It seems to have creeped up on me. I've been focusing all of my mental energy on the marathon that I've had little time to digest the fact that the marathon marks the end of my 5 Races in 5 Months Challenge. Five months ago, I endeavored to take on this physical challenge without any real idea that I would be able to accomplish it. I made a decision to envision myself as a person I wasn't sure I could be. And now, on the brink of 26.2 miles, I know I will achieve that. I know that whatever is worth having or worth being is worth working for and fighting for.
But my joy comes with a heavy heart. In the last month alone so many young people have taken their lives as a direct result of the bullying they have endured at school. Justin Aaberg, Billy Lucas, Seth Walsh, Asher Brown, Tyler Clementi. And, as always, my first inspiration Carl Walker Hoover. All of these young people will never have the chance to be the person they could only imagine, have the life they could only dream. I will carry their names in my heart and on my shirt through the crowd of thousands so that everyone will know their names and think of their lives.
I have wondered during these last few months if what I'm doing is enough. Will anything we do ever be enough? I am reminded of a question that was once asked. How can we continue to fight the small injustices when they come from the mother of all injustices? In this case hatred. And the answer, of course, is simply: What other choice is there?
Friday, October 1, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Misery Loves Company
I Ran the fourth race in my challenge this past weekend: the Devil's Lake Sprint Distance Triathlon. This one was a bit different, I decided to challenge my friend Dan to race it with me. I wanted to be the inspiration for someone else in the same vein that others have been an inspiration for me. For months Dan had been running, biking, and swimming to get ready for the race, his own challenge since he had not been doing those things in quite some time. The weather was awful. It was only 50 degrees, chilly and cloudy. When we started the bike, the freezing rain began. Dan struggled up the hills and I started shivering. By the time we started the run, neither of us could feel our feet. There wasn't much to do except keep each other going and laugh at our own misery. All of the silly details of a race, the gear, the water, the nutrition, the course, the timing fell away. Everything distilled down to two buddies making the most of an awful situation. Dan finished the course in record time.
I left that day with two thoughts. The first is that misery loves company. Not in the snide way that when you are feeling miserable, you feel less miserable if someone else is miserable too. Rather, when the chips are down, impossible tasks seem less impossible when you have someone who understands your burden.
The second is that often times it is not enough to achieve. In a few short weeks, I will run the marathon and this challenge will be over. I will have accomplished more physically then I ever have before. I will have raised money for a wonderful charity. But where do I go from there? I could create bigger challenges for myself, raise more money, and quite possibly those who see me do these things will be inspired. But perhaps what we need to do in this world is to give others the tools to achieve. To show them that they too can be more than themselves. Only then will a legacy continue.
This post is dedicated to the friends and allies who go out of their way to make impossible days for bullied kids feel less impossible; who weather those storms with them. It is dedicated to those friends and allies who inspire bullied kids to look outside themselves and actually remind them that they too can be more than what they think. It is dedicated to those friends and allies who light the fire for others in hopes that one by one, little by little, this world will be a brighter place.
I left that day with two thoughts. The first is that misery loves company. Not in the snide way that when you are feeling miserable, you feel less miserable if someone else is miserable too. Rather, when the chips are down, impossible tasks seem less impossible when you have someone who understands your burden.
The second is that often times it is not enough to achieve. In a few short weeks, I will run the marathon and this challenge will be over. I will have accomplished more physically then I ever have before. I will have raised money for a wonderful charity. But where do I go from there? I could create bigger challenges for myself, raise more money, and quite possibly those who see me do these things will be inspired. But perhaps what we need to do in this world is to give others the tools to achieve. To show them that they too can be more than themselves. Only then will a legacy continue.
This post is dedicated to the friends and allies who go out of their way to make impossible days for bullied kids feel less impossible; who weather those storms with them. It is dedicated to those friends and allies who inspire bullied kids to look outside themselves and actually remind them that they too can be more than what they think. It is dedicated to those friends and allies who light the fire for others in hopes that one by one, little by little, this world will be a brighter place.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Notes on a Half Ironman
It started out with rain. The kind that hangs in the trees until a wind causes more wet to drop from the sky. But despite that, in summer it is still warm. I bike the three miles to the race site, wet, apprehensive, nervous, excited, resigned to the fact that today is the day, like it or not. There are a number of housekeeping things to do before the race starts; sign in, body marking, transition area set up, eating something here and there. For me, they are the things that keep my mind off my nervousness, the things that interrupt the silent conversation in my head regarding whether or not I have trained enough or too little. This is certainly the toughest race I've attempted to date. Looking around at so many elite athletes, their bodies sculpted with dedication, it is hard not to feel intimidated. It is hard to believe that I am one of them.
Fifteen minutes before the race, everyone convenes at the water. I don't like those minutes because the swim course always appears so long and the anticipation of starting makes my nerves go into overdrive. I fight the urge to hyperventilate. My friends try to joke, to take pictures, to be supportive, whatever it takes to keep things light. Before you know it, the first waves have started and you feel swept up in a machine that only moves forward, the noise of something unknown just up ahead. And then without a fight, your face is in the water, your arms are paddling, the conversation you had with yourself about your training becomes irrelevant.
I really don't mind the swim. I stay out of the pack, try to avoid getting kicked in the head. The trip to the first buoy always feels like you're running down the hall in a horror movie and the hall just keeps getting longer and longer. It feels like it's never gonna come. But eventually, you round that first corner and things even out. You try to breathe easy, try to lengthen your stroke and concentrate on form. Since all participants were wearing the same colored caps, it is difficult to gauge my progress as one wave melts into another. That's interesting for me. 1.2 miles later, the longest distance in my swimming history, I am back on the beach heading to the transition.
On my bike now, it's time to hunker down. I'm gonna be on this thing for the next 3.5 hours. Biking for me is challenging. I'm not very fast. And so in these races, it is always a mental struggle as other racers whiz past me. My number is 369. I try to stay zen as the 400's, 500's, 600's, 700's, and 800's parad past me in succession. I want to scream, "what do they have that I don't?" I wonder if I felt worse watching them pass me, if they felt an equal amount of satisfaction knowing they were getting ahead of someone who started before they did. And yet, I am biking faster than I usually do and making strong progress. So why the comparison? Why the need to downplay my own success because someone is doing better? After 40 miles on the bike, I am getting pretty tired. I was eating power gels and drinking a ton but it wasn't giving me the boost I needed. Perhaps they were just keeping me in the game. The idea of biking another hour and then running a half marathon is now a bit daunting. It's raining and water is dripping off of my helmut and my nose. I am soaked. It's odd to think that I am in Sturgeon Bay and I still have to bike to Egg Harbor. The support from the volunteers is starting to sound empty.
And yet, oddly enough coming into transition after 56 miles of biking, I am energized for the run. I stop thinking about not being able to finish. I start to think about the beauty of this time and this moment, about the opportunity and the ability to achieve this at all. The rain has stopped and it is still cool and running just feels comfortable. I always shine on the run and this day is no different. I begin passing people and we all start encouraging each other to keep going. We run up as much of the hills as we can trying to see who will start walking first. We begin to joke with the volunteers as water stations. I can see people starting to fatigue but I am feeling great. My friends and Tony position themselves in multiple spots along the way to yell for me, push me along, tell me that I'm doing fine.
Up until this moment, I haven't thought much about why I'm doing this race. I've been caught up on alot of the technical details of just getting through; the planning, buoys, changing gears, nutrition, passing on the left, stretching. Without any of that left, my mind drifts to one person, Carl Walker Hoover. Had he not killed himself, he would be 13 now. I begin to think about what his life would be like - he would be starting high school, maybe at a new school, new friends, trying out for the freshman football team, algebra, Homecoming. Would he feel as though his past struggles would be behind him? Or would he feel as though nothing will have changed? I begin to think about what advice I would give to this young man, this teenager. How could I best tell him that races are meant to be run just like life is meant to be lived? There are bouys to round like there are milestones for us to meet. There are gears to shift, hills to climb, people who will intentionally leave us behind just like there are years in life that challenge our identity and well being. There are moments of clarity and simplicity and times to excel just like there are moments of compassion and community. There are transitions to bridge each new phase as we allow ourselves to be reinvented.
And above it all, there is the realization that there is more that connects us than divides us. For as much as we try to differentiate ourselves, to reach out from the pack, to blaze a trail that has been previously undefined, our base struggle is still the same. And for as much as we feel the need to get ahead of others, to never be last, to elevate ourselves at another's expense, our human condition is still the same and it is shared. We can create invisible lines, rules, to guide our interactions but they can be lines that either separate us from one another or lines that draw us closer.
The end of the Door County Half Ironman is a large downhill road that shoots you out into the finishing gate. You cannot help but take long fast strides to barrel down the hill. After 6 hours and 19 minutes, well under my goal of 7 hours, I cannot feel my legs, I cannot think. I have no choice but to let this last sprint propel me forward to a life past this finish line.
Fifteen minutes before the race, everyone convenes at the water. I don't like those minutes because the swim course always appears so long and the anticipation of starting makes my nerves go into overdrive. I fight the urge to hyperventilate. My friends try to joke, to take pictures, to be supportive, whatever it takes to keep things light. Before you know it, the first waves have started and you feel swept up in a machine that only moves forward, the noise of something unknown just up ahead. And then without a fight, your face is in the water, your arms are paddling, the conversation you had with yourself about your training becomes irrelevant.
I really don't mind the swim. I stay out of the pack, try to avoid getting kicked in the head. The trip to the first buoy always feels like you're running down the hall in a horror movie and the hall just keeps getting longer and longer. It feels like it's never gonna come. But eventually, you round that first corner and things even out. You try to breathe easy, try to lengthen your stroke and concentrate on form. Since all participants were wearing the same colored caps, it is difficult to gauge my progress as one wave melts into another. That's interesting for me. 1.2 miles later, the longest distance in my swimming history, I am back on the beach heading to the transition.
On my bike now, it's time to hunker down. I'm gonna be on this thing for the next 3.5 hours. Biking for me is challenging. I'm not very fast. And so in these races, it is always a mental struggle as other racers whiz past me. My number is 369. I try to stay zen as the 400's, 500's, 600's, 700's, and 800's parad past me in succession. I want to scream, "what do they have that I don't?" I wonder if I felt worse watching them pass me, if they felt an equal amount of satisfaction knowing they were getting ahead of someone who started before they did. And yet, I am biking faster than I usually do and making strong progress. So why the comparison? Why the need to downplay my own success because someone is doing better? After 40 miles on the bike, I am getting pretty tired. I was eating power gels and drinking a ton but it wasn't giving me the boost I needed. Perhaps they were just keeping me in the game. The idea of biking another hour and then running a half marathon is now a bit daunting. It's raining and water is dripping off of my helmut and my nose. I am soaked. It's odd to think that I am in Sturgeon Bay and I still have to bike to Egg Harbor. The support from the volunteers is starting to sound empty.
And yet, oddly enough coming into transition after 56 miles of biking, I am energized for the run. I stop thinking about not being able to finish. I start to think about the beauty of this time and this moment, about the opportunity and the ability to achieve this at all. The rain has stopped and it is still cool and running just feels comfortable. I always shine on the run and this day is no different. I begin passing people and we all start encouraging each other to keep going. We run up as much of the hills as we can trying to see who will start walking first. We begin to joke with the volunteers as water stations. I can see people starting to fatigue but I am feeling great. My friends and Tony position themselves in multiple spots along the way to yell for me, push me along, tell me that I'm doing fine.
Up until this moment, I haven't thought much about why I'm doing this race. I've been caught up on alot of the technical details of just getting through; the planning, buoys, changing gears, nutrition, passing on the left, stretching. Without any of that left, my mind drifts to one person, Carl Walker Hoover. Had he not killed himself, he would be 13 now. I begin to think about what his life would be like - he would be starting high school, maybe at a new school, new friends, trying out for the freshman football team, algebra, Homecoming. Would he feel as though his past struggles would be behind him? Or would he feel as though nothing will have changed? I begin to think about what advice I would give to this young man, this teenager. How could I best tell him that races are meant to be run just like life is meant to be lived? There are bouys to round like there are milestones for us to meet. There are gears to shift, hills to climb, people who will intentionally leave us behind just like there are years in life that challenge our identity and well being. There are moments of clarity and simplicity and times to excel just like there are moments of compassion and community. There are transitions to bridge each new phase as we allow ourselves to be reinvented.
And above it all, there is the realization that there is more that connects us than divides us. For as much as we try to differentiate ourselves, to reach out from the pack, to blaze a trail that has been previously undefined, our base struggle is still the same. And for as much as we feel the need to get ahead of others, to never be last, to elevate ourselves at another's expense, our human condition is still the same and it is shared. We can create invisible lines, rules, to guide our interactions but they can be lines that either separate us from one another or lines that draw us closer.
The end of the Door County Half Ironman is a large downhill road that shoots you out into the finishing gate. You cannot help but take long fast strides to barrel down the hill. After 6 hours and 19 minutes, well under my goal of 7 hours, I cannot feel my legs, I cannot think. I have no choice but to let this last sprint propel me forward to a life past this finish line.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Anticipation
The Half Ironman is next weekend. I'm a bit terrified. My training hasn't been coming together like I thought it would in the last two weeks. For the first time, I'm less worried about having a bad finishing time and more worried about becoming physically unable to finish. Perhaps I've bitten off more than I can chew?
I have a tendency to do these things; go blindly into a project or stare into the future without a full estimation of the consequences. It is equal parts stupid and endearing. And so when the deadline approaches, the anticipation of it becomes both exciting and yet crippling. It is a conscious act to decide which of the two will take over at any given time. In the end it is much easier to fall back on a construct of ourselves that we already know rather than trust the vision of the person we hope we can be. The snags in our journey outshine the possibility that things will be different this next time. It is difficult to say "I am an ironman athlete" and believe it.
In the thick of the summer, it isn't quite time yet to think about the first day back at school. But my thoughts about my upcoming race mirror what alot of kids think about that day. It is easy for bullied kids to focus on a year of more of the same as opposed to looking in the mirror and saying "things are gonna be better for me this time around" and believing it.
I'm climbing this monster of a hill, this Half Ironman, because I believe that I can be better than I ever thought I could. And I'm sending that energy to every kid who is struggling just to be themselves.
You can help me by donating to my race partner GLSEN by clicking the donation button on the right or https:/my.glsen.org/leschke
I have a tendency to do these things; go blindly into a project or stare into the future without a full estimation of the consequences. It is equal parts stupid and endearing. And so when the deadline approaches, the anticipation of it becomes both exciting and yet crippling. It is a conscious act to decide which of the two will take over at any given time. In the end it is much easier to fall back on a construct of ourselves that we already know rather than trust the vision of the person we hope we can be. The snags in our journey outshine the possibility that things will be different this next time. It is difficult to say "I am an ironman athlete" and believe it.
In the thick of the summer, it isn't quite time yet to think about the first day back at school. But my thoughts about my upcoming race mirror what alot of kids think about that day. It is easy for bullied kids to focus on a year of more of the same as opposed to looking in the mirror and saying "things are gonna be better for me this time around" and believing it.
I'm climbing this monster of a hill, this Half Ironman, because I believe that I can be better than I ever thought I could. And I'm sending that energy to every kid who is struggling just to be themselves.
You can help me by donating to my race partner GLSEN by clicking the donation button on the right or https:/my.glsen.org/leschke
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Anticipation
In a little over two weeks I slash through my second and hardest race to date, the Half Ironman. While not down to the wire yet, I have to admit that I'm getting nervous. The distances in training are getting long enough now that they take up more time and energy and I have started to have to pack nutrition and carry more water. I actually get hungry on the ride! This past weekend, 35 miles of biking followed by 9 miles of running, I had to do the race after working my night shift. The weather was overcast and rainy. Half of the bike was achieved in a torrential downpour with some scary lightning. I was soaking wet. I was also surprised to see cranes and wild turkeys sitting on the trail. That was kind of cool.
It's interesting. I had set out to do these 5 Races in 5 Months, one of which is an olympic distance triathlon. What I didn't count on is that in training for the Half Ironman, I am essentially doing more than the olympic distances on the bike and run every week. It is regular and unavoidable.
I think of the regular bullying that kids endure in school. It comes out of nowhere, there is no special circumstances that cause it to occur, no path that you can avoid. I think about waking up in the morning to get ready for classes knowing that you have to go, wondering if today will be the same as before, wondering if there will be a reprieve. I think of the additional armor that kids have to take with them or build in front of them, not unlike the additional water and nutrition that I have to take to get through the long ride. I can understand how some kids, when faced with an additional torrential downpour just decide to quit.
By clicking on the donation page on the right, you can help me help GLSEN end the downpour of bullying that kids everywhere endure on a regular basis.
It's interesting. I had set out to do these 5 Races in 5 Months, one of which is an olympic distance triathlon. What I didn't count on is that in training for the Half Ironman, I am essentially doing more than the olympic distances on the bike and run every week. It is regular and unavoidable.
I think of the regular bullying that kids endure in school. It comes out of nowhere, there is no special circumstances that cause it to occur, no path that you can avoid. I think about waking up in the morning to get ready for classes knowing that you have to go, wondering if today will be the same as before, wondering if there will be a reprieve. I think of the additional armor that kids have to take with them or build in front of them, not unlike the additional water and nutrition that I have to take to get through the long ride. I can understand how some kids, when faced with an additional torrential downpour just decide to quit.
By clicking on the donation page on the right, you can help me help GLSEN end the downpour of bullying that kids everywhere endure on a regular basis.
Monday, June 21, 2010
The Difference a Week Makes
Training for the Half Ironman, my second race of the season, continues. To boot, I'm in week 4 of Marathon training which will be my 5th and last race this year. It's the ultimate in physical multi-tasking. So the only way to do my long runs on the weekend and manage the bikes is to combine the two for a killer brick. So this weekend was a 90 minute bike followed by a 5 mile run. Essentially close to what I did poorly the week before with the Capitol tri. I finally fixed my bike shoes and inaugurated them on this set. Wow, what a difference that made. I felt good at the end which gave me hope that the weeks to come are going to sail by.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Capitol View Triathlon
It's generally good to have goals. As you know, last Sunday, I participated in the Olympic distance Capital View Triathlon. My goal was to beat my time from last year's Pleasant Prairie race.
For a moment it looked like the tri itself wouldn't get its feet wet. The DNR was reporting high levels of e.coli in the water making it too dangerous to swim. But luckily the state gave the green light and before I knew it, I was face first in the seaweed, paddling toward the first bouy. I'm not the most efficient swimmer, I'm pretty dizzy by the end. But as I emerged from the water, I was happy to note that I was right on track.
The CVT prides itself on being a tough course. The bike has alot of hills - big ones. And the downhills end in curves so you really can't enjoy them without braking. Unfortunately I still didn't have my bike shoes ready and so had to go it alone without them. I thought I was doing Ok but really petered out after the 10 mile marker. After I realized that my goal to beat last year's time was slowly running out, I just wanted to put my head down and make it to the run.
The run is my strength. Always has been. Just like the bike, the run is rife with hills and it's all on grass which was something I wasn't used to. I maintained my habit of walking through the water stations but had to walk up some of the hills. Overall, I blasted it out at 9 minute miles.
I didn't beat my time from last year. I came in at 3:11, about 20 minutes past my old time. It's easy to say that the two races were different. I would say vastly different. It's tough to compare one apple to a different orange. But in the end, it doesn't really matter. The thing about goals in races and in life is that they provide us with vision. They allow us to create a picture of ourselves that we want to be. And should we fall short of our goals, that picture still remains for the next time as we are ever changing, ever evolving, ever striving for something better for ourselves.
My next time will be the Half Ironman in Door County next month. I'll train harder and get those shoes fixed. And it will make the difference. If you want to make a difference in the lives of kids who are at risk for being bullied, donate to GLSEN by clicking on the button in the sidebar or go to https://my.glsen.org/leschke
For a moment it looked like the tri itself wouldn't get its feet wet. The DNR was reporting high levels of e.coli in the water making it too dangerous to swim. But luckily the state gave the green light and before I knew it, I was face first in the seaweed, paddling toward the first bouy. I'm not the most efficient swimmer, I'm pretty dizzy by the end. But as I emerged from the water, I was happy to note that I was right on track.
The CVT prides itself on being a tough course. The bike has alot of hills - big ones. And the downhills end in curves so you really can't enjoy them without braking. Unfortunately I still didn't have my bike shoes ready and so had to go it alone without them. I thought I was doing Ok but really petered out after the 10 mile marker. After I realized that my goal to beat last year's time was slowly running out, I just wanted to put my head down and make it to the run.
The run is my strength. Always has been. Just like the bike, the run is rife with hills and it's all on grass which was something I wasn't used to. I maintained my habit of walking through the water stations but had to walk up some of the hills. Overall, I blasted it out at 9 minute miles.
I didn't beat my time from last year. I came in at 3:11, about 20 minutes past my old time. It's easy to say that the two races were different. I would say vastly different. It's tough to compare one apple to a different orange. But in the end, it doesn't really matter. The thing about goals in races and in life is that they provide us with vision. They allow us to create a picture of ourselves that we want to be. And should we fall short of our goals, that picture still remains for the next time as we are ever changing, ever evolving, ever striving for something better for ourselves.
My next time will be the Half Ironman in Door County next month. I'll train harder and get those shoes fixed. And it will make the difference. If you want to make a difference in the lives of kids who are at risk for being bullied, donate to GLSEN by clicking on the button in the sidebar or go to https://my.glsen.org/leschke
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