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Struggling

Thursday, April 18th, 2013

I don’t have any deep or inspirational words this week.

I’m just trying to get by. I’m not sure if I’m handling it very well, but I don’t know what that would look like.

On Monday, I was at work in Cambridge when the bombs went off. At 2:56 I saw a tweet come up on my computer with a picture of the smoke from my friend Greg.

I started freaking out. I ran over the the other side of my office building that faces Boston on the other side of the Charles river. I’m not sure what I was looking for. I was up on the 14th floor and could see right where Copley Square, the finish line and the bombs were. I could only imagine what was going on just on the other side of the river, but was paralyzed and unable to do anything to help.

I had been diligently tracking my 4 Team Rev3 teammates that were doing the race and quickly learned that they were safe and out of harms way. Thankfully I’ve since learned that everyone I know is safe, but I’ve lost count of the close friends and family that were within ear shot of the bombs. Having heard each of their stories, I’m still shaken.

I’m unable to digest the sharp contrast between everything that is “The Boston Marathon” and the events at the finish line.

To runners, Boston is “The big kahuna.” To the city, it is an overwhelming source of pride. A lot of attention gets paid to the elites, but it’s magic comes from an entire city lining the streets to cheer on tens of thousands of runners as if they came out to see each and every one of them. Screaming at the top of their lungs as if each had just won the whole race.

Then two bombs go off and everything changes.

I’ve had the privilege of volunteering at the bag collection area in the past and managing some of the buses where the runners drop off their bags at the start line. We took pride in the fact that we were the last official race crew that the athletes would see and made sure to congratulate every single one and find a way to make sure they are smiling despite their bodies revolting against everything they had put it through over the last 26 miles. I got to meet and help the nurses who picked up athletes that were curled up and puking in the gutter behind my bus to wheel them into the medical tent and give them some of the most compassionate medical care they may ever receive.

This year, those same nurses and finish line staff were put to the test in a way they could have never imagined.

I don’t feel like a race or my city was attacked. I feel like my friends, family and neighbors were attacked. I struggling with how I’m supposed to cope with that.

| Posted in Triathlon | 1 Comment »

Perspective

Friday, March 29th, 2013

The last 6 weeks has changed my perspective on just about everything in life. Carole, who battled back from a much worse back injury, warned me about it. She was right.

By no means do I think that it is necessarily a better perspective on life than I had six weeks ago. I’m not even sure how permanent it is, but absolutely everything about my outlook has changed. Everything is a little different when you can’t lift the lid on the toilet if you need to go to the bathroom. Can’t look at anything other than a hospital ceiling for 48 hours straight. Can’t put on your own socks and shoes or walk down stairs without assistance. Can’t wake up feeling relaxed and not in excruciating pain.

Following the training antics of my friends has made me realize how insulated the triathlon community is. The physiology of a competitive age grouper is probably more similar to an Olympian than the average person from Mississippi, but 99% of triathletes that I know don’t really appreciate that.

We surround ourselves with other type A athletes, who only help to distort our perspective. From my current position, all I hear is a chorus of people bitching and complaining about absurd things like low wattage, missing their PRs by a few seconds and minor muscle aches and pains. While I’ve said all the same things before, and probably will again somedayt, I want to blow up and tell them how ungrateful they are.

“Oh, you had GI distress and didn’t podium? Fuck you. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to wipe my own ass last month.”

“Oh, you are worried that your cold will prevent you from qualifying for Nationals? Fuck you. Do you know how terrifying it is to have nurses test for sensation and reflexes in your toes and you aren’t sure if you’ll pass.”

I’m sure that eventually I’ll be able to look at these totally normal triathlete comments again someday without disdain, but right now, just weeks out of the single most traumatic moment of my life, I can’t. Hell, I’m sure there are tons of people out there in worse situations than mine, praying with every ounce of their being that they can be as healthy as I am right now and have my prognosis. I fully recognize how lucky I am just to still be able to wiggle my fingers and toes, let alone have the overwhelming support of family and friends that have helped me survive the last six weeks.

If all goes well, I hope that I’m lucky enough to complain about GI distress and a little cold this time next year. I hope that I’m still grateful for being able to lift a toilet seat and feel the sand between my toes as well.

| Posted in Triathlon | 13 Comments »