front of me and I slipped blindly through the dark. I left my well-known outskirt streets and made my way towards the heart of the suburbs. As the miles passed and the stubborn fog remained, I noticed beads of dew beginning to form on my handlebars and bike frame. I gazed past the bike underneath me and could see droplets of water glistening on each individual hair on my legs. The remnants of fog soon covered every exposed inch and beads of dew constantly fell from my helmet and crashed onto my legs below.
The hours passed and an incredible peace washed over my body. I navigated through the dark morning w/ only a vague understanding of exactly where I was. As I stopped at each stoplight, the fog blinded me from seeing even the name on each street sign. The absence of lights and objects to process left my mind in a surreal state of nothingness. I didn't think. I just rode. The calm I experienced afterwards was incredible and a feeling I must learn to reciprocate a year from now.
The next day I sat in my living room, laptop open, anxiously awaiting the noon hour. I was on Ironman's website and nervous about being able to register for IMFL. I had watched IMOO sell out in a day and was not going to miss my opportunity to participate in this incredible challenge. As the clock struck noon, and the registration link went live, I preemptively started my race against the other thousands of athletes throughout the US. The website wasn't able to handle the influx of traffic and I spent the next half an hour wrestling w/ my laptop in agony that I couldn't get in. I even borrowed a second laptop and had my newly discovered advocate help me try to break my way in. 45 minutes and a large credit card charge later, I was officially registered! My excitement resembled that of a child's on the first day of school. I was beyond thrilled, a little nervous, and possibly even a bit naive. I've taken the first official step towards becoming an IRONMAN and am now more committed than ever. Now comes the fun part... the follow through. The training. The struggle. The pain and frustration. The progress. The pride and satisfaction. The rollercoaster of a ride this next year is going to bring.
A very significant page has been turned and I've started a new chapter in my life. This chapter begins with new challenges, new goals, a new career, new relationships, and a renewed invigoration to excel at everything I hold myself to. As the pages in this story that is my life are written, I couldn't be more excited about where this plot is leading. The end has yet to be written, but this tale is shaping up to be quite memorable.
I awoke early Saturday morning to an unusually thick layer of fog on a cool November morning. The houses across the street were barely visible through the dark as the yellow light luminescing from the street light was choked out by the fog. The air was brisk, visibility was dreadful, and daylight was still several hours away, however, I was undeterred from beginning my training regimen. I quietly dressed in my bike gear and slipped into the foggy abyss.
The elements seemed almost cliche for a post-Halloween morning. The cold air cut sharply through my extra layer underneath my cycling jersey and I longed to build that exercise- induced internal warmth. I made my way down the dark, deserted streets leading away from my warm home and soon realized I needed to deviate from the course I had originally mapped out. My bike courses have never been contingent upon the prescence of street lights, but this morning would prove it necessary to travel underneath only the most well lit streets. As I passed by the final street light, the street disappeared in front of me and I slipped blindly through the dark. I left my well-known outskirt streets and made my way towards the heart of the suburbs. As the miles passed and the stubborn fog remained, I noticed beads of dew beginning to form on my handlebars and bike frame. I gazed past the bike underneath me and could see droplets of water glistening on each individual hair on my legs. The remnants of fog soon covered every exposed inch and beads of dew constantly fell from my helmet and crashed onto my legs below.
The hours passed and an incredible peace washed over my body. I navigated through the dark morning w/ only a vague understanding of exactly where I was. As I stopped at each stoplight, the fog blinded me from seeing even the name on each street sign. The absence of lights and objects to process left my mind in a surreal state of nothingness. I didn't think. I just rode. The calm I experienced afterwards was incredible and a feeling I must learn to reciprocate a year from now.
The next day I sat in my living room, laptop open, anxiously awaiting the noon hour. I was on Ironman's website and nervous about being able to register for IMFL. I had watched IMOO sell out in a day and was not going to miss my opportunity to participate in this incredible challenge. As the clock struck noon, and the registration link went live, I preemptively started my race against the other thousands of athletes throughout the US. The website wasn't able to handle the influx of traffic and I spent the next half an hour wrestling w/ my laptop in agony that I couldn't get in. I even borrowed a second laptop and had my newly discovered advocate help me try to break my way in. 45 minutes and a large credit card charge later, I was officially registered! My excitement resembled that of a child's on the first day of school. I was beyond thrilled, a little nervous, and possibly even a bit naive. I've taken the first official step towards becoming an IRONMAN and am now more committed than ever. Now comes the fun part... the follow through. The training. The struggle. The pain and frustration. The progress. The pride and satisfaction. The rollercoaster of a ride this next year is going to bring.
A very significant page has been turned and I've started a new chapter in my life. This chapter begins with new challenges, new goals, a new career, new relationships, and a renewed invigoration to excel at everything I hold myself to. As the pages in this story that is my life are written, I couldn't be more excited about where this plot is leading. The end has yet to be written, but this tale is shaping up to be quite memorable.
Friday, October 17, 2008
expanding the proverbial bubble
With risk comes reward. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. I wouldn’t go so far to say that one requires the other, but true reward isn’t going to come w/out manageable risk. To reap reward, sacrificing time, effort, and even certain opportunities is a given and somewhat easily obtainable. For me, stepping out of that comfort zone and trying a new endeavor is the greater challenge. The result is often the same: a feeling of exhilaration and accomplishment after having tried something new, or from achieving a level previously unobtainable. But, the initial risk and feelings of uneasiness still have to be overcome in order to take that leap of faith. However uncomfortable, it’s a feeling that I’ve learned to revel in. It’s similar to the borderline-masochistic satisfaction from being sore after a grueling workout. How else is one going to grow w/out pushing the limits, w/out expanding that proverbial bubble?
As this season comes to a close and I’ve had a chance to reflect on the progress I’ve made, it’s become apparent again that it takes more than just sacrifice and tribulation to reach the goals I hold for myself. It takes a calculated risk. At the beginning of this season, I expected to compete in nothing more than an Olympic distance triathlon. After all, that was all my knee could possibly handle. And there was no way I could transform into any resemblance of a swimmer this quickly. Or is there? Earlier this week I swam a mile in 34 minutes. It’s by no means my longest swim, but certainly my quickest at this length. My stroke is smooth, my confidence is high, and for the first time in my life, I feel like a swimmer. I’m sure I’ll read over this post sometime next year and humor myself that I was proud of such a feat, but I’m making progress. Tomorrow I run in my first official half-marathon. It’s a little anti-climatic, as I’ve already run this distance in my last half-Ironman, but it will still be an accomplishment none-the-less.
The point that resounds in my mind is that I didn’t think it possible to finish a half-IM this year. Just four months ago, I thought there was no way I could compete at this level this year. Thanks to a little gentle persuasion by my KCM counterparts, I stepped outside my comfort zone and took a risk. That metaphoric leap of faith I took as I walked to the starting line in Oklahoma City just a few weeks ago is one of the most rewarding risks I’ve taken to date. And if I’m able to accomplish this after four short months, what will I be capable of w/ a full year to prepare? As I continue to push the limits, I can appreciate how the Ultramarathon Man, Dean Karnazes, earned his name and reputation. It’s amazing to discover what the human body and mind is capable of. If you don’t limit yourself, similarly to how I did to myself earlier this year, the sky is the limit- or in Karnazes’ case, 226.2 miles so far.
I’ve also continued to expand that proverbial bubble on a smaller, but no less grand, scale. I had sushi last night for the first time w/ a good friend. As I sat at the dimly lit table, I found myself uncharacteristically fidgety. Maybe it was from the uncertainty of the food I was about to explore or because the BoSox just went down early in game five of the ALCS finals, but I was nervous. To my surprise, I may even contribute some of the nervousness to the party I was waiting for, but I’ll save that for another day. This palatal adventure is one that’s been on my list for months now, but a feeling of uncertainty still remained as the waiter walked off w/ our order. Soon my taste buds experienced the sensations of smoked salmon, spicy tuna, and crab, mixed with cucumber, cream cheese, and rice. The tastes and textures sent an incredible rush throughout my mouth and I couldn’t believe I had been w/out for so long. The reward was tremendous and I was instantaneously hooked. Among other things, I am a rediscovered triathlete and sushi lover this year alone. As I continue to push the limits in all facets of my life, I can’t help but wonder what else is next. There are a few specific areas that are receiving greater attention and I look forward to fulfilling only a portion of the opportunity possible in each. I am ready to embrace the risks necessary to realize my greatest rewards.
As this season comes to a close and I’ve had a chance to reflect on the progress I’ve made, it’s become apparent again that it takes more than just sacrifice and tribulation to reach the goals I hold for myself. It takes a calculated risk. At the beginning of this season, I expected to compete in nothing more than an Olympic distance triathlon. After all, that was all my knee could possibly handle. And there was no way I could transform into any resemblance of a swimmer this quickly. Or is there? Earlier this week I swam a mile in 34 minutes. It’s by no means my longest swim, but certainly my quickest at this length. My stroke is smooth, my confidence is high, and for the first time in my life, I feel like a swimmer. I’m sure I’ll read over this post sometime next year and humor myself that I was proud of such a feat, but I’m making progress. Tomorrow I run in my first official half-marathon. It’s a little anti-climatic, as I’ve already run this distance in my last half-Ironman, but it will still be an accomplishment none-the-less.
The point that resounds in my mind is that I didn’t think it possible to finish a half-IM this year. Just four months ago, I thought there was no way I could compete at this level this year. Thanks to a little gentle persuasion by my KCM counterparts, I stepped outside my comfort zone and took a risk. That metaphoric leap of faith I took as I walked to the starting line in Oklahoma City just a few weeks ago is one of the most rewarding risks I’ve taken to date. And if I’m able to accomplish this after four short months, what will I be capable of w/ a full year to prepare? As I continue to push the limits, I can appreciate how the Ultramarathon Man, Dean Karnazes, earned his name and reputation. It’s amazing to discover what the human body and mind is capable of. If you don’t limit yourself, similarly to how I did to myself earlier this year, the sky is the limit- or in Karnazes’ case, 226.2 miles so far.
I’ve also continued to expand that proverbial bubble on a smaller, but no less grand, scale. I had sushi last night for the first time w/ a good friend. As I sat at the dimly lit table, I found myself uncharacteristically fidgety. Maybe it was from the uncertainty of the food I was about to explore or because the BoSox just went down early in game five of the ALCS finals, but I was nervous. To my surprise, I may even contribute some of the nervousness to the party I was waiting for, but I’ll save that for another day. This palatal adventure is one that’s been on my list for months now, but a feeling of uncertainty still remained as the waiter walked off w/ our order. Soon my taste buds experienced the sensations of smoked salmon, spicy tuna, and crab, mixed with cucumber, cream cheese, and rice. The tastes and textures sent an incredible rush throughout my mouth and I couldn’t believe I had been w/out for so long. The reward was tremendous and I was instantaneously hooked. Among other things, I am a rediscovered triathlete and sushi lover this year alone. As I continue to push the limits in all facets of my life, I can’t help but wonder what else is next. There are a few specific areas that are receiving greater attention and I look forward to fulfilling only a portion of the opportunity possible in each. I am ready to embrace the risks necessary to realize my greatest rewards.
Monday, September 29, 2008
milestones
To most, last Saturday was just another weekend day. Many probably caught up on sleep and spent a much needed day resting and relaxing. Others may have even been productive on this day, running errands or completing chores around the house. A select few may have even tackled a task that's been looming over them for some time, painting the shed or cleaning out that overlooked closet. For an elite few, last Saturday wasn't just an ordinary weekend day. For these men and women, September 20th signifies a day of major accomplishment. This is the day they completed his or her first half-Ironman. This was such a day for me.
The day began much earlier than usual. My alarm went of at 4:30, but I was already wide awake. I had spent most of the night lying in bed, running through the day ahead of me, meticulously breaking down each part of the race and mentally preparing myself. I made my final race preparations, grabbed my transition bag and made my way to the hotel parking lot. My training partner and I, being the outgoing kids we are, greeted each other energetically and cranked up the music as we made the recently familiar route through the dark to the site of our showdown. There were six of us that had made the trek from Kansas City down to Oklahoma City to prove that we were worthy of the title "half-Ironman". Only two of the athletes in the group had officially completed a half, so this was to be a day of reckoning. The rest of the group gawked at my ambitious goal of completing the race in 5 hours, 30 minutes. I had practiced and prepared, I was ready. I was confident. I was determined to prove everyone wrong. However, the butterflies and nerves refused to subside. I was still nervous.
I slipped into the dark transition area, past the other athletes that were quietly preparing themselves. I stopped at my bike, which I had checked in the night before. I was surprised to see that little droplets of dew had formed on the bike seat and handle bars, blissfully unaware that the impending sunrise would burn these transformations away. I still polished the bike again anyways and laid out my gear. As the sun began to rise, I wrestled my wetsuit on and slowly walked the route to the swim chute, absorbing as much as I could through wide eyes. As the first heat, the full Ironman competitors, listened to the countdown, I was secretly thankful that my race was going to be "only" half as long as theirs. The starting gun, a SHOTGUN, sent an incredible boom and reverberation through the beach and the first heat began their looming 2.4 mile swim.
It was my turn now. I had purposely avoided looking at the swim course to this point because I didn't want to become overwhelmed at how long and impossible it seemed. I recalled looking at the swim course just three months prior at the Kansas half-Ironman and telling myself that there was no way I could accomplish such a feat. However this day was different. I looked down the course ahead of me for the first time and smiled. A devious grin is probably a more appropriate description of the look that had overtaken my face. I've done this swim several times before. I know I can finish it in 40 minutes. I slowly waded into the water from the beach and was again bewildered at how well a wetsuit protected my skin from the balmy water. I continued towards the starting "line" and could feel cold trickles of water making their way into the small rip on the inside of my left thigh. The shotgun blast snapped me from my trance and I began my way down the long shore ahead of me.
The water was incredibly choppy from the mass of athletes that kicked their way through the water ahead and all around me. I quickly learned to recognize the noise made by the kicking feet of a swimmer I was about to overtake and was able to avoid the normal bumps and collisions of an open water swim more than what I had predicted. As I glided through the water, I could feel a cool sensation on my back as water slowly seeped through the zipper in my wetsuit. I concentrated on the sensation as it slowly inched its way down the small of my back and down my legs. About half way down the shore I finally entered the absent-minded zone I always look for during any endurance event. I didn't think or react. I just swam. As I neared the first turn I looked up and found, much to my dismay, that I had swam off course by about 75 meters. Frustrated w/ myself, I quickly changed course and picked up the pace, determined to still make my 40 minute goal. I snuck a quick peak at my watch as I made the second turn and started the return course back and was ecstatic to see that I was right on pace. I put my head back down and quickly noticed that my wetsuit was restricting my breathing. The suit was so tight around my chest that I was struggling to take a full breath. I turned onto my back for a couple quick breaths and was soon back on pace. I navigated my way back down the shore towards the turn into the beach and found myself still struggling to swim straight. A seemingly simple task was proving to be difficult and a slight distraction. I eventually made the final turn and picked up the pace over the last few hundred meters to the beach.
I exited the water at 41 minutes, just a hair off my pace. I slipped out of the sleeves of my wetsuit and ran up the ramp towards the transition area, pausing only momentarily to have the race volunteers strip the rest of my wetsuit off. I quickly found my corral and grabbed my bike and gear. I was soon on the bike course and quickly got up to my 20 mph average. I was surprised at how many athletes I passed as I rounded the lake and made my way onto the long, bumpy ride ahead of me. As the tires on my bike rumbled over the chip 'n seal, my forearms absorbed the vibrations that pulsed through the handlebars. A hollow knocking echoed from the aero bottle situated in between the bars just in front of my face and the uneven terrain sent splashes of Gatorade onto my face and arms. Around mile 20, the red FUJI responded to a significant bump on the road and catapulted one of my water bottles into the air from the holster behind my seat. I heard a scuffing behind me and watched as the bottle skidded off the road. A slight panic swept through me as I realized my liquid rations had just been cut by a quarter. This panic soon subsided when I saw the turnaround just ahead. I was five minutes early and still felt strong. A calm wave of confidence swept through me as I could feel that 5:30 goal w/in reach. As I gripped the breaks to slow and complete the turn, a rider just in front of me carried too much momentum into the turn and toppled over just feet from me. I swerved to avoid him, grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the SAC, and accelerated back up to 20 mph. As the minutes passed and miles dwindled, I could feel my legs begin to grow heavy. The sharp pain on the top of my left knee throbbed when I pushed too hard through the final miles leading back to the lake. I rounded the lake and came up to the transition quicker than I had anticipated. I only had one foot out my cleats, so I was forced to pause for a shaky moment as I unleashed my last extremity. My bike computer showed glorious news: exactly 2:45 had passed and I was on pace to the minute.
I had exactly 2:00 to run 13.1 miles. I knew I could do it, but this was going to be the true testament. I knew my knee could make it through this distance, but that was w/ fresh legs. I started onto the hot run route and settled into my pace. The minutes passed painfully slow as I slugged through the first couple miles. My legs refused to respond as I wished they would. I was only able to make it to mile two before that dreaded twinge began to rise in the side of my left knee. By mile three, the pain was intolerable and I was forced to slow. I desperately hung onto as quick a pace as my body would allow and ran through the calculations in my head. The pain and exhaustion overwhelmed my entire being and a fear of not being able to finish crept into my mind for the first time. This was the true test, but it was presented much sooner than I had anticipated. I longed for the runners high and was determined to push through this. By the fourth mile, I finally started to settle back into as comfortable of a pace as I could. The turn-around was an incredibly welcomed sight, even though my watch showed 1:07. I ran through the calculations again and was reinvigorated by the thought that I could still finish in the 5:30's. The countdown began and I pushed harder and harder as I could feel the finish just ahead.
After six more grueling miles, my destination was finally visible. The beautiful sight of a red arch marked the finish line and a sense of relief washed through my body and numbed the pain that had been pulsing through every muscle and tendon. As I made my way down the finishing chute, marked w/ a red carpet, I heard my name over the speakers. The announcer spoke an incredible truth, that Josh Mohr of Lenexa, KS was finishing his FIRST half-Ironman. A young boy ran up to the carpet and extended his hand to offer a celebratory clap. I reached out in a meager attempt to share in this boy's excitement, but I was so weak that I missed!
That last step, marked w/ complete exhaustion, is a moment that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I finished my first half-IM in 5:38.12. I was just off my goal, but I couldn't be more proud. I'm half way to a full Ironman, but still have an incredible amount of training left. I have 58 weeks to finish this preparation. This is the conclusion of the beginning. I will be ready. Next up, half-IM in south Cali in April. It's going to be a fun winter.
The day began much earlier than usual. My alarm went of at 4:30, but I was already wide awake. I had spent most of the night lying in bed, running through the day ahead of me, meticulously breaking down each part of the race and mentally preparing myself. I made my final race preparations, grabbed my transition bag and made my way to the hotel parking lot. My training partner and I, being the outgoing kids we are, greeted each other energetically and cranked up the music as we made the recently familiar route through the dark to the site of our showdown. There were six of us that had made the trek from Kansas City down to Oklahoma City to prove that we were worthy of the title "half-Ironman". Only two of the athletes in the group had officially completed a half, so this was to be a day of reckoning. The rest of the group gawked at my ambitious goal of completing the race in 5 hours, 30 minutes. I had practiced and prepared, I was ready. I was confident. I was determined to prove everyone wrong. However, the butterflies and nerves refused to subside. I was still nervous.
I slipped into the dark transition area, past the other athletes that were quietly preparing themselves. I stopped at my bike, which I had checked in the night before. I was surprised to see that little droplets of dew had formed on the bike seat and handle bars, blissfully unaware that the impending sunrise would burn these transformations away. I still polished the bike again anyways and laid out my gear. As the sun began to rise, I wrestled my wetsuit on and slowly walked the route to the swim chute, absorbing as much as I could through wide eyes. As the first heat, the full Ironman competitors, listened to the countdown, I was secretly thankful that my race was going to be "only" half as long as theirs. The starting gun, a SHOTGUN, sent an incredible boom and reverberation through the beach and the first heat began their looming 2.4 mile swim.
It was my turn now. I had purposely avoided looking at the swim course to this point because I didn't want to become overwhelmed at how long and impossible it seemed. I recalled looking at the swim course just three months prior at the Kansas half-Ironman and telling myself that there was no way I could accomplish such a feat. However this day was different. I looked down the course ahead of me for the first time and smiled. A devious grin is probably a more appropriate description of the look that had overtaken my face. I've done this swim several times before. I know I can finish it in 40 minutes. I slowly waded into the water from the beach and was again bewildered at how well a wetsuit protected my skin from the balmy water. I continued towards the starting "line" and could feel cold trickles of water making their way into the small rip on the inside of my left thigh. The shotgun blast snapped me from my trance and I began my way down the long shore ahead of me.
The water was incredibly choppy from the mass of athletes that kicked their way through the water ahead and all around me. I quickly learned to recognize the noise made by the kicking feet of a swimmer I was about to overtake and was able to avoid the normal bumps and collisions of an open water swim more than what I had predicted. As I glided through the water, I could feel a cool sensation on my back as water slowly seeped through the zipper in my wetsuit. I concentrated on the sensation as it slowly inched its way down the small of my back and down my legs. About half way down the shore I finally entered the absent-minded zone I always look for during any endurance event. I didn't think or react. I just swam. As I neared the first turn I looked up and found, much to my dismay, that I had swam off course by about 75 meters. Frustrated w/ myself, I quickly changed course and picked up the pace, determined to still make my 40 minute goal. I snuck a quick peak at my watch as I made the second turn and started the return course back and was ecstatic to see that I was right on pace. I put my head back down and quickly noticed that my wetsuit was restricting my breathing. The suit was so tight around my chest that I was struggling to take a full breath. I turned onto my back for a couple quick breaths and was soon back on pace. I navigated my way back down the shore towards the turn into the beach and found myself still struggling to swim straight. A seemingly simple task was proving to be difficult and a slight distraction. I eventually made the final turn and picked up the pace over the last few hundred meters to the beach.
I exited the water at 41 minutes, just a hair off my pace. I slipped out of the sleeves of my wetsuit and ran up the ramp towards the transition area, pausing only momentarily to have the race volunteers strip the rest of my wetsuit off. I quickly found my corral and grabbed my bike and gear. I was soon on the bike course and quickly got up to my 20 mph average. I was surprised at how many athletes I passed as I rounded the lake and made my way onto the long, bumpy ride ahead of me. As the tires on my bike rumbled over the chip 'n seal, my forearms absorbed the vibrations that pulsed through the handlebars. A hollow knocking echoed from the aero bottle situated in between the bars just in front of my face and the uneven terrain sent splashes of Gatorade onto my face and arms. Around mile 20, the red FUJI responded to a significant bump on the road and catapulted one of my water bottles into the air from the holster behind my seat. I heard a scuffing behind me and watched as the bottle skidded off the road. A slight panic swept through me as I realized my liquid rations had just been cut by a quarter. This panic soon subsided when I saw the turnaround just ahead. I was five minutes early and still felt strong. A calm wave of confidence swept through me as I could feel that 5:30 goal w/in reach. As I gripped the breaks to slow and complete the turn, a rider just in front of me carried too much momentum into the turn and toppled over just feet from me. I swerved to avoid him, grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the SAC, and accelerated back up to 20 mph. As the minutes passed and miles dwindled, I could feel my legs begin to grow heavy. The sharp pain on the top of my left knee throbbed when I pushed too hard through the final miles leading back to the lake. I rounded the lake and came up to the transition quicker than I had anticipated. I only had one foot out my cleats, so I was forced to pause for a shaky moment as I unleashed my last extremity. My bike computer showed glorious news: exactly 2:45 had passed and I was on pace to the minute.
I had exactly 2:00 to run 13.1 miles. I knew I could do it, but this was going to be the true testament. I knew my knee could make it through this distance, but that was w/ fresh legs. I started onto the hot run route and settled into my pace. The minutes passed painfully slow as I slugged through the first couple miles. My legs refused to respond as I wished they would. I was only able to make it to mile two before that dreaded twinge began to rise in the side of my left knee. By mile three, the pain was intolerable and I was forced to slow. I desperately hung onto as quick a pace as my body would allow and ran through the calculations in my head. The pain and exhaustion overwhelmed my entire being and a fear of not being able to finish crept into my mind for the first time. This was the true test, but it was presented much sooner than I had anticipated. I longed for the runners high and was determined to push through this. By the fourth mile, I finally started to settle back into as comfortable of a pace as I could. The turn-around was an incredibly welcomed sight, even though my watch showed 1:07. I ran through the calculations again and was reinvigorated by the thought that I could still finish in the 5:30's. The countdown began and I pushed harder and harder as I could feel the finish just ahead.
After six more grueling miles, my destination was finally visible. The beautiful sight of a red arch marked the finish line and a sense of relief washed through my body and numbed the pain that had been pulsing through every muscle and tendon. As I made my way down the finishing chute, marked w/ a red carpet, I heard my name over the speakers. The announcer spoke an incredible truth, that Josh Mohr of Lenexa, KS was finishing his FIRST half-Ironman. A young boy ran up to the carpet and extended his hand to offer a celebratory clap. I reached out in a meager attempt to share in this boy's excitement, but I was so weak that I missed!
That last step, marked w/ complete exhaustion, is a moment that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I finished my first half-IM in 5:38.12. I was just off my goal, but I couldn't be more proud. I'm half way to a full Ironman, but still have an incredible amount of training left. I have 58 weeks to finish this preparation. This is the conclusion of the beginning. I will be ready. Next up, half-IM in south Cali in April. It's going to be a fun winter.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
borderline insanity
Last weekend I had a chance to experience one of my favorite things in life. Most that know me, know that I am an adrenaline junkie. Anything that gets the heart pumping and blood flowing, I would probably try it w/out much hesitation. Most of the injuries I've sustained in life have been the result of pushing the limits just a bit too hard, typically involving wheels of some sort. However, there are some injuries and accidents that you won't recover from. Plummeting to the ground from 3,500 feet is one of them. Regardless, when one of my buddies approached me and asked if I wanted to go skydiving for his birthday, I gave an exclamatory, "YES!" w/out thought or hesitation.
I've had the great pleasure of skydiving once before, for my birthday ironically, five years ago. I sat through the class and had the most incredible first jump. I was so invigorated, that I decided to jump again that day and thereafter experienced my first malfunction. It was line-twist, a very common and easily fixable problem, but still helped me become a more educated skydiver. This education proved invaluable for our experience that is still surprisingly vivid in my mind today.
After staying out late the night before celebrating, I woke up in a panic on Buscher and Yigas' couch, just 15 minutes before we were supposed to start class at 8:00 in the morning. Mind you, Butler, MO is over an hour away. So, we gather everyone up, make a few quick phone calls to plead our way into the class, and arrive an hour and a half late. We sit through the remainder of the class and make up our missed curriculum over the lunch break. After hours of training and contingency planning, we are finally given the green light to suit up for our jump. I stepped into the leg harnesses and slid the heavy pack up my legs to rest on my back. I strapped everything down as tight as I comfortably could and checked my altimeter. I slipped my helmet on, took a few last photos and reassured my buddies as we made our way down the runway to board the perfectly functional cessna we were about to jump out of.
As we had practiced, Yigas climbed in first and crawled to the back of the plane to buckle in. I followed behind and took my position just behind the pilot. Buscher was the last to board and buckled in next to the door that we were about to jump out of. The pilot taxied our plane down the runway, we took a sharp left and immediately accelerated to take off. The point where I can no longer tell how fast I'm going is such a rush for me! We slowly climbed to 3500 feet as we circled the tiny Butler airport. Our jump master finally signaled that he was opening the door and he slammed it open into the rushing air. The fuselage of the airplane filled with swirling wind and the roar of the engine became brutally apparent. My mind wouldn't let go of the comment one of the other jump masters made earlier in the day... that he knew what a dead skydiver looked like. I knew everything would be just fine, as it was the prior two times I had jumped, but he certainly caught my attention w/ that comment.
Buscher was the first to jump. He carefully situated himself just inside the open door and very purposely grabbed for the wing support he was to hang from before his decent back to earth. Instead of firmly gripping the support with both hands, he wrapped his left arm around the support in a kind of bear hug that made it impossible to inch any further towards the end of the wing. To our intructor's surprise, Buscher simply jumped off the platform and twisted around before his chute deployed. The instructor's humored and relaxed reaction helped settle my nervous. Now it was my turn...
I inched to the edge of the fueselage and firmly grabbed hold of the support. I pulled my body out into the rushing wind and the incredible roar of the propellor ripping through the air drowned out everything, including my own thoughts and the countless hours of training I had been through. I inched my way towards the end of the support, looked back at the instructor and got the go-ahead to jump. This was it!
I released my white-knuckled grip and immediately threw my arms up and arched my back. It was a near textbook release and my devilish grin showed I knew it. I sailed through the air and my chute eventually caught air, ripping my body upright again. The paper-thin nylon above my head was the only thing keeping me from plummeting to the ground and I was comforted to see everything was in working order. I immediately grabbed hold of my right toggle and yanked down as hard and far as I could and just held it. The chute responded, sending me spiraling down towards the ground. I was spinning at such a high speed, the centripetal force pushed my body so far to the side that I was looking straight into the ground and the line from the chute to my body was nearly parallel to the ground. The devilish grin remained.
I released the toggle and began a peaceful and serene coast through the calm summer air. Below my feet I could see miles and miles of farmed ground and ponds. In the distance, I could faintly make out the long runway connected to the tiny Butler airport and set my course in that direction. After a few, seemingly long, minutes I made my final turn and prepared to land in the grass field just beside the hanger. I flared the chute by pulling down on both toggles as hard as I could at the last second and skidded to a stop safely on earth again. I couldn't help but let out a loud WHOOP and looked up at Yigas, still above me. I had heard a scuffle over the radio as I was falling through the air and knew there was something out of the ordinary w/ Nic's jump. Everything now seemed in order, so I didn't think twice about it.
Once the entire group was safely back on the ground and everyone had shared their stories and excitement, we gathered in the classroom for one final lesson. Our instuctor individually praised or criticized everyone in the group. The two hooligans I jumped w/ received the brunt of the criticism of the entire group. It wasn't until I developed the pictures taken from the camera mounted on the edge of the wing that I realized just how warranted that criticism was for Yigas. Later that night, I'm standing in front of the photo desk at Walgreens, flipping through the pictures taken during our adventure. I saw Buscher twisting through the air, but still allowing a safe chute deployment. I also saw my near textbook jump... if only I would have looked up higher so that the camera would have caught the grin that possessed my face as I sailed through the air. And then I saw Yigas... flipping upsidedown, through his risers, BARELY missing getting his arm tangled in the lines as his chute deployed. I immediately called Nic and we naively laughed about his ordeal.
If Yigas could do everything so horribly wrong and have only a nervous laugh and funny story to show for it, we would all be able to do it again- safely, that is. This adrenaline rush is incredibly addicting. So much so that we are all planning a follow-up tour in a few months for Buscher's birthday. Just a few more jumps before I can cross the number one item off my bucket list... freefall!
I've had the great pleasure of skydiving once before, for my birthday ironically, five years ago. I sat through the class and had the most incredible first jump. I was so invigorated, that I decided to jump again that day and thereafter experienced my first malfunction. It was line-twist, a very common and easily fixable problem, but still helped me become a more educated skydiver. This education proved invaluable for our experience that is still surprisingly vivid in my mind today.
After staying out late the night before celebrating, I woke up in a panic on Buscher and Yigas' couch, just 15 minutes before we were supposed to start class at 8:00 in the morning. Mind you, Butler, MO is over an hour away. So, we gather everyone up, make a few quick phone calls to plead our way into the class, and arrive an hour and a half late. We sit through the remainder of the class and make up our missed curriculum over the lunch break. After hours of training and contingency planning, we are finally given the green light to suit up for our jump. I stepped into the leg harnesses and slid the heavy pack up my legs to rest on my back. I strapped everything down as tight as I comfortably could and checked my altimeter. I slipped my helmet on, took a few last photos and reassured my buddies as we made our way down the runway to board the perfectly functional cessna we were about to jump out of.
As we had practiced, Yigas climbed in first and crawled to the back of the plane to buckle in. I followed behind and took my position just behind the pilot. Buscher was the last to board and buckled in next to the door that we were about to jump out of. The pilot taxied our plane down the runway, we took a sharp left and immediately accelerated to take off. The point where I can no longer tell how fast I'm going is such a rush for me! We slowly climbed to 3500 feet as we circled the tiny Butler airport. Our jump master finally signaled that he was opening the door and he slammed it open into the rushing air. The fuselage of the airplane filled with swirling wind and the roar of the engine became brutally apparent. My mind wouldn't let go of the comment one of the other jump masters made earlier in the day... that he knew what a dead skydiver looked like. I knew everything would be just fine, as it was the prior two times I had jumped, but he certainly caught my attention w/ that comment.
Buscher was the first to jump. He carefully situated himself just inside the open door and very purposely grabbed for the wing support he was to hang from before his decent back to earth. Instead of firmly gripping the support with both hands, he wrapped his left arm around the support in a kind of bear hug that made it impossible to inch any further towards the end of the wing. To our intructor's surprise, Buscher simply jumped off the platform and twisted around before his chute deployed. The instructor's humored and relaxed reaction helped settle my nervous. Now it was my turn...
I inched to the edge of the fueselage and firmly grabbed hold of the support. I pulled my body out into the rushing wind and the incredible roar of the propellor ripping through the air drowned out everything, including my own thoughts and the countless hours of training I had been through. I inched my way towards the end of the support, looked back at the instructor and got the go-ahead to jump. This was it!
I released my white-knuckled grip and immediately threw my arms up and arched my back. It was a near textbook release and my devilish grin showed I knew it. I sailed through the air and my chute eventually caught air, ripping my body upright again. The paper-thin nylon above my head was the only thing keeping me from plummeting to the ground and I was comforted to see everything was in working order. I immediately grabbed hold of my right toggle and yanked down as hard and far as I could and just held it. The chute responded, sending me spiraling down towards the ground. I was spinning at such a high speed, the centripetal force pushed my body so far to the side that I was looking straight into the ground and the line from the chute to my body was nearly parallel to the ground. The devilish grin remained.
I released the toggle and began a peaceful and serene coast through the calm summer air. Below my feet I could see miles and miles of farmed ground and ponds. In the distance, I could faintly make out the long runway connected to the tiny Butler airport and set my course in that direction. After a few, seemingly long, minutes I made my final turn and prepared to land in the grass field just beside the hanger. I flared the chute by pulling down on both toggles as hard as I could at the last second and skidded to a stop safely on earth again. I couldn't help but let out a loud WHOOP and looked up at Yigas, still above me. I had heard a scuffle over the radio as I was falling through the air and knew there was something out of the ordinary w/ Nic's jump. Everything now seemed in order, so I didn't think twice about it.
Once the entire group was safely back on the ground and everyone had shared their stories and excitement, we gathered in the classroom for one final lesson. Our instuctor individually praised or criticized everyone in the group. The two hooligans I jumped w/ received the brunt of the criticism of the entire group. It wasn't until I developed the pictures taken from the camera mounted on the edge of the wing that I realized just how warranted that criticism was for Yigas. Later that night, I'm standing in front of the photo desk at Walgreens, flipping through the pictures taken during our adventure. I saw Buscher twisting through the air, but still allowing a safe chute deployment. I also saw my near textbook jump... if only I would have looked up higher so that the camera would have caught the grin that possessed my face as I sailed through the air. And then I saw Yigas... flipping upsidedown, through his risers, BARELY missing getting his arm tangled in the lines as his chute deployed. I immediately called Nic and we naively laughed about his ordeal.
If Yigas could do everything so horribly wrong and have only a nervous laugh and funny story to show for it, we would all be able to do it again- safely, that is. This adrenaline rush is incredibly addicting. So much so that we are all planning a follow-up tour in a few months for Buscher's birthday. Just a few more jumps before I can cross the number one item off my bucket list... freefall!
Friday, August 22, 2008
an active community
Given the not-so-subtle increase in training and the corresponding hours logged and struggle to keep pushing hard, I've joined up w/ an organization that trains for triathlons. This group of like-minded athletes has been a welcomed breath of fresh air into a routine that can become very stale and sometimes seemingly stagnant. They understand the lifestyle and the commitment it takes to excel at this level. They know what it's like to start your ride before the sun has risen, or what it's like to finish a run at midnight. They know the feeling of exhaustion after a multiple hour workout and cherish the relief a good stretch brings. They have probably experimented with different diets and nourishment routines and may have even learned what doesn't work the hard way. They appreciate the permanent ring of swimmers ear, or that chlorine might as well be your cologne. They all probably also have a bag of gear in their car ready to go, because you never know when you'll get a chance to get another workout in. Each probably takes just as many showers at a gym as they do in their own home and has perfected the science of packing a gym bag or backpack for race day. They all have experienced an injury of some sort and know the frustration it brings. This is a group that can share in your triumphs and also be there to help push you through your disappointments. We train together, we eat together, we even get to play together. I have grown to appreciate this group of people and am reinvigorated by the mere fact that there are others out there that share in my belief that this is a life that's worth committing to and sacrificing for. Thanks KCM, particularly T, C and C.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
measured progress
It's a drizzly, overcast Wednesday morning and I'm just now drying out from my rain-ridden ride this morning. The weather today is eerily similar to how it was in Wichita last Saturday. I'm finding myself reminiscing about the race last weekend as I'm stuck in this under-stimulating compliance training. Grand images of the best race I've had to date fill my head as the voices in the room dull to a faint buzz. I look up occasionally to make eye-contact with the presenter, but my mind is really consumed with that morning just a few days ago.
I rolled into Afton Park at 3 in the morning. It was still pitch-black outside as my headlights pierced into the tents that outlined the shore line of the lake. I slowly rolled into the designated parking lot and parked underneath a tree at the corner of the lot. As the slight rumble from my exhaust desisted, I could hear the faint chirp of the wilderness and the calm rustle of leaves that pronounced a storm was rolling in. I was just in time to sleep for a few more hours before I made final preparations. An hour later, the distinct ting of rain droplets crashing onto metal woke me from my brief slumber. I rolled up my windows and slept for a few more hours as the thunderstorms rolled in. At 6, the parking lot began to fill with athletes and the skies continued to unload waves upon waves of furious rain drops. Angry flashes of lightning streaked through the air, as though trying to prohibit the impending sunrise that was pushing through on the horizon. The parking lot continued to fill as the waves of rain began to settle into a slight drizzle. I opened my car door and stepped into the cool morning air. I slowly unloaded my bike, still dripping from the rainstorm, and made my way to the transition area. As I had become accustomed to during the previous weeks, I meticulously placed my gear on the end spot I had reserved. The sky continued to break into a colorful array of blues, pinks, oranges and yellows. Further off, in the opposite horizon, dark storm clouds still loomed in the distance. The battle between weather conditions struck me as appropriate for this morning and I was pleased that sunlight was winning. I grinned at myself as I finished stretching.
The crack of the starting gun came sooner than I expected, but paled in comparison to the thunder that had recently reverberated through our small corner of the lake. The air was so calm that I could hear the lapping of water caused from the mob of swimmers. I smoothly made my way down the shore line, falling comfortably into the back half of the group. At the turnaround mark, I snuck a peak at my watch: 8:00 minutes. Right on schedule. I felt surprisingly strong on the way back and picked up the pace to salvage as decent of a swim finish as I could. I exited the water at 15:30 and made my way up the long, carpeted path to the transition area. I was still breathing heavily as lake water continued to drip from my nose and brows. I was on my bike in record time for me and starting pushing immediately. I wove through slower bike traffic and was determined to make this bike count. I could feel my uniform continue to dry as I slipped through the air. My legs pumped steadily as I made my way through the field, clipping off stronger swimmers one at a time. The route had long, gradual hills, which accommodated my biking style wonderfully. I finished the bike in 33 minutes, a full minute faster than I had just the week previous. Now the true testament came...the run.
I slipped out of my bike gear and struggled w/ my shoes momentarily, swearing to switch to pull laces for my next race. I made my way onto the course, dripping w/ sweat and concentrated on my stomach...nothing. No waves of nausea, no gut-wrenching cramps. I picked up the pace and could feel small twinges in my left calf and right quad, warning me to not push any harder with the threat of a cramp lying just a step ahead. I continued to pass slower runners, although at a much slower rate. I was pleased that I was just able to keep pace and not lose ground again during the run, the event I used to rule. The overcast sky and cooler temperature, coupled w/ the absence of breakfast must've allowed my mid section to remain loose and I was thrilled about it. I pushed as hard as I could as I was passed for the first and only time during the bike and run. The 25 year-old that I had held off during the bike had finally overtaken me between the first and second mile. An older competitor that we had just past encouraged me to attack and stick just behind the runner. I obliged as long as I could, but watched him slowly slip away. I rounded the corner at the 2.5 mile mark and could see my target lying in the horizon...a large red arch, w/ very distinct white letters that spelled out "finish", faintly visible over the treetops. I picked up the pace, determined to leave everything on the course this time. And that I did. I crossed the finish line in an exasperation and looked down at my watch: 1:12:30.
This was a longer race than the week previous, but I had still managed to cut 4 minutes from my time. I felt incredible...exhausted, but overjoyed. I did the math for each of my splits and paces. The swim was my fastest pace yet, I met my goal of 22 mph for the bike, and was finally able to maintain 7-minute miles for the run. I FINALLY hit my times and was absolutely thrilled! I've graduated from sprint distances this year, as my next race is an olympic distance at the end of August. I am ready though. My confidence is high. This is still just the beginning.
I rolled into Afton Park at 3 in the morning. It was still pitch-black outside as my headlights pierced into the tents that outlined the shore line of the lake. I slowly rolled into the designated parking lot and parked underneath a tree at the corner of the lot. As the slight rumble from my exhaust desisted, I could hear the faint chirp of the wilderness and the calm rustle of leaves that pronounced a storm was rolling in. I was just in time to sleep for a few more hours before I made final preparations. An hour later, the distinct ting of rain droplets crashing onto metal woke me from my brief slumber. I rolled up my windows and slept for a few more hours as the thunderstorms rolled in. At 6, the parking lot began to fill with athletes and the skies continued to unload waves upon waves of furious rain drops. Angry flashes of lightning streaked through the air, as though trying to prohibit the impending sunrise that was pushing through on the horizon. The parking lot continued to fill as the waves of rain began to settle into a slight drizzle. I opened my car door and stepped into the cool morning air. I slowly unloaded my bike, still dripping from the rainstorm, and made my way to the transition area. As I had become accustomed to during the previous weeks, I meticulously placed my gear on the end spot I had reserved. The sky continued to break into a colorful array of blues, pinks, oranges and yellows. Further off, in the opposite horizon, dark storm clouds still loomed in the distance. The battle between weather conditions struck me as appropriate for this morning and I was pleased that sunlight was winning. I grinned at myself as I finished stretching.
The crack of the starting gun came sooner than I expected, but paled in comparison to the thunder that had recently reverberated through our small corner of the lake. The air was so calm that I could hear the lapping of water caused from the mob of swimmers. I smoothly made my way down the shore line, falling comfortably into the back half of the group. At the turnaround mark, I snuck a peak at my watch: 8:00 minutes. Right on schedule. I felt surprisingly strong on the way back and picked up the pace to salvage as decent of a swim finish as I could. I exited the water at 15:30 and made my way up the long, carpeted path to the transition area. I was still breathing heavily as lake water continued to drip from my nose and brows. I was on my bike in record time for me and starting pushing immediately. I wove through slower bike traffic and was determined to make this bike count. I could feel my uniform continue to dry as I slipped through the air. My legs pumped steadily as I made my way through the field, clipping off stronger swimmers one at a time. The route had long, gradual hills, which accommodated my biking style wonderfully. I finished the bike in 33 minutes, a full minute faster than I had just the week previous. Now the true testament came...the run.
I slipped out of my bike gear and struggled w/ my shoes momentarily, swearing to switch to pull laces for my next race. I made my way onto the course, dripping w/ sweat and concentrated on my stomach...nothing. No waves of nausea, no gut-wrenching cramps. I picked up the pace and could feel small twinges in my left calf and right quad, warning me to not push any harder with the threat of a cramp lying just a step ahead. I continued to pass slower runners, although at a much slower rate. I was pleased that I was just able to keep pace and not lose ground again during the run, the event I used to rule. The overcast sky and cooler temperature, coupled w/ the absence of breakfast must've allowed my mid section to remain loose and I was thrilled about it. I pushed as hard as I could as I was passed for the first and only time during the bike and run. The 25 year-old that I had held off during the bike had finally overtaken me between the first and second mile. An older competitor that we had just past encouraged me to attack and stick just behind the runner. I obliged as long as I could, but watched him slowly slip away. I rounded the corner at the 2.5 mile mark and could see my target lying in the horizon...a large red arch, w/ very distinct white letters that spelled out "finish", faintly visible over the treetops. I picked up the pace, determined to leave everything on the course this time. And that I did. I crossed the finish line in an exasperation and looked down at my watch: 1:12:30.
This was a longer race than the week previous, but I had still managed to cut 4 minutes from my time. I felt incredible...exhausted, but overjoyed. I did the math for each of my splits and paces. The swim was my fastest pace yet, I met my goal of 22 mph for the bike, and was finally able to maintain 7-minute miles for the run. I FINALLY hit my times and was absolutely thrilled! I've graduated from sprint distances this year, as my next race is an olympic distance at the end of August. I am ready though. My confidence is high. This is still just the beginning.
Friday, July 18, 2008
unexpected results
Here it is, incredibly early Friday morning, and I'm getting ready to go for an easy ride before my next triathlon. That feels good to say...my next triathlon.
I began my comeback tour at SMP last weekend and it went wonderfully. I wasn't quite sure what exactly to expect...after all, it had been half a decade since I formally competed at this level. The last time I participated in an endeavor like this, I was at the peak of my physical performance as a division 1 college athlete. The last time, I had been training for the past 8 years and was in excellent shape. This time, although active, I had only been training specifically for a tri for a matter of months. But, I was very pleasantly surprised by the results.
The morning of came just like any other morning. I surprisingly got a good night's sleep. The temperature was a little brisk for an early July morning. I walked out the door and the hairs on my arms instantly reacted to the slight, chilly breeze. I lifted the recently polished road bike on to the back of my car, grabbed my backpack that I had situated the night before and made my way on the all-so-familiar route to the park. My mind raced and my eyes opened a little wider as I came upon the sea of parked cars. I had forgotten how big of an event this was! I unloaded my bike and coasted the easy downhill route to the transition area. Thankfully, the tire pressure held this time. It was going to be a great morning.
I made my way to section II and found my area marked by the little 985 taped to the bike rack. I hung my bike and very maticulously placed everything in my backpack on a towel in my new 2'x3' home. My mind continued to race as I made my way to get my timing chip and to get marked. A very calm buzz filled the air as athletes of all ages made final preparations and warmed up for their various heats. I made my way back to my area to check out my competition, constantly stealing glances at the back of athletes' calves to see if their marking distinguished them as in my age bracket. I also looked for the absense of leg hair, a tell-tale sign of a more serious and prepared athlete. My legs were bare.
I made my way down to the marina ramp, put on my swim cap and goggles, and swam over to the starting area, exerting only a minimal amount of energy. I needed to be fresh for the swim- that's what I was going to struggle with. A calm, quiet, almost unnerving mob of athletes awaited me on the beach, slightly bobbing up and down in the gentle waves of SM lake. The sun rising on the horizon cast reflections on the lake that loomed in front of me. I had to squint to see the bright orange buoys that marked the course I was about to embark upon...they seemed further out than I remembered. And so the countdown began, but there was only one thing present in my mind: one hour, one hour, one hour, one hour, GO!
The swim started smoother than I expected, calmly making sure I kept a consistent stroke, breath, and path. At the quarter and three quarter mark I crossed paths w/ other swimmers, inadvertly getting kicked or hit, causing me to break stride and find a clearing through the now choppy lake. I peaked at my watch as I struggled down the homestretch of the swim and saw that I was in the 7th minute. I was just about on pace and the math I did internally helped me clear my mind of the pain my arms and legs felt. I exited the water at about 11:30, just a bit off my pace. I knew I needed to make this transition count and that I could also make up time on the bike. Uphills seem worst when they follow such an exhausting swim, but I would soon prove that wrong.
I made it to my bike, threw my cap and goggles on the ground, jumped into my cleats, snapped on my helmet, and ran towards the bike route, just as I had practiced so many times before. I didn't recognize it at the time, but not too many bikes were already gone, an excellent sign of my position. It took a couple minutes to get my legs back underneath me, but I soon found my pace as I wove through the packs of riders. The ride felt amazing, which was soon validated as I cruised through the first lap checkpoint 20 seconds before I expected to. I pushed through the second lap and arrived at the second transition 30 seconds faster than I anticipated. I slipped out of my shoes as I was slowing for the dismount and jumped off my bike to run and grab my flats. The next sight was one of the proudest moments I've had in a while...I turned the corner towards section II and the entire bike rack was empty. I was exhausted, but I couldn't fight the smug grin that grew on my face. I had beat my entire rack through the bike.
A minute later I was on the running trail, back on time, but something didn't feel right. My entire upper body had stiffened throughout the ride and it was a struggle to breath. I relaxed the best I could until I got to the hill at the dam. I hadn't prepared for this- traversing up such a steep incline when my entire body already ached of exhaustion. I struggled my way up the hill, slowly picking one heavy leg up and placing in shortly in front of the other, made it through the first water station and started to feel a little better. I picked up the pace, determined to keep my 7-minute mile pace, but my abdomen told me otherwise. Every time I pushed a little harder, my stomach felt nauseated, and I was forced to slow. I made it through the back trails at SMP and watched the hour mark slip by as I made the last incline just before the finish line.
I finished in 1:00:57, 40th overall and 4th in my age group. Not horrible given that the race included 205 athletes. I missed my ultimate goal by a little over 3 minutes, but just missed the hour mark I was shooting for by :57. Still, not horrible concerning I took 7 minutes off my time from 5 years ago. But, this is just the beginning. This is just the beginning of a very long, yet prosperous comeback tour that awaits me. Lawerence is in two days, and Wichita follows the week after. I am ready. I am confident. I will hit my times this weekend.
I began my comeback tour at SMP last weekend and it went wonderfully. I wasn't quite sure what exactly to expect...after all, it had been half a decade since I formally competed at this level. The last time I participated in an endeavor like this, I was at the peak of my physical performance as a division 1 college athlete. The last time, I had been training for the past 8 years and was in excellent shape. This time, although active, I had only been training specifically for a tri for a matter of months. But, I was very pleasantly surprised by the results.
The morning of came just like any other morning. I surprisingly got a good night's sleep. The temperature was a little brisk for an early July morning. I walked out the door and the hairs on my arms instantly reacted to the slight, chilly breeze. I lifted the recently polished road bike on to the back of my car, grabbed my backpack that I had situated the night before and made my way on the all-so-familiar route to the park. My mind raced and my eyes opened a little wider as I came upon the sea of parked cars. I had forgotten how big of an event this was! I unloaded my bike and coasted the easy downhill route to the transition area. Thankfully, the tire pressure held this time. It was going to be a great morning.
I made my way to section II and found my area marked by the little 985 taped to the bike rack. I hung my bike and very maticulously placed everything in my backpack on a towel in my new 2'x3' home. My mind continued to race as I made my way to get my timing chip and to get marked. A very calm buzz filled the air as athletes of all ages made final preparations and warmed up for their various heats. I made my way back to my area to check out my competition, constantly stealing glances at the back of athletes' calves to see if their marking distinguished them as in my age bracket. I also looked for the absense of leg hair, a tell-tale sign of a more serious and prepared athlete. My legs were bare.
I made my way down to the marina ramp, put on my swim cap and goggles, and swam over to the starting area, exerting only a minimal amount of energy. I needed to be fresh for the swim- that's what I was going to struggle with. A calm, quiet, almost unnerving mob of athletes awaited me on the beach, slightly bobbing up and down in the gentle waves of SM lake. The sun rising on the horizon cast reflections on the lake that loomed in front of me. I had to squint to see the bright orange buoys that marked the course I was about to embark upon...they seemed further out than I remembered. And so the countdown began, but there was only one thing present in my mind: one hour, one hour, one hour, one hour, GO!
The swim started smoother than I expected, calmly making sure I kept a consistent stroke, breath, and path. At the quarter and three quarter mark I crossed paths w/ other swimmers, inadvertly getting kicked or hit, causing me to break stride and find a clearing through the now choppy lake. I peaked at my watch as I struggled down the homestretch of the swim and saw that I was in the 7th minute. I was just about on pace and the math I did internally helped me clear my mind of the pain my arms and legs felt. I exited the water at about 11:30, just a bit off my pace. I knew I needed to make this transition count and that I could also make up time on the bike. Uphills seem worst when they follow such an exhausting swim, but I would soon prove that wrong.
I made it to my bike, threw my cap and goggles on the ground, jumped into my cleats, snapped on my helmet, and ran towards the bike route, just as I had practiced so many times before. I didn't recognize it at the time, but not too many bikes were already gone, an excellent sign of my position. It took a couple minutes to get my legs back underneath me, but I soon found my pace as I wove through the packs of riders. The ride felt amazing, which was soon validated as I cruised through the first lap checkpoint 20 seconds before I expected to. I pushed through the second lap and arrived at the second transition 30 seconds faster than I anticipated. I slipped out of my shoes as I was slowing for the dismount and jumped off my bike to run and grab my flats. The next sight was one of the proudest moments I've had in a while...I turned the corner towards section II and the entire bike rack was empty. I was exhausted, but I couldn't fight the smug grin that grew on my face. I had beat my entire rack through the bike.
A minute later I was on the running trail, back on time, but something didn't feel right. My entire upper body had stiffened throughout the ride and it was a struggle to breath. I relaxed the best I could until I got to the hill at the dam. I hadn't prepared for this- traversing up such a steep incline when my entire body already ached of exhaustion. I struggled my way up the hill, slowly picking one heavy leg up and placing in shortly in front of the other, made it through the first water station and started to feel a little better. I picked up the pace, determined to keep my 7-minute mile pace, but my abdomen told me otherwise. Every time I pushed a little harder, my stomach felt nauseated, and I was forced to slow. I made it through the back trails at SMP and watched the hour mark slip by as I made the last incline just before the finish line.
I finished in 1:00:57, 40th overall and 4th in my age group. Not horrible given that the race included 205 athletes. I missed my ultimate goal by a little over 3 minutes, but just missed the hour mark I was shooting for by :57. Still, not horrible concerning I took 7 minutes off my time from 5 years ago. But, this is just the beginning. This is just the beginning of a very long, yet prosperous comeback tour that awaits me. Lawerence is in two days, and Wichita follows the week after. I am ready. I am confident. I will hit my times this weekend.
Friday, July 11, 2008
rekindled excitement
Shawnee Mission Triathlon is in less than two days. Five years after my last true competition, I am finally making a comeback tour. And a full tour it is. Three sprint tris in three consecutive weeks, plus two olympic tris and a half marathon in the next three months respectively. I was at lunch yesterday and realized I need to pick up my pre-race packet today. That's when it hit me…it was a not so subtle rush that washed through my body. Tingles of excitement surged through my veins, my vision became slightly blurred and the corners of my mouth curled up oh-so-slightly. It was a feeling that I hadn't known for years. It was a feeling of excitement that completely overwhelmed any pre-race jitters. I am ready.
Being the planner I am, I stayed up late the other night researching times and placement for the SMP tri in years past. My name is last listed in 2003…along w/ my 81st place finish. My swim was nearly 12 minutes, my bike was over 33 minutes, and my run was just over 18 minutes. My transition times were almost humorous. Oh, how far I've come since then…and that was while I was just concluding my career as a division 1 athlete. This year I am going to break an hour. I am going to exit the water before 11 minutes have passed, the bike is going to take just a hair over 27 minutes, and the run is going to be a strong 17 minutes. And the transition times? Cut in half…a minute 30 for the first, 60 seconds for the second. I've practiced the transitions and visualized the race. I am going to finish in the top 20. I am ready.
A few weeks ago I partook in the Tour de Lakes. It is a 61 mile ride around nearly half a dozen lakes in the Lee's Summit area. I finished in just a little over 3 hours. I was able to keep pace with the lead pack for about a third of the race, which did wonders for my confidence. This is my longest ride to date. To top it off, I rode an additional 40 miles the next day for a smooth 100 mile total for the weekend. Throughout the last few months, I've gotten to know SMP very well. My bike and I have traversed the pavement loop around the park more times than I care to count. I know exactly where the hills are and how I'm going to attack the dam both times. I also know that I need to attack mile three because it is a very subtle downhill that can benefit aggressive riders. I've literally rode this course forwards and backwards. I know exactly where the finish line is. I am ready.
Being the planner I am, I stayed up late the other night researching times and placement for the SMP tri in years past. My name is last listed in 2003…along w/ my 81st place finish. My swim was nearly 12 minutes, my bike was over 33 minutes, and my run was just over 18 minutes. My transition times were almost humorous. Oh, how far I've come since then…and that was while I was just concluding my career as a division 1 athlete. This year I am going to break an hour. I am going to exit the water before 11 minutes have passed, the bike is going to take just a hair over 27 minutes, and the run is going to be a strong 17 minutes. And the transition times? Cut in half…a minute 30 for the first, 60 seconds for the second. I've practiced the transitions and visualized the race. I am going to finish in the top 20. I am ready.
A few weeks ago I partook in the Tour de Lakes. It is a 61 mile ride around nearly half a dozen lakes in the Lee's Summit area. I finished in just a little over 3 hours. I was able to keep pace with the lead pack for about a third of the race, which did wonders for my confidence. This is my longest ride to date. To top it off, I rode an additional 40 miles the next day for a smooth 100 mile total for the weekend. Throughout the last few months, I've gotten to know SMP very well. My bike and I have traversed the pavement loop around the park more times than I care to count. I know exactly where the hills are and how I'm going to attack the dam both times. I also know that I need to attack mile three because it is a very subtle downhill that can benefit aggressive riders. I've literally rode this course forwards and backwards. I know exactly where the finish line is. I am ready.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
overcoming setbacks
Here it is, Saturday afternoon, a little more than 24 hours after having received news that many would consider disheartening. News that, if it would become true, would temporarily alter my life to a degree that I wouldn't be able to do some of the things that I'm most passionate about. Many would take this news as justification for self-indulgent dwelling on such a misfortune, but I'm not just anybody.
I saw an orthopedic specialist yesterday morning about this nagging pain in my left knee. His diagnosis is not what I was hoping to hear: a possible meniscus tear on the outside of my left knee where the IT band attaches to the knee. The only resolution to such an injury is surgery. Surgery that would result in a brace, crutches and the obvious suspension of any athletic activity for the rest of the season. Doc made an avid point that I must discontinue running until we could be absolutely certain that no additional damage would be done...not an easy thing to tell an athlete in training. And what was my response? No running? Alright, I can accept that on an interim basis.
This morning I rode 45 miles in two and a half hours. This is my longest ride to date this season...by 15 miles. It's going to take a lot more than a bit of daunting news to deter me. If anything, it's just encouragement to push even harder. The ride this morning was amazing. The temperature was perfect, the slightest breeze cooled me, and my legs felt awesome. A ride like this is the sweetest escape. Everything else in life just melts away when you hop on the bike and get into a groove. The only thing present is the rush of air from my rhythmic breathing, the roar of wind over my helmet, the slight sound made from bike tires gliding over pavement, and the occasional bead of sweat that slips down the bridge of my nose. I look down and see the wind rip the bead of sweat from the tip of my nose and send it crashing into my bicep. All I see past the glistening sweat on my forearms in the foreground are two legs steadily pumping and a tire that is spinning feverishly over the grey pavement. I look up again and all I see is a seemingly never-ending road and the faint silhouette of casual walkers and runners at the park. Occasionally, the outline of another cyclist will appear on the horizon. My natural reaction is to tuck a little tighter to the bike, push the pedals a little harder, and attack until I overcome the unknowing athlete. Some are more difficult to chase down than others, but the pursuit will continue until my pride has been satisfied. I'll steal a peak over my shoulder on occasion and will see other cyclists peel off the route, seemingly nearing completion of his or her workout. I will continue on. The most difficult question I face on the bike is, "Do I ride another lap, another 4.5 miles?" The answer is always the same...yes; push until you can't go any further. I have a long ways to go until I can finish an Ironman, and that training isn't going to complete itself.
Tell me I can't finish 140.6 miles. Tell me my body can't handle it. Tell me I'm not good enough. And then just sit back and see what happens. I will find a way.
I saw an orthopedic specialist yesterday morning about this nagging pain in my left knee. His diagnosis is not what I was hoping to hear: a possible meniscus tear on the outside of my left knee where the IT band attaches to the knee. The only resolution to such an injury is surgery. Surgery that would result in a brace, crutches and the obvious suspension of any athletic activity for the rest of the season. Doc made an avid point that I must discontinue running until we could be absolutely certain that no additional damage would be done...not an easy thing to tell an athlete in training. And what was my response? No running? Alright, I can accept that on an interim basis.
This morning I rode 45 miles in two and a half hours. This is my longest ride to date this season...by 15 miles. It's going to take a lot more than a bit of daunting news to deter me. If anything, it's just encouragement to push even harder. The ride this morning was amazing. The temperature was perfect, the slightest breeze cooled me, and my legs felt awesome. A ride like this is the sweetest escape. Everything else in life just melts away when you hop on the bike and get into a groove. The only thing present is the rush of air from my rhythmic breathing, the roar of wind over my helmet, the slight sound made from bike tires gliding over pavement, and the occasional bead of sweat that slips down the bridge of my nose. I look down and see the wind rip the bead of sweat from the tip of my nose and send it crashing into my bicep. All I see past the glistening sweat on my forearms in the foreground are two legs steadily pumping and a tire that is spinning feverishly over the grey pavement. I look up again and all I see is a seemingly never-ending road and the faint silhouette of casual walkers and runners at the park. Occasionally, the outline of another cyclist will appear on the horizon. My natural reaction is to tuck a little tighter to the bike, push the pedals a little harder, and attack until I overcome the unknowing athlete. Some are more difficult to chase down than others, but the pursuit will continue until my pride has been satisfied. I'll steal a peak over my shoulder on occasion and will see other cyclists peel off the route, seemingly nearing completion of his or her workout. I will continue on. The most difficult question I face on the bike is, "Do I ride another lap, another 4.5 miles?" The answer is always the same...yes; push until you can't go any further. I have a long ways to go until I can finish an Ironman, and that training isn't going to complete itself.
Tell me I can't finish 140.6 miles. Tell me my body can't handle it. Tell me I'm not good enough. And then just sit back and see what happens. I will find a way.
Monday, June 2, 2008
aspirations
I recently had a birthday...my 27th birthday to be exact. Time to grow up, right? I'm not convinced of that yet so we'll save that for another day. What's been on my mind more so is that I turn 30 in three years. I don't have any apprehensions with turning the dreaded 3-0, like many twentysomethings do. What reverberates in my mind is the associated physical peak that comes with this age. Most that know me well, know that I love competing. Upon college graduation and hanging up my track spikes, I've turned to triathlons to fill that void. I competed for a few years and did well, but had to take the last few years off due to nagging knee injuries. I recently took training up again and have started the ascent of the slow, painful climb to physical strength and endurance. No pun intended, especially given that I just rode the daunting hills out at Shawnee Mission park. My comeback tour actually begins there only a little more than a month away. I have also delved into the training necessary to be able to compete in an Ironman triathlon. For those that might not know, an Ironman consists of a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and a marathon, or 26.2 mile run. It takes an incredible amount of training to accomplish such a feat and I plan to do so by the time I'm 30.
I was in Wichita a few weekends ago to help my cousin celebrate his marriage. The next day I spent some time at another cousin's home. This cousin's wife, a mother of 4 children, recently ran her first marathon. It was the coveted Nike women's marathon in San Francisco. She was so proud of this feat that she created a picture book to tell her story. In this book, she wrote about how she had never run a mile in her life. For her own reasons of motivation, she trained and successfully ran an entire marathon. If she can accomplish this, I can finish an Ironman...if only my knees hold up.
There are countless miles and hours of training between then and now, but I know it'll be worth it. I can't imagine the feeling of crossing the finish line. It might take me 14+ hours, but I'm going to cross that finish line. And that feeling, when my entire body aches and burns, when exhaustion has completely overwhelmed me, is going to trump all the other feelings of accomplishment that I hold dear to me. That's the image that I've engraved into my mind for when I want to quit and am asking myself, "Why in the hell am I doing this?" More to come, but summer of 2009 will be the projected finale of this comeback tour.
I was in Wichita a few weekends ago to help my cousin celebrate his marriage. The next day I spent some time at another cousin's home. This cousin's wife, a mother of 4 children, recently ran her first marathon. It was the coveted Nike women's marathon in San Francisco. She was so proud of this feat that she created a picture book to tell her story. In this book, she wrote about how she had never run a mile in her life. For her own reasons of motivation, she trained and successfully ran an entire marathon. If she can accomplish this, I can finish an Ironman...if only my knees hold up.
There are countless miles and hours of training between then and now, but I know it'll be worth it. I can't imagine the feeling of crossing the finish line. It might take me 14+ hours, but I'm going to cross that finish line. And that feeling, when my entire body aches and burns, when exhaustion has completely overwhelmed me, is going to trump all the other feelings of accomplishment that I hold dear to me. That's the image that I've engraved into my mind for when I want to quit and am asking myself, "Why in the hell am I doing this?" More to come, but summer of 2009 will be the projected finale of this comeback tour.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
the pursuit of fulfillment
For those that don't already know, I am an enrollment counselor for a national university. Every day I get an opportunity to help people. I get an opportunity to help those that want to do something for themself accomplish just that. Every day I see people literally change their lives by getting back into school and continuing their education. It's something I truly believe in, but I find myself struggling lately.
One of the biggest things I look for from anything I do in life is a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment. This is one of the reasons I'm so passionate about sports and anything competitive that I can excel at. One of the most influential reasons I decided to pursue a career with the university is because helping others in this manner can be an incredibly rewarding and fulfilling opportunity. I believe this to be true, but there's another aspect of this position that is starting to wear on me.
I'm the type of individual that doesn't need a lot of help or assistance accomplishing what I want out of life. I'm fairly proactive and will happily pursue opportunities to make myself a better person. Particularly, if I become aware of a specific way to improve myself, I devote my entire being into accomplishing it...to a point it may even be a fallacy of mine. I'm learning that not too many others share my sentiment in this regard. Every once in a while I will come across a potential student that recognizes the need to get back into school and has the motivation to do so. My role in this circumstance is merely to facilitate an enrollment process, which is easy and mildly rewarding. The tougher challenge comes from those that want to go back to school, but don't believe they can. Consequently, this is where the true reward comes from, when you succeed at helping someone believe they can do this for themself. The conversations that follow such an accomplishment are an inspiration and a motivating factor to reach out to others. However, the reward gained from these situations is becoming increasingly overshadowed by another type of circumstance. The true test for me with this position comes from the students that don't follow through once this process has been initiated. The reasons and justifications are vast and full of variety, but all share a similar characteristic: they are all excuses.
One of the things that I struggle to understand is why someone will choose not to go through with something that they know will improve their life. Some students will get all the way through the enrollment process, but then decide not to follow through. I get that some get scared or some just simply change their mind. A huge part of helping someone overcome these hurdles is to uncover the particular individual's motivation for going back to school. From there, it takes a simple comparison between what life would be like in the same situation and how life would be different should this individual make a change. To me, the decision is simple. I choose self improvement. I choose a better future. I choose an opportunity to do something truly meaningful with my life. For the life of me, I don't understand why some don't follow that thought process. I simply can't help someone who won't help themself. It's difficult for me to let these people go. It's difficult for me to accept that I have the ability to change lives, but some will simply get in their own way. I don't expect everyone to think the way I do, but I don't understand why these people show up at my office, ask for help, but then not let me fulfill that request.
I need a sense of pride about my work accomplishments to feel truly satisfied. I'm beginning to question if this position can offer this opportunity to me and I'm unsure how to proceed. I've reached a crossroads in my life that I'm challenging all of the aspects of my life. I refuse to settle for mediocrity and will continue to push the limits in all facets of my life. I've lost some of the drive I need to be professionally successful in the manner I want to be and I need to either dig a little deeper to find it, or decide to make a life change myself.
One of the biggest things I look for from anything I do in life is a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment. This is one of the reasons I'm so passionate about sports and anything competitive that I can excel at. One of the most influential reasons I decided to pursue a career with the university is because helping others in this manner can be an incredibly rewarding and fulfilling opportunity. I believe this to be true, but there's another aspect of this position that is starting to wear on me.
I'm the type of individual that doesn't need a lot of help or assistance accomplishing what I want out of life. I'm fairly proactive and will happily pursue opportunities to make myself a better person. Particularly, if I become aware of a specific way to improve myself, I devote my entire being into accomplishing it...to a point it may even be a fallacy of mine. I'm learning that not too many others share my sentiment in this regard. Every once in a while I will come across a potential student that recognizes the need to get back into school and has the motivation to do so. My role in this circumstance is merely to facilitate an enrollment process, which is easy and mildly rewarding. The tougher challenge comes from those that want to go back to school, but don't believe they can. Consequently, this is where the true reward comes from, when you succeed at helping someone believe they can do this for themself. The conversations that follow such an accomplishment are an inspiration and a motivating factor to reach out to others. However, the reward gained from these situations is becoming increasingly overshadowed by another type of circumstance. The true test for me with this position comes from the students that don't follow through once this process has been initiated. The reasons and justifications are vast and full of variety, but all share a similar characteristic: they are all excuses.
One of the things that I struggle to understand is why someone will choose not to go through with something that they know will improve their life. Some students will get all the way through the enrollment process, but then decide not to follow through. I get that some get scared or some just simply change their mind. A huge part of helping someone overcome these hurdles is to uncover the particular individual's motivation for going back to school. From there, it takes a simple comparison between what life would be like in the same situation and how life would be different should this individual make a change. To me, the decision is simple. I choose self improvement. I choose a better future. I choose an opportunity to do something truly meaningful with my life. For the life of me, I don't understand why some don't follow that thought process. I simply can't help someone who won't help themself. It's difficult for me to let these people go. It's difficult for me to accept that I have the ability to change lives, but some will simply get in their own way. I don't expect everyone to think the way I do, but I don't understand why these people show up at my office, ask for help, but then not let me fulfill that request.
I need a sense of pride about my work accomplishments to feel truly satisfied. I'm beginning to question if this position can offer this opportunity to me and I'm unsure how to proceed. I've reached a crossroads in my life that I'm challenging all of the aspects of my life. I refuse to settle for mediocrity and will continue to push the limits in all facets of my life. I've lost some of the drive I need to be professionally successful in the manner I want to be and I need to either dig a little deeper to find it, or decide to make a life change myself.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
intuition
Here it is, Tuesday night, and my wound is still healing from this past weekend. A wound that is the result of a lack of judgment. Hell, a complete disregard for any common sense is a little more accurate. I feel a little twinge of pain shoot through my hand as a reminder of my stupidity w/ every stroke of the keyboard, w/ every number pushed on the telephone, and w/ every shot of the basketball. These not so subtle little reminders help me validate my promise to never ignore my intuition again- something I've done entirely too many times throughout my life. Let's back up a few days...
It's a gorgeous weekend day and I'm in the midst of completing my domestic duties. Most of the other homeowners in the neighborhood are sharing a similar task as is evident with the buzz of mower engines that fill the air. I got a little earlier start to this day than usual because I know I have a lot I need to get done. Although, I don't really think I can use being in a hurry as a justification to the looming accident. I'm hesitant to even classify this as an accident because that would imply it was incidental, but I'll save that for another day. Maybe it's because the dew is still grasping onto the blades of grass, or maybe it's because I've neglected the yard for over a week, but the mundane task of mowing the yard presents a greater challenge than usual. I struggle through the front and get half way through the back yard before I come up with an ingenious idea to make my life easier. The grass is so tall, thick, and wet that I can only go a few steps before the little clippings of grass start to trail behind the mower and I'm forced to dump the only partially full bag. At this point, I'm getting tired of starting the lawn mower engine over and over, so I decide to grab a lanyard and fasten the security bar down to the handle to keep the engine and blade running continually. If we're going to keep track, here is mistake number one- or number two if you include putting myself in this situation by neglecting the yard as number one. I'm ignorantly pleased w/ myself because this has saved me a little time in between grass clipping dumpings. However, I start to notice that the bag isn't filling up completely because the passage way through the mower from the moving blade to the bag is getting clogged too quickly. I have images of a ferocious blade spinning wildly underneath the mower, the carnage it could do to my tender flesh and the impending ER visit dancing through my head, however, I still somehow convince myself that it would be alright to very carefully clear the clog with very timid, calculated scoops of my fingers- mistake number three for those that are still keeping track. I'm pleased w/ my ingenuity again as I've been able to shave even more time off of this tedious task. This new system is working wonderfully for almost the entire remainder of the backyard. I have just a few more passes to go before I'll be free of this duty and ready to move onto the next until, "THUNK!" I can still hear it, the sound of cold steal colliding with warm flesh. I instinctly retract my hand from the mower to inspect my finger that had ventured just a bit too close to the spinning blade. I fully expect to see a portion of my finger gone and it takes an eternity for my eyes to focus. A few of the longest seconds of my life pass until, to my disbelief, I realize that I've only barely broke skin. The impact and subsequent pain is felt all the way to my wrist, but the cosmetic damage is merely a small split, a plum purple bruise, and a tip of the finger that is only now regaining feeling and becoming less rigid.
This is one of my least proud moments in life. I regard myself as someone that has a decent amount of intelligence and common sense, although not apparent in this decision. I would even go so far to say that I have a decent amount of intuition. I can typically recognize the situations I'm in and know how to handle them. However, any ability in this regard is completely negated when I don't listen to it. I knew I could lose a finger should I get too close to the spinning blade. I knew I could get a speeding ticket if I kept driving down the highway so fast. I knew in the back of my mind that there was someone else I had been more interested in, but I proposed to the other girl instead...
WHY? Why don't we listen to that voice of reason? Why don't we always do what we know is right? Most of us have the knowledge, or at least I'll be optimistic and hope we do. If so, then why don't we keep our hands off the hot stove if we know it burns? Laziness? Apathy? Lack of foresight? No, I refuse to accept that. How could someone take the chance of permanently crippling themself to save a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, and a minor exertion of energy while mowing the yard? I'm guilty of it and can't think of a logical reasoning what-so-ever. I consider myself lucky. I'm lucky to have an opportunity to learn from my mistake...no, let's be honest, mistakes. I was once told that the right thing to do is never the easiest. It's so much easier to take the simple way out, to take the short cut, to choose to spend time with the girl that shows you attention when your intuition tells you she's not right for you. But to what avail was it to take the easy way out? Sure, there might be some instant gratification, but in the end, you typically end up left wanting and with a lesson learned. Now should we have done the right thing upfront, that would be a different story- a story that now intertwines into the chapters of my life.
It's a gorgeous weekend day and I'm in the midst of completing my domestic duties. Most of the other homeowners in the neighborhood are sharing a similar task as is evident with the buzz of mower engines that fill the air. I got a little earlier start to this day than usual because I know I have a lot I need to get done. Although, I don't really think I can use being in a hurry as a justification to the looming accident. I'm hesitant to even classify this as an accident because that would imply it was incidental, but I'll save that for another day. Maybe it's because the dew is still grasping onto the blades of grass, or maybe it's because I've neglected the yard for over a week, but the mundane task of mowing the yard presents a greater challenge than usual. I struggle through the front and get half way through the back yard before I come up with an ingenious idea to make my life easier. The grass is so tall, thick, and wet that I can only go a few steps before the little clippings of grass start to trail behind the mower and I'm forced to dump the only partially full bag. At this point, I'm getting tired of starting the lawn mower engine over and over, so I decide to grab a lanyard and fasten the security bar down to the handle to keep the engine and blade running continually. If we're going to keep track, here is mistake number one- or number two if you include putting myself in this situation by neglecting the yard as number one. I'm ignorantly pleased w/ myself because this has saved me a little time in between grass clipping dumpings. However, I start to notice that the bag isn't filling up completely because the passage way through the mower from the moving blade to the bag is getting clogged too quickly. I have images of a ferocious blade spinning wildly underneath the mower, the carnage it could do to my tender flesh and the impending ER visit dancing through my head, however, I still somehow convince myself that it would be alright to very carefully clear the clog with very timid, calculated scoops of my fingers- mistake number three for those that are still keeping track. I'm pleased w/ my ingenuity again as I've been able to shave even more time off of this tedious task. This new system is working wonderfully for almost the entire remainder of the backyard. I have just a few more passes to go before I'll be free of this duty and ready to move onto the next until, "THUNK!" I can still hear it, the sound of cold steal colliding with warm flesh. I instinctly retract my hand from the mower to inspect my finger that had ventured just a bit too close to the spinning blade. I fully expect to see a portion of my finger gone and it takes an eternity for my eyes to focus. A few of the longest seconds of my life pass until, to my disbelief, I realize that I've only barely broke skin. The impact and subsequent pain is felt all the way to my wrist, but the cosmetic damage is merely a small split, a plum purple bruise, and a tip of the finger that is only now regaining feeling and becoming less rigid.
This is one of my least proud moments in life. I regard myself as someone that has a decent amount of intelligence and common sense, although not apparent in this decision. I would even go so far to say that I have a decent amount of intuition. I can typically recognize the situations I'm in and know how to handle them. However, any ability in this regard is completely negated when I don't listen to it. I knew I could lose a finger should I get too close to the spinning blade. I knew I could get a speeding ticket if I kept driving down the highway so fast. I knew in the back of my mind that there was someone else I had been more interested in, but I proposed to the other girl instead...
WHY? Why don't we listen to that voice of reason? Why don't we always do what we know is right? Most of us have the knowledge, or at least I'll be optimistic and hope we do. If so, then why don't we keep our hands off the hot stove if we know it burns? Laziness? Apathy? Lack of foresight? No, I refuse to accept that. How could someone take the chance of permanently crippling themself to save a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, and a minor exertion of energy while mowing the yard? I'm guilty of it and can't think of a logical reasoning what-so-ever. I consider myself lucky. I'm lucky to have an opportunity to learn from my mistake...no, let's be honest, mistakes. I was once told that the right thing to do is never the easiest. It's so much easier to take the simple way out, to take the short cut, to choose to spend time with the girl that shows you attention when your intuition tells you she's not right for you. But to what avail was it to take the easy way out? Sure, there might be some instant gratification, but in the end, you typically end up left wanting and with a lesson learned. Now should we have done the right thing upfront, that would be a different story- a story that now intertwines into the chapters of my life.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
the fickleness of life
Oh, how fickle life can be. As I reflect about this yet again, I can't help but laugh to myself. It amuses me, and almost seems ironic, that we place such an great emphasis on the relationships we have, but when they dissolve, life somehow goes on. Not only does our existence go on, but it can become even more fulfilling if you let it. I'm sure some of the truly meaningful relationships we have would leave a void of sorts should it be removed, but even in that event, life will still go on. Give it a few days, a few weeks, maybe even a few months, but the normalcy of life will return. I look around and see so many people that are over reliant on another, so many people that define their lives by the people that are in it and I feel a twinge of embarrassment that I used to submit to that way of thinking.
I spent our neighbor's independence day out celebrating with a few friends and it seemed to serve as a capstone to reclaiming some of the relationships I lost over the years. At a favorite bar downtown, I randomly ran into several people I used to know very well but had lost touch with: my best friend from childhood, my first girlfriend, a girl I spent four years of my life running with at ksu, a guy I spent a few years of my life working next to every day. These were all people that I had regarded as important, but for one reason or another, had taken separate paths through life and had been removed from my consciousness. I've spent the past few months attempting to reconnect with these types of figures in my life, but to what avail? Should they disappear from my life again, it will still go on.
I still get a great sense of satisfaction from connecting with friends and family and I will always value the relationships I have. The best times of my life and the memories I cherish the most are the result of the relationships I had or even still have. But, I've learned to recognize the fine line I need to balance on when it comes to depending on anyone else other than myself. It sounds so cliche, but I'm going to live my life to the fullest, enjoy the relationships I have while I have them, and assume that the time I spend with others could be the last. I will embrace the people in my life, but that's as far as it goes.
I spent our neighbor's independence day out celebrating with a few friends and it seemed to serve as a capstone to reclaiming some of the relationships I lost over the years. At a favorite bar downtown, I randomly ran into several people I used to know very well but had lost touch with: my best friend from childhood, my first girlfriend, a girl I spent four years of my life running with at ksu, a guy I spent a few years of my life working next to every day. These were all people that I had regarded as important, but for one reason or another, had taken separate paths through life and had been removed from my consciousness. I've spent the past few months attempting to reconnect with these types of figures in my life, but to what avail? Should they disappear from my life again, it will still go on.
I still get a great sense of satisfaction from connecting with friends and family and I will always value the relationships I have. The best times of my life and the memories I cherish the most are the result of the relationships I had or even still have. But, I've learned to recognize the fine line I need to balance on when it comes to depending on anyone else other than myself. It sounds so cliche, but I'm going to live my life to the fullest, enjoy the relationships I have while I have them, and assume that the time I spend with others could be the last. I will embrace the people in my life, but that's as far as it goes.
Monday, April 21, 2008
moving on
Moving out and moving on...it was the theme of this past weekend. It was a great weekend and now that I look back, fairly appropriate as a capstone for this relationship that couldn't stand the times.
I moved her stuff out this weekend. She came over Saturday am to begin the wonderful process of separating all the belongings that had been acquired over the years. It was actually a fairly smooth, easy process...methodically going from room to room, agreeing on who was due what. Both parties were considerate and respectful. Other than separating photo albums, the process was filled w/ no emotion. Sunday pm, some of her family and she came over to move out the remaining larger pieces. It was a rather eye-opening experience and the reason why I found the weekend appropriate as a reflection of our failed relationship.
My family has been incredibly supportive and respectful through everything. They've known when to assist and when to give space. They've given excellent direction and have always been a positive influence on my life. Needless to say, they were present Sunday when the ex-in-laws arrived. We were met by a very somber and sobering family. The fairly pleasant girl w/ whom I had spoke w/ the day before had transformed into a cold, removed person. Maybe it was a defense mechanism, or maybe it was the result of the presence of her family. Regardless, I found this immediate transformation reminiscent of the change I had experienced during the last few months of our marriage. Someone who was once interested and engaged had closed up and separated themself. Funny, you would typically associate that behavior w/ the guy in the relationship, but I digress. The only difference I noticed in this example was that she was the one who was sad and shedding tears. Although friendly and jovial, I was now the one standing emotionless. Strangely, no remorse, regret, or even general sadness was felt. I only felt a sense of relief...a realization of freedom mixed only w/ a dash of anxiety about what's to come.
As the differences in families became more apparent, I couldn't help but to be proud of being a Mohr. This family can withstand anything and can remain close while going through it. Furthermore, we can remain positive and upbeat about it, an accomplishment that not many can claim. It still amazes me how easy is it to take something positive from every experience. I've learned what I'd do differently should I marry again, and I've definitely learned more specifically what I'd look for in a mate. Furthermore, this experience continues to attest to how amazing this family is. I truly love my family. Although I doubt the sentiment will be shared, I also wish the Pufahl's all the very best. The question now becomes, "Where to go from here?" As I look to answer that question, as only I can, I am filled with excitement, hope, and faith. I know in my heart that this was the right decision and that this path I'm leading will bring me everything I could ever ask for.
I moved her stuff out this weekend. She came over Saturday am to begin the wonderful process of separating all the belongings that had been acquired over the years. It was actually a fairly smooth, easy process...methodically going from room to room, agreeing on who was due what. Both parties were considerate and respectful. Other than separating photo albums, the process was filled w/ no emotion. Sunday pm, some of her family and she came over to move out the remaining larger pieces. It was a rather eye-opening experience and the reason why I found the weekend appropriate as a reflection of our failed relationship.
My family has been incredibly supportive and respectful through everything. They've known when to assist and when to give space. They've given excellent direction and have always been a positive influence on my life. Needless to say, they were present Sunday when the ex-in-laws arrived. We were met by a very somber and sobering family. The fairly pleasant girl w/ whom I had spoke w/ the day before had transformed into a cold, removed person. Maybe it was a defense mechanism, or maybe it was the result of the presence of her family. Regardless, I found this immediate transformation reminiscent of the change I had experienced during the last few months of our marriage. Someone who was once interested and engaged had closed up and separated themself. Funny, you would typically associate that behavior w/ the guy in the relationship, but I digress. The only difference I noticed in this example was that she was the one who was sad and shedding tears. Although friendly and jovial, I was now the one standing emotionless. Strangely, no remorse, regret, or even general sadness was felt. I only felt a sense of relief...a realization of freedom mixed only w/ a dash of anxiety about what's to come.
As the differences in families became more apparent, I couldn't help but to be proud of being a Mohr. This family can withstand anything and can remain close while going through it. Furthermore, we can remain positive and upbeat about it, an accomplishment that not many can claim. It still amazes me how easy is it to take something positive from every experience. I've learned what I'd do differently should I marry again, and I've definitely learned more specifically what I'd look for in a mate. Furthermore, this experience continues to attest to how amazing this family is. I truly love my family. Although I doubt the sentiment will be shared, I also wish the Pufahl's all the very best. The question now becomes, "Where to go from here?" As I look to answer that question, as only I can, I am filled with excitement, hope, and faith. I know in my heart that this was the right decision and that this path I'm leading will bring me everything I could ever ask for.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
irony
A story of irony to follow up on the divorce post...
I’m at Panera the other day for lunch w/ a few of my co-workers. I walked up to the lady at the register to place my order. She’s a little older than me and seemingly friendly. I smiled at her, asked how she’s doing, and am my normal jovial self. She looked at me and said, "You are very happy today!" I just looked at her and smiled even bigger. "Of course I am, it’s a good day," I think was my reply. Her response really caught me off guard, "Are you getting married?" I chuckled a little bit in my trademark baritone laugh and shook my head slowly, "On the contrary, actually, I just got divorced". She just looked back at me with a blank stare for a few seconds while she comprehended what she just heard. She eventually stammered out, "You mean you’re this happy and you just got divorced?" I looked at her and just smiled again, "Well, yeah. It’s a good thing". I watched her face as a look of awe and amazement washed over her. She smiled at me and caught me off guard again, "Congratulations".
Congratulations on getting divorced? Not something you hear every day, but it does seem appropriate now that I think about it. Why does one offer congratulations to another? I would say to express a sincere recognition for someone’s pleasure or joy and accomplishment. It’s usually correlated with a victory, the purchase of your first car or home, a promotion, or even a marriage. But divorce? It may seem somewhat unorthodox, but if it’s going to help someone improve their life and make them happy, why not? Congratulations on getting divorced. How about that for an epiphany?
So to finish the story, we spoke a few more seconds about her marriage and she offered to buy me dessert to validate her congratulatory wishes. As I enjoyed my chocolate chip cookie, I was left thankful for this stranger’s unbiased, simplistic thought process.
I’m at Panera the other day for lunch w/ a few of my co-workers. I walked up to the lady at the register to place my order. She’s a little older than me and seemingly friendly. I smiled at her, asked how she’s doing, and am my normal jovial self. She looked at me and said, "You are very happy today!" I just looked at her and smiled even bigger. "Of course I am, it’s a good day," I think was my reply. Her response really caught me off guard, "Are you getting married?" I chuckled a little bit in my trademark baritone laugh and shook my head slowly, "On the contrary, actually, I just got divorced". She just looked back at me with a blank stare for a few seconds while she comprehended what she just heard. She eventually stammered out, "You mean you’re this happy and you just got divorced?" I looked at her and just smiled again, "Well, yeah. It’s a good thing". I watched her face as a look of awe and amazement washed over her. She smiled at me and caught me off guard again, "Congratulations".
Congratulations on getting divorced? Not something you hear every day, but it does seem appropriate now that I think about it. Why does one offer congratulations to another? I would say to express a sincere recognition for someone’s pleasure or joy and accomplishment. It’s usually correlated with a victory, the purchase of your first car or home, a promotion, or even a marriage. But divorce? It may seem somewhat unorthodox, but if it’s going to help someone improve their life and make them happy, why not? Congratulations on getting divorced. How about that for an epiphany?
So to finish the story, we spoke a few more seconds about her marriage and she offered to buy me dessert to validate her congratulatory wishes. As I enjoyed my chocolate chip cookie, I was left thankful for this stranger’s unbiased, simplistic thought process.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
divorce
What a horrible word...divorce. It’s filled w/ negative connotations, but why? Why does everyone think that someone going through a divorce is horribly miserable? Is it the eternal battle of good versus bad? Marriage vs. Divorce?
As I’m going through this experience, I’m taken back to a moment in my life that I’ll always remember. I was driving down the street as a single teenager and saw an older man, still in his 30’s, with shoe polish on his back window telling the world, "Just Divorced". I drove up next to his driver’s side window and stole a glance. He looked miserable and completely pissed at the world. I wondered what was going on in his life and what possessed him to exclaim to the world that he was recently single and so pissed about it. But the question still haunts me today, "why was he so unhappy?"
Believe me, I know it sucks to lose someone. The grieving process can be a bitch some days, but why would you let someone that is no longer in your life, and a process that can be tough control you and your happiness? Life is too short to lose a single day w/ regret and unhappiness. I’ve learned that I wasted WAY too much of my life being unhappy. Never again will I let anything or anybody control me and my happiness. I wake up every day and choose to be happy. Even through this bitch of a situation, I CHOOSE to be happy. It’s as simple as that. I can only control how I react to every situation that I come across. And from this day forward, from these past few weeks forward, from these past few months when I was married but single, I choose to be happy.
I don’t know what possessed me to share this. Maybe it’s because this day has been one of the more difficult. Maybe this is just my way of convincing myself to stick with my newfound enlightenment. I don’t know if anyone would even read this. Who would? My ex, who is checking up on me? Fine. I hope she can find this same peace. My friends? Great. They can understand me a little better w/out needing to go through the awkward question dripping w/ ulterior references of, "how are you doing?" A complete stranger? Even better. If anyone can learn from my experience then I will feel even more fulfilled that I have left my mark on someone and have helped them to some sort of revelation. I don’t wish this on anyone, but I do hope everyone can learn from my experience...
As I’m going through this experience, I’m taken back to a moment in my life that I’ll always remember. I was driving down the street as a single teenager and saw an older man, still in his 30’s, with shoe polish on his back window telling the world, "Just Divorced". I drove up next to his driver’s side window and stole a glance. He looked miserable and completely pissed at the world. I wondered what was going on in his life and what possessed him to exclaim to the world that he was recently single and so pissed about it. But the question still haunts me today, "why was he so unhappy?"
Believe me, I know it sucks to lose someone. The grieving process can be a bitch some days, but why would you let someone that is no longer in your life, and a process that can be tough control you and your happiness? Life is too short to lose a single day w/ regret and unhappiness. I’ve learned that I wasted WAY too much of my life being unhappy. Never again will I let anything or anybody control me and my happiness. I wake up every day and choose to be happy. Even through this bitch of a situation, I CHOOSE to be happy. It’s as simple as that. I can only control how I react to every situation that I come across. And from this day forward, from these past few weeks forward, from these past few months when I was married but single, I choose to be happy.
I don’t know what possessed me to share this. Maybe it’s because this day has been one of the more difficult. Maybe this is just my way of convincing myself to stick with my newfound enlightenment. I don’t know if anyone would even read this. Who would? My ex, who is checking up on me? Fine. I hope she can find this same peace. My friends? Great. They can understand me a little better w/out needing to go through the awkward question dripping w/ ulterior references of, "how are you doing?" A complete stranger? Even better. If anyone can learn from my experience then I will feel even more fulfilled that I have left my mark on someone and have helped them to some sort of revelation. I don’t wish this on anyone, but I do hope everyone can learn from my experience...
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