Social Class Structure...

After the weight of my recent posts (inferior only to the weighted issues on my mind), I think some more light hearted posts are called for.

So here is a current pondering... and let’s just go ahead and open this discussion to the public blog world :) ….

Is it better to surround yourself with people who are better than you, or worse off than you?

Take for example the adage; in the land of blind men, the one-eyed man is king. Similarly, Garfield once said of Odie, "If you want to appear smarter, hang around someone stupider." But on the other hand, Newton (or was it Merton?) once said, "if I have seen farther, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants."

Should we surround ourselves with giants in order to see farther? Or would we see just as far if we were surrounded by really short people who we could see over?

I ask because a friend is considering moving to the edge of a meth-fueled trailer park and we are trying to decide if it makes him white-trash by association, or classy by comparison.

(Please keep your sense of humor in tact for this post, and a reminder of MY sense of humor - a dry, sarcastic wit...)

Some Final Thoughts

Thanks for the outpouring of support you have sent my way with regard to Kerry and his life. Truly, the ones who need support the most are his family, but it has been quite a struggle for me to process all of this, for many reasons.

This reiterates one thing I have always felt - in times of trouble or crisis, people will show their true colors. I am truly comforted by the knowledge of how much the tri community in Calgary (and its related areas) did to search for Kerry while he remained missing and how much they are honoring his life amid their many questions and confusion. They are a wonderful group of people.

In addition, the Professional Triathlete community is a pretty small one. Most of us know, or at least know of, one another. I was grateful to know Sara Gross (and we have a number of mutual friends too), stud Canadian pro triathlete and soon-to-be mom, and she has been an amazing source of comfort and guidance to me in all of this. I got in touch with her almost immediately after I learned of Kerry's death. She and I have had numerous conversations and I want to publicly thank her for her help and acknowledge all she did to get word out to the masses when Kerry was missing. Kerry's family was grief stricken, so Sara with her amazing heart (and type-A personality, God love her) took charge and got the community and police in motion.

Sara coached Kerry for many years and knew him quite well .... suffice it to say, our shared private discussions illuminated many inconsistent things. She was able to share with me some of the details of his last days; I think we were both able to piece together a lot of things about which we were confused, of course then have more questions - but ultimately it is clear this man knew what he wanted to do. Sara shared with me several conversations she'd had with his wife and this was a man quite successful at keeping many, many things hidden.

I'm not really sure it's appropriate to write about the details of his final days, or basically the last year of his life. Somehow some of these details seem best kept private, and I'm not sure they really matter except to those of us trying to understand what happened and where things went astray.

What I will say is, as I continue to process all of this and continue to pray for his soul, I am deeply saddened by the depth of this man's mental illness... and sadder still that he wasn't able to get the professional help he apparently needed. It sounds like everyone tried - the whole community in Canada down to me.... ultimately it just wasn't enough. That profoundly saddens me....

Sara was very sweet as she comforted me over the phone. "Carole", she said, "There really wasn't anything else you could have done. You tried. We all did. This was bigger than all of us".

I think what is hardest for me to process is if I had known much of what he was telling Sara, or if she had known what he was telling me (all conflicting things), she or I would have reacted differently - and perhaps could have altered the outcome. Obviously we can't obsess about things we never knew, or torture ourselves unnecessarily with "what if"

..... we can only do the best we can to help one another along the way...

Rest in peace Kerry. I'm so sorry I wasn't aware of more things, and so sorry I wasn't able to help you more. I will miss you...

Struggling for words

I do not coach many people at a time. I do this for two reasons:

1) I need to know I can give each person the attention and quality they deserve
and
2) I need to believe there is something I can bring to the plate that will help them

If I don't feel I can help to make them a better athlete, or help them with an all together different goal, I won't work with them. I consider it an enormous privilege - and HUGE responsibility - to be in charge of guiding someone's goals - sometimes their dreams.

I do not take that lightly...

I get enormously attached to my athletes and I get quite attached to their goals, too. Perhaps unhealthily so, I'm not sure their goals should become as important to me as they do, but they do. I've had people who've invested themselves entirely in helping me: JZ, Lucho .... and I know what that meant to me. I tend to take the same approach, which is why I only work with someone with whom I feel a tangible connection.

More than a year ago I was contacted by a man in Alberta Canada, just outside Calgary. He had done some research on me (scary!) and seemed confident he wanted me as his coach. He'd lost 150 lbs (holy crap!), had completed an Ironman and was looking for some greater guidance to help him improve. At the time I was too busy to be able to commit to him and I explained I wanted to be sure I'd have the time to properly help him. I suggested several other coaches who I thought might be great for him, but he didn't want anyone else. He said he would wait until I had time to add him to my coaching list.

A few months later I contacted him to see how he was, and if he was still interesting in working together. Bless his heart, he was THRILLED. :) How sweet. I was his choice. And he waited. He didn't need to and had every right to seek another coach - but he waited. For me.

At the beginning of this month we'd been together almost a year. He had a great masters swimming program he liked, he'd gone to a great tri camp in Canada the previous month that he really enjoyed, and had great friends and resources within his triathlon community where he lived. He hated that he was always the slowest of his group and that everyone was so much better than him. I would try to encourage him in the way I would talk to any athlete (including myself) about those issues: you can only work on yourself and comparisons with others are not fair, everyone comes from different experience levels and learnings. Look how much he had accomplished in 3 years! Most times things were light hearted and great; he always did every workout and always wanted to learn. Discipline was never his issue. Other times he had difficulty believing in himself and believing he could do things (even though the things he had already accomplished were more than most of us ever will). He would be very hard on himself and his self confidence often went in a downward spiral... I'd like to say I was always the consummate cheerleader but sometimes our conversations got heated. At times I was hard on him and threw him the "tough love" card to help try to get him to pull things together. He was stronger than he knew and I would tell him so. Sometimes he believed me. Sometimes he didn't.

In recent months he began to really struggle with insomnia. I empathized with this affliction and we talked a lot about my experience with sleepless nights. His plight seemed somehow worse. He had no experience with this and the sheer exhaustion of it all was breaking him. He would complain of awful nightmares and was concerned on a daily basis that he would lose his job. His stress seemed overwhelming. He worried how much his wife worried for him. He worried how much he thought his training was suffering. He worried that he would never get rest again. He just worried.

4 weeks ago we spoke for over an hour about seeing a doctor to get on some sort of temporary sleep aid just to help him get some relief. But I also suggested he consider seeing a counselor for some of the issues he was struggling with. Like most people trying to combine Ironman with a busy life, he had trouble finding balance and would torture himself for failing at anything. It was awful to hear; I felt for him and tried to get him to ease up on himself.

"At the end of the day, remember triathlon is supposed to be for FUN, honey" , I said to him.

"Yea, I know...", he would reply, from some distant voice.

But then he seemed to improve. On July 5th he sent an email, "I am feeling better!"

A few days after the email I wondered why he wasn't putting any logs in his training. This was unlike him - he was anal and always on top of it. After a few days I sent him an email to check in. No reply. A few more days and no logs. I sent another email, "I know you are probably just really busy, and I'm assuming all is fine, but please just let me know you're ok." No response. A few more days and still no training updates despite my changes in upcoming workouts. He always had questions. :) After an unreturned call to his cell phone, something in me was prompted just to check to make sure nothing was seriously wrong.

I Googled his name. I have no idea why but I did.

I cannot begin to describe the workboot kick to my gut and the sheer HORROR to see the many internet links related to his name:
"Man missing in Calgary"...
"Police looking for Kerry Enick"...
"Body found and is presumed to be Kerry's"...
"Police suspect no foul play"...

............................ with my mouth on the floor, tears sprung to my eyes in an instant as I scoured the internet trying to find information and figure out what to do to help. Unfortunately, by this point, he was already gone. I was too late to do anything to help. A final report revealed he was dead.

I haven't been able to rid myself of the lump in my throat, my glossy eyes or the feeling that I somehow could have (should have) done more for this man. A hell of a lot more than I know I did. I realize that these tragedies don't come down to one person or even one incident... but I cannot shake the feeling that in some very critical moments I somehow failed. I feel I missed opportunities that could have somehow made more of a difference. I wasn't able to help another human being, my true life objective --- and for that I will hold utter devastation and grief probably for the rest of my life. Not guilt. Grief.

I will remember Kerry Enick for being one tough cookie. For giving more than he got. For working so hard to accomplish his goals. For accomplishing more than he sadly gave himself credit for .... and for always doing these things with a loving disposition and hearty laugh. He was a kind man, and a good man.

I hope you are now at peace, my friend. I hope that, finally, you sleep.....

http://www.leaderpost.com/news/Police+suspect+body+found+that+missing+Calgary+Kerry+Enick/3287783/story.html

My love and prayers go to his wife, Sharon, and his family.....

Shout out to Shawn Colvin!

Last night Lara and I went to go see Shawn Colvin at the Chautaugua Auditorium in Boulder. This beautiful, amazingly acoustic venue is nestled in amid the Flatirons - it's quite a splendor.

Billy left for IMLP the day before so Lara had a spare ticket and offered it to me. This ended up being a treat I was not expecting to enjoy so much.
I have never NOT been a fan of Shawn's (I know, a double negative was inserted, just go with it) but I wouldn't say I craved her music either. I must say, after seeing her live, I am now a HUGE HUGE fan. She was fantastic. Not just her hauntingly talented voice but frankly how well she connects with her audience (which always sells me on someone whether its a large group or one-on-one). Shawn was hilarious and handled the "live" moments (to include strumming the wrong chords, forgetting the occasional line, bantering with the crowd, whatever) in self depricating humor that livened the entire audience.

She set the tone, literally and figuratively, with her opening song, 'Fill me up'. As she strummed her final chord of the guitar and the audience erupted into applause, she smiled and said, "You know, I need to clear something up. That's not 'FEEL me up', it's fill me up. Some friends thought that was sometimes misunderstood." Everyone laughed... and she added, "Although, hell, feel me up would be a lot better!"

Funny.

She would improv songs, break into a James Taylor favorite unexpectedly, interact with the audience and was a true performer. (!)
Hats off to you, Ms Colvin. I have the attention span of a gnat, and you held me captive the whole time. Impressive, indeed.

If you've never seen her live, I encourage you to do so. You won't be disappointed.
I would see her again in a heartbeat...

I tried to find a good YouTube of her doing something live... I could find nothing that did her justice... but this one is nice... something of it reminded me of last night...

The Invasion of the Canucks...

I'm excited to have my good friends from Toronto Canada, Paolina Allan (2nd Ironman Canada '05), and (Nineteen Wetsuits) Steve Fleck staying with for a few days while here for Graham Fraser's Centurion. centurioncycling.com

Polly and I were roommates for Timex Camp years ago and instantly became very close. Whenever we're together, everything resumes where we left off. I love that about us. She's one of those tough as nails athletes who is characteristically NO DRAMA. She has not a mean bone in her body but definitely calls things as she seems them. I think we're quite similar in that way.

Yesterday morning we were chatting over coffee. She was telling me about her month of training in Hawaii with Charlotte Paul right before Kona. I was laughing. Polly told me she got her ass kicked every day by Charlotte and all her Aussie friends. I was incredulous.

"Why didn't you just let them drop you?", I asked her, perplexed.

Her eyes about bugged out. "Are you kidding?? NO WAY I'd ever let that happen!", she said.

I laughed at that and winked at her. "And then what happened, Pol? How'd you do in Kona?"

"I blew up!"

"Mmmm hmmmm. And why?"

She smiled, "Because I'd been racing the whole month leading to the race!"

:) "Exactly!"

Anyway, I love having guests, in particular athletes who have never been to Boulder. Both of them are drooling and already trying to figure out when they can come back. :)

We've been taking some pictures; I'll post when we get them.

In the interim, you can follow their Boulder adventures on Steve's Blog: stevefleck.blogspot.com

I'll post pictures next...

Hey Alan, Alan, Alan, Alan, Alan... Steve, Steve, Steve, ...

Remembering my friend, David Streight

Last week I received the horrible news of the death of my childhood friend, David Streight. David and I swam together for many of my more formidable swimming years and he served a great role of big brother to me for many of those years. I have a number of quite meaningful memories of him, but those recollections probably would only mean something to me if I wrote about one - so I think I'll just keep them in my heart. Sometimes writing about things can diminish the intimacy of the experience .... or it might lose some of the sparkle if I tried to translate it.

David would go on to swim for The Naval Academy, and later became the first Navy Seal I ever personally knew. He died at only 41 years old after a courageous battle with that ubiquitous cancer. The news of his death sunk my heart.

My friends, brothers Chris and David Streight:

For any of you who check my blog and knew David, here are the details for his Memorials:
Thurs., July 15th @ 1:30 p.m.
United States Naval Academy Chapel
Annapolis, Maryland
*COLORFUL ATTIRE REQUESTED.*

Fri.,July 16th, 6 p.m.- 9 p.m. Celebration of Life
The Old Stone
School House 37098 Charles Town Pike
Hillsboro, VA 20132
*Please
wear your best tie-dyed t-shirt, shorts and flip flops.*

Rest in peace, sweet friend.

Finally (!!)

Yesterday it happened.

After more than 2 months . . . my 54th consecutive time in the pool of bad swims . . . I finally had a good swim day!!

I have continued to put myself in the game, continued just to "try", refusing to give up. Day after day, week after week after week -- imagine going to every workout hoping this one will be better, hoping something today will be different, but knowing the previous workouts have been crap and you don't know why. After a while it becomes the quest but also the punishment - it takes a great deal of internal motivation to continue putting yourself in a situation where there aren't any rewards. I am proud of myself for this.

Yesterday I hit the 7:30am Masters at Scott Carpenter. This is a great 50m pool in Boulder that sits literally 1 block from my condo.

As I walked to practice, I would sigh heavily with body language that had to reflect a lack of enthusiasm to be doing this shit again.  But eventually I will have a good day in the pool.  Someday I will again - I have to keep believing.... so yesterday was another intended attempt.

We had about 15 min to warmup before we were getting rolling.  As I've mentioned, I can always tell pretty quickly if it'll be a good swim for me that day.  My body gives me clear signs.  In the last few months, I've felt crazy heaviness in my quads and cramping in my calves that comes on pretty quickly despite very little kicking and wall pushoffs that aren't that spectacular.  (Weird.)  My arms have just felt flat; I never seem to be pulling very much water.  My form is fine, my technique is fine - it's the turnover and power.  I know enough to know this.

So yesterday . . . . it was a day like any other.  But during warmup I could feel my upper body was different; I had more power and my arms felt lighter.  My body position was also higher on top of the water (not the usual tank I am dragging), my turnover was quicker and I just felt stronger.  My legs still got that same heaviness and cramping but I was able to ignore this and just let them float with a light flutter kick.

We did a pretty hearty set of 4 x 150 on 2:00, 1 x 100 on 1:40 --- we repeated this several times.   I was somehow making these intervals.  I wasn't really expecting to make the 150's at all - and I was SHOCKED by what was going on today.   Towards the end of the set I was falling off a bit, but not by much, and I knew this was lack of endurance - which I can correct.

I have no idea what was different today, what I did today that magically made it better --- but it felt so great to FINALLY have a good swim.  It has been weeks and weeks and weeks of utter frustration and exhaustion at my failed attempts to bring myself around.  Since that was probably it for another 3 months, I hope I enjoyed it.  :)

Now if I could just have a good ride or run.... 

for a long time a warm bird sat on my cold chest
for so long it made my heart flutter
the day it suddenly flew off
was the day i suddenly realized
it was my warm heart that made the cold bird flutter

Bee all you can be

The other night I was waiting for some friends to pick me up for our night out.  While I was waiting for them to arrive, I decided to straighten up the kitchen. On the marble countertop next to the cutting board was a small dark fleck.  Assuming it was a breadcrumb or other random bit of foodstuff that goes flying around the kitchen whenever I get over-hungry, I picked it up to throw it away.

Immediately something felt weird: The breadcrumb was sticking to my thumb. And not in a “breadcrumb covered in chocolate pudding” kind of way, but almost latched on. I opened the trash and tried to flick it off, and that’s when I felt the sting. Not of regret or inflated gas prices, but a literal sting. I brought my thumb close to my face and there, clutching my thumb with all it's tiny might, was a little baby bee.

My gut instinct was to yelp and dance around like an Indian until it came off, but for the briefest second I thought “Man up, Sharpie!”  (Is it bad that, as a woman, I empower myself with machismo?)

Halfway through thinking all this I began to violently shake my hand and bang it against several things, like the countertop, my leg,  the refrigerator and my other hand.  I figured a compromise of flailing without making any sissy guttural noises was the appropriate response.   Baby steps.

Finally, the little bee fell off my finger and into the trash.  I looked down at it on top of a heap of magazines and bean salad and thought, “What up now, bitch?”    I turned on the light and noticed that the stinger was still sticking out of my thumb.  With a coolness that can only come with being a victor of war, I carefully removed it and threw it in the trash with Bumbley.

As I was running my hand under cold water, I took a moment to replay the situation in my head.  Clearly, I thought, the bee must have been nearly dead for it to lay so still on the countertop.  What had happened?  How did a nearly dead bee end up in my kitchen?  Was he beaten and left for dead by a rival hive?  Did he get lost in my air conditioning duct and, after a harrowing, chilly journey, end up (to his ultimate dismay!) to have made it inside instead of out?  Or did it go full-retard?

It was then that I started to feel a bit ashamed of my actions.  Here’s this undersized bee, on the brink of death in an unfamiliar place, yet when an enormous human thumb closes on it, it still, still summons the energy somehow, someway to battle back, not go down without a fight, to use the last of its energy to preserve what little time it had left to think about his comb, that time he and the Queen’s daughter got in trouble for flying off to the orange grove and staying out past curfew.  And here I was acting like a wuss.  That brave bee didn’t deserve to die. I did. He is the better warrior than me.

Too bad the bitch ate it.

Eventually there will be laughter!

A few days ago I was at an appointment with a new neurologist with whom I'll be working.  (More on this later.)

During the medical consultation, I took note how stoic he was.  Very pensive, very serious.   I mean, this is serious stuff and he is a scientist... clearly he takes his work to heart and cares about his patients;  I appreciate his attention to detail on my behalf.  But it was like razor-sharp serious in there.   My personality can't take that for too long. :)   Though he is my age, he wore a bow tie. ?  Yikes. Something like that makes me want to poke the bear with the stick. :)


So we're talking and exchanging information ... blah blah blah... I was, of course, being calm and  was describing things as any normal :) person would.   I would occasionally throw in a rather benign attempt at humor, to which he never really seemed to respond.  He just continued with his next question.  Hhhmm.    Ok, this was a challenge, I decided.

"I'm gonna get this little f'er!", I would think to myself, mischievously. :)

So we begin some of the physical examination.  He does some basic reflex tests and as he puts his stethoscope on my chest to listen to my heartbeat, I lunge forward and scream... "Aaaaaahhhh!"   He jumps back, eyes wide!   I start to laugh.   Then he laughs, "You scared me!"   And he collects himself... but laughs again as he shakes his head.

Got him. :)   I can reel in anyone if needed.    :)

But wait. There's more. (You knew there would be!)

Towards the end of the appointment by now I'd actually gotten him laughing a few other times at my comments.  The energy in that room (the "aura", something I completely believe in) was completely different.  His physicality had even altered - his shoulders were more relaxed, he wasn't as "stiff" - all of which I found incredibly fascinating to observe. 

One time he was spastically typing information into the computer, fingers flying acrss the keyboard, as I was answering his questions.  
I joked, "I know you're really typing in there 'this chick is a deranged lunatic' aren't you?"

Doctor:  "Oh I'm definitely typing that!" and he smiled.

He told me his wife had gone to Duke (yuck!) so of course I had to start throwing the Carolina jabs at him.  When he told me she didn't even follow basketball I gasped in horror and joked, "What is WRONG with her???!!  That's all we did there!!  She was one of those 'academia's', huh?  I hated those smarties!", I said with a smile and wink - and he laughed. 

So he's describing the procedure I am coming in for at the end of the month - he'll be sticking needles into my muscles to measure the electrical currents in my muscles while they contract ... (Fun!) ... and then we'll be scheduling a muscle biopsy.  (JZ told me those are not enjoyable so she'll "be going with me".   Bless her.)

So, doc explains a little more about the needles procedure and says, "Don't wear any lotion that day."

Carole: "No lotion?"

Dr: "Nope"

Carole: "What about Vagisil?  Is that ok?"

Dr: (He's onto me by now)  He smiles. "Yup, that's fine. Vagisil is fine."

:)   :)

You gotta love your little Sharpie. :)
 
As we end the appointment I extend my hand, thank him for his help and tell him I appreciate getting to work with him.  
 
Doc: "My pleasure. You've made my day today."
 
Carole: "And this is me sober.  Imagine if I'd had a drink!", I say with a smile.
 
He smiles at me and chuckles out loud.   
:)   :)
 
Moral of the story - and pretty much my life objective:  laughter makes EVERYTHING better ... and, watch what happens when you get someone else smiling and giggling.  Their entire demeanor changes, even their body language.   It's no wonder people always say laughter is always the best medicine... look what happens to people.  That chemical that gets released into the body when people laugh - it CHANGES you. 
It is marvelously magical... and until I die I will look to do this for people whenever I can.
 
Making someone laugh, watching them change, I swear there is no feeling I like more than that..
Well... ok... there is ONE feeling I like more than that.
:)
 
See.... the laugh feels good!  :)
 
Cheers!