Dirty Inspirations

Charles Schneider

(shared at dad’s memorial service – for my family)

Its easy to highlight my father as an accomplished, successful man – as society latches onto the concept of success. He defending our country in WWII, then worked 2 jobs in his younger years to support a family of 7. All the while going to school at night so he could advance himself and his career. These were successes that were executed – almost as a reflex – because my dad was cut from a beautifully unique genre of work ethic, loyalty and responsibility.

His early efforts were designed over time to advance his career in the Fire Department in Santa Cruz, CA, which he did, to its highest level possible – as Chief. An admirable feat even for a self-made, self-motivated man. Once retired from the fire department, he continued to expand and mold his career again and again.

Just as his external successes can do, A man’s voice – which tells opinion, perspectives, and wisdom, – can shape and mold another aspect of how he is perceived by others. Yet, though my father had vastly different political and spiritual belief systems in place than most of his kids, he accepted us all within our differences. This acceptance allowed an opening for us to view his as well.

So, while he showed who he was through his work, and through these various inflections of his voice, he had an equally prominent impact through his actions. One of Dad’s loudest gifts will be how his actions affected who we’ve become, and subsequently who we are for others. His actions spoke of strength, steady and consistent support, confidence, acceptance, and unrelenting work ethic, – all framed and wrapped with a soft sweet edge of love and caring.

Yet his outward success – his voice – and even his actions, are never the enduring legacy of a man. A man’s deepest legacy is the part of his authentic character that forever resides in those left behind. My fathers richest offering is our knowing that all of his children and grandchildren will celebrate and reflect on his life – while feeling whole and complete in who he was for us – and who we are for each other.

In many ways our lives are molded by our perceptions of our experiences. But how we are in the world to others is also shaped by how we are loved.

When Dad hugged -  it was easy to hear the words – “I love you” before he stated them verbally. He was not in the habit of initiating regular chit chat or verbal connection, but everyone in our family – no matter where or how we would wander – were always solidly sure of Dads love.

He created his own unique space of love for each of us. And we all chose to step into it and remain in it – together—emulating that love and support for each other. He offered us that possibility – and – Each of us in our own amazing ways will continue to offer that endowment in our communities to those who are in need of its power.

I have been asked many times who my heros are – in particular in sport. In our society we often associate “hero” with being someone who has accomplished some monumental feat or has unusual talent or vigor beyond the norm for what they take on in life. Yet don’t regular hard working folks have just as much passion for their accomplishments as do the more privileged? Even when their road to life successes is more vigorous than those for whom it was handed.

As a young girl I was intrigued by professional athletes just like any kid, but I realized early on that true heroic feats were happening all around me—daily, by people going big in their lives and taking on their dreams. My father was one of those people. My father was my first hero.

He recognized my unharnessed enthusiasm and shared something with me, at a young age, that has remained a defining moment. He said, “Honey, it doesn’t matter to me what you decide to do with your life. But whatever you set your sights on, go after it. Work hard and be the best you can at whatever you choose.”

He taught me that no matter what we do in life we go after it with; dignity, integrity and hard work – then we can respect ourselves. We can then be our own hero and embody the possibility of self respect for all of those around us.

Dad quietly yet profoundly supported that process for each of us. And as a result we all covet unyielding support for each other and respect for ourselves. And I am honored to be able to say that I hold deep love for each of my siblings. Not because we are blood, but because of who they are for their families and communities. That is possible with the love and acceptance we received from our dad on all levels.

My fathers honor will continue to be celebrated. Not just in our minds and hearts, but through us. Those we encounter will be touched and moved by his presence in our lives. If this essence alone highlights who my father was, then his life has been generous and noble indeed.

Black China vegan chocolate love... oh yeah...

I was interviewed last week for a book that is being written about a big handful of athletes/artists/musicians/notable folks who are turning 50 this year. One of the obvious questions on the front end of what turned out to be a really fun interview was, “How are you feeling about turning 50?”

My response: “I’m psyched!”

I’m not psyched that our bodies change up when we reach 50 in a way that isn’t terribly useful for an athlete, nor that we have to consider reading glasses or that our memory tends to wane a bit now and then. My 50th year alone has been a doozy of crazy life challenges and its only June! (much more to share soon).

Buddhists believe that struggles placed in our life are our karma ripening from our past (or current) lives and if we embrace these times as perfect opportunities to learn and grow toward enlightenment…we’ll get there sooner. If this is in fact true then I suppose I should be thankful that so much has been tossed at me in a short period of time. Could I currently be on the fast track to nirvana ?

Since most folks seem to need to grandly highlight our 50th birthday as some sort of iconic milestone, I will appease these people by happily saying that I will indeed celebrate this one—deeply and wholly—while sleeping in the dirt in one of my favorite places on earth. Its been a phenomenal ride—a rich, full and satisfying 50 years, and as long as I keep breathing I don’t see that changing up too much.

I’ve been asked if Expedition Bhutan was created as a sort of 50th birthday present to myself. The answer is no. Its just an extension of my already adventurous life choices with a cultural flavor to it (and something that has been in the works for a few years). I believe that if you look back and can smile at what you see, and look forward to continuously create within your true passions—then you’ve chosen well. You then turn 50 and you’re psyched. So what has me really psyched are the people who have crossed my path, the places I’ve seen, the experiences—and the ones that are yet to be created. As David Kelly would say, its all about doing, “cool things in cool places with cool people.” Amen.

That ‘coolness’ can include an engaged conversation with a close friend while sipping wine, to a passing shared support with a stranger I’ll never see again while running across a desert, to finally succumbing to the beautiful struggle of losing a loved one. Being present to the opportunities in each can help us center our focus on our rich life being right in front of us—always. I definitely haven’t always done this well, but my continued efforts do allow me to celebrate ALL that has come before while being fueled to keep it all going strong and inspire others to do the same.

In that light I want to acknowledge YOU on my 50th birthday. All of you, for participating in 50 years of amazing. I would not be looking back in celebration, while looking forward yearning more—without being inspired by you.

Thank you!

xoxo

Terri

Mindfulness is being attentive to and aware of the present moment. As westerners we may hear the word ‘mindfulness’ and conjure up images of candles or incense burning by chanting monks in maroon robes. Though mindfulness is the basis for the teaching of meditation in Buddhism it is not solely a religious concept but rather a means to a focused, aware and powerful mind in everything we do. Even the most learned Buddhist teacher will tell you that one need not study the dharma to realize the immense value gained from regular mindfulness practice.

Research has shown that training mindfulness can offer a variety of outcomes toward well being on many levels. In fact many practitioners of western psychology use mindfulness to aid in alleviating a variety of mental and physical disorders. And since concentration, laser focus and a clear mind are key components to peak athletic performances, sport psychologists regularly use a variety of methods to generate attentive focus for athletes—they just traditionally call it something besides mindfulness.

With consistent mindful training athletes can improve focus, heighten mental clarity and therefore improve efficiency and safety when we train and race. Mindfulness training helps us negotiate stress under pressure while increasing our ability to adapt to change—we can learn to respond rather than react. In all this we strengthen our confidence while generating a quiet, powerful mind.

Any elite endurance athlete will tell you that the ultimate satisfaction in their sport comes during that rare race or training session when the world drops away around them and the mental effort exude is nil. Some happen upon these experiences because they are aware enough, and they’ve put in just enough hours training or have spent just enough money on races that the odds are they’ll hit the jackpot at some point. But consistent satisfying experiences will come more easily if we train our minds to be present and focused. If we want to run faster we have to train our speed. If we want to run faster consistently while truly savoring each effort and experience—we have to train our mind.

My experiences as an athlete in this process have been memorable and life changing and as a coach and consultant I want you to experience them too! I

Meditation and yoga pavilion at Land of Medicine Buddha, Soquel, CA

consult with athletes regularly on their mental training processes and am over-the-top excited to be offering Mindful Running: Trail Running, Meditation and Yoga Retreat this September. Launch your running (and your mind!) with a unique retreat experience in the ultimate peaceful setting.

I’ll be chatting more on this topic on my blog so stay tuned. I’d love to hear about your experiences with mindful training, meditation or other techniques that have enhanced your racing experiences. Do share!

Back at you,

Terri

Each night after a day of running in the woods, romping on the beach, several  excursions in the car or sitting at my feet under my desk, my dog Gryphon would settle onto his blanket next to my bed. As I read, he’d back in for one last pat or scratch then turn a couple of half circles before settling in for some shut eye. Some quiet time would pass before I’d sing him the silly nonsense song I made up a bunch of years back. Toward the end of my tune I’d hear him let out a long, deep soulful sigh just before he wandered off to sleep. It was the kind of sigh that spoke of love and contentment.

The benchmark I sought to keep Gryphon happily invested in his end of day sigh was something like this: If I were a dog I’d want me to be my owner. And as a human I would forever choose Gryphon to be my dog. For almost 14 years I worked to achieve success on both counts.

Besides the wet sandy runs on the beach in the early morning and lots of road trips and camping trips, our best days were the endless miles trotting on trails in the woods. With Gryphon at my left hip we’d move for hours upon hours with the sounds of our breathing and footfall mixed in with the forest noises. I never used a leash as Gryphon wasn’t the kind of dog that felt inclined to run aimlessly in circles or wander off course while I kept a linear trajectory. He was content to settle in by my side so we could experience the effort together. Dogs surpass human running partners in various ways because they don’t gossip, show fear, complain about their lives or whine. And they are always ecstatic to try a new route, stay out for an extra hour or change up speed as desired. I had run much on trails before he came into my life but Gryphon is the one who taught me to connect to the forest as an animal does; joyfully alert and in the moment, aware and at attention to the intricacies of wooded life. He showed me that we can move through and be a thriving living part of the forest at the same time. He taught me the secrets to thinking like an animal.

Gryphon didn’t like big oppressive hugs but he liked to be next to. He liked to sidle. He just wanted to be sure of me. Australian Shepards are shadow dogs. You go to the bathroom they go with you. You cook dinner, they sit in the kitchen and watch your every move. You head upstairs to put on your running clothes and you become acutely aware of a traipsing body at your feet. Once you get used to the incessant mass you notice a sure rhythm in their presence and that a part of your mundane day to day ritual is spiced up with a happy furry twist. Gryphon had enormous roaming freedom in our relationship. He was rarely on a leash and he enjoyed cruising the neighborhood at will. I allowed this because I knew that ultimately he didn’t want to be anywhere else but home.

You see, an Aussie doesn’t just love to live with you they get under your skin. Like a permanent tattoo the dog leaves a bold imprint without you even being aware of it. They don’t speak but they communicate easily if you are open and not too caught up in your own little busy universe. The dog is the only domesticated being that has pure unconditional love. Cats don’t. Almost all humans don’t (though we like to think we do). Dogs do. If you leave to go to the store and return 10 minutes later, the dog celebrates your arrival with full fanfare. They help us realize that we too can feel constant heightened joy. Gryphon was sweet, silently tough, goofy, highly adaptable, intelligent, and loving. He was the kind of dog who would opt for affection over food. It pleased me to recognize that many in my community knew me not for me, but because they recognized and loved the Gryphon by my side.

If you desire to be the one that calls the shots in the human/dog relationship, then you have to not only teach your dog the language necessary to relate to you on this level, but you have to be consistent in your actions. Dogs are pack animals and they thrive in understanding how systems work within the pack. If you offer them that information and then always follow through in playing out your system, then all will be content. I got this early on as did Gryphon. He got it to the degree that much of our interactions could be non verbal. He got it because he was smart and aware. And he got it because more than anything he was intent on our having an easy loving relationship. That was his sole motive. So I could get my point across by making a sound with a particular inflection and he understood what I needed and abided. In the solidity of this dynamic he also got early on that he could trust me with the big stuff.

Aussies devote their time to keeping an eye on you and they take their job very seriously. They can be running or playing or sniffing or napping and each activity will be intermittently interrupted to check in—with eye contact—on your ware about. To the Aussie, you are home base and their responsibility at once. Gryphon took on his job of gathering me up admirably, but due to several situations in which I got his young butt out of precarious pickles, he also handed over a large part of our trusting relationship to me. Gryphon counted on me having his back. And as he aged he allowed more and more that I be the protector. Each day I was deeply moved and honored that this brave creature saw me as being worthy of such important care. Gryphon caused me to desire to be a better human. Lucky me.

For the last several months Gryphon’s nightly sigh was replaced with agitated breathing, panting or incessant restless shuffling as he tried to make sense of his discomfort and stressed lungs. The soulful sigh seemed to elude him and our little end-of-day song and cuddle brought no comfort. He took several turns for the worse but then would fight his way back to basic functioning. He fought to keep his important job of looking out for me, while getting the reality that I was becoming the caretaker. When I’d lie next to him and tell him that I was ok and he needed to move on if that was best, he’d turn his head away not wanting to hear. Despite his massively stressed state he was still worried about—me.

In Gryphons final down turn his rear legs shut down and he stopped eating. It was time. I had always promised myself that the decision to end his life would remain about what was best for him—not me. Reluctantly I stuck to that vow and made the call.

The vet administers anesthesia to send the dog to sleep before putting him down. So as Gryphon lay on his favorite blanket in his favorite spot next to the fireplace and surrounded by love, he fell asleep. And for the first time in months he fully relaxed while letting out that coveted deep soulful sigh as I dropped tears on his soft fur and sang parts of our silly little song in his ear. It was beautiful. Yet I’m certain I’ve never felt this depth of gut wrenching sadness.

But an easy loving relationship that is so purely good and true is to be celebrated as a living memory. The permanent tattoo. So I’ve been taking his toys into Nisene Marks and placing them in all of our favorite spots. I’ll spread his ashes at the beach and in the woods. And as I pass through on a long solo trot I’ll remember him as the teacher, tucked in by my left side. And we’ll always and forever, be sure of each other.

Looking back is always about learning. Though what has come before isn’t who we are, it is what happened to us, and in that there is so much yummy stuff to learn!

So while creating my future for 2011 I looked back to reflect, and thought I’d share my findings. As for what’s up for ’11 – stay tuned – lots of really exciting stuff…

10 Things I (re)Learned in 2010:

• If we’ve really lived as we push 50 years, the body is finicky and more vulnerable, the mind is tougher, and the intuition is underrated. Listen.

• You play a small game in life and your misconceptions of yourself will remain nurtured. Go big every day and you’ll just start to get a glimpse of who you really are. Why not go big?

• Just like our body, our belief in self must be challenged again and again in order to stand solid in its strength. Thank your challengers. They are your best teachers.

• Complacency, indifference, worry, blame and steady self doubt, offer death while breathing. Do you choose life?

• A quiet mind is an extraordinary launching point.

• If we can truly grasp that Mother Nature is so much more spectacular and inspiring than we are, we might stop pissing her off so much.

• I have no interest in nice. What really shakes things up in a powerful manner are; bright curiosity, intelligence, a ton of hard work and respectful forthrightness.

• We never arrive at critically important, impeccable communication. But we are impeccable if never stop working on it.

• Compassion omnipotently precludes a stuck ego.

• My favorite nourishment is still a huge fire-in-the-belly challenge with the perfectly unknown ending for dessert.

I’d love to hear your reflections on 2010! Do share.

[Revisiting this yummy topic once again. This exerpt was taken from my book, Triathlon Revolution: Training, Technique and Inspiration and dedicated this week to SCTA Nu2Tri. Thanks for your inspiration!]

I have been asked many times who my heroes are in sport. In our society we often associate “hero” as being someone who has accomplished some monumental feat or has unusual talent or vigor beyond the norm for what they take on in life. Yet regular folks and middle-of-the-pack athletes have just as much emotionally riding on their accomplishments as do the inherently talented. Their road to success can often be even more vigorous than those for which it comes a bit easier.

The significance of getting a personal record in your 5K or completing your first triathlon is as much of a champion move in your world as it is for Tiger Woods to bring in another million. We all find value and satisfaction in our accomplishments. How and why we get there may just look a bit different.

As a young girl I was intrigued with professional athletes, just like any kid, but I realized that true heroic feats were happening all around me—daily, by people struggling to do life while going after their dreams. My father worked two jobs to support a family of seven while going to school to get his degree so he could advance in his career. He taught me that no matter what we choose in life, we go after with dignity and hard work and then we can respect ourselves. We can be our own hero.

The world is a tough place, and if you throw voluntary physical duress into your daily repertoire in order to offer your kids a stronger vision of humanity, I’d say that is a heroic decision. As I matured as an athlete, this picture of the everyman-hero became clearer.

In 1993, I coached a group of fifteen women who were interested in competing in the Danskin Women’s Triathlon in San Jose, California. These women became my first sports heroes. Some of them didn’t know how to swim. Others borrowed bikes for the occasion. A few had never run. All were moms with jobs and full lives.

In eight weeks, all fifteen crossed the finish line via life-altering experiences. For some, it was the first time they had given themselves a gift worth coveting– self-confidence. I admired them for stepping into the unknown in their lives to examine themselves. What they found was more woman than they imagined.

This concept that had eluded them prior seemed to come to me naturally—you want something, go after it. In many ways it felt easy, and I drew strength from making these choices regularly. But I saw the magnitude of their initial fear and struggle and their choice to follow through with their goal. That was heroic. If that vision of “hero” rings true in your world, then you’ll see that the sport of triathlon is full of them. If you don’t believe me, look in the mirror.

Going After Your Hero

In the stress of work, family, and training, you can create an athletic life that is rewarding and fulfilling, while creating a rich lifestyle that exceeds anything you have known prior. Why live vicariously through someone else you consider a hero when you can create a life in your own mirror that is fabulous to view?

Triathlon has taught me that the heroes in life are everyday folks who fall on their faces time and again, pick themselves up, dust themselves off, learn from their falls, revel at the opportunities of the difficult lessons and heed them. Your hero should be yourself.

Admire the decisions you make in your own reality. Your success touches your life and the lives of your family and friends directly. That’s important stuff. Cross that finish line. Dream large.

David

 Mid October I jumped in for a couple days of impromptu cycling with a good friend who was riding the length of the California coast. After leaving my car at the Salinas Amtrak station I met up with Greg and we took off from Monterey toward Big Sur and beyond. This was an ideal means to catch up with a dear friend and to clear my head a bit—on one of the most spectacular stretches of coastline. I had gotten news a couple weeks prior that friend, ex-lover and fellow-passionate-trail-runner, David Terry, had committed suicide in his home in Portland, OR. Though a bit of time had passed, the finality weighed heavy and I craved a couple full days of endurance-time to gain perspective.

 You see, David isn’t the only friend who has chosen to take his life. I know several—endurance athletes, talented and zealous about their sport while vigorously seeking to gain a stronger foothold on life. Some had addiction or depression issues and some struggled to find a comfortable corner in their minds for the lives they had created. But the result held common with each was that we, the-left-behind-folks, generally avoid or feel uncomfortable talking about their means of death. Why?

 Does our society feel that those who commit suicide are untouchables, shameful, selfish, or sinners? Is their choice somehow a reflection on us? Does our discussion of their choice to end their lives dampen our positive memories of them or interfere with our own current life plans? What rides my conscious are never these trite questions, but rather the possibility that open communication about suicide before the fact might help us gain perspective on this choice and possibly prevent future tragic loss of life. The absence of wonderfully intense and talented David has shrouded my thoughts daily, but what weighed thick and heavy initially is that very few that I was aware of in the ultrarunning world, knew about or discussed, his chosen means of death. It’s as if it was a sordid secret.

 Shawn

 Shawn was a client and someone I mentored through much in her life. During her memorial service eulogy I talked of her struggles with addiction and the courage she exude time and again working to face off her demons. She went through the motions in rehab programs, NA or AA meetings, or with her therapist, but she couldn’t admit to herself in total that she was an addict. She couldn’t come clean to herself. She ultimately chose to end her life.

 Shawn talked to me about her thoughts of suicide and that she had been surfing the web researching a means—just like you or I would do a search to find technical information on a new kayak paddle, or a good deal on a hotel room. Our talks about suicide bought her some time as they always seemed to ward off, sometimes for months, her ultimate decision. It’s when she stopped talking about it and asking for help around it that she chose to stop living.

 All who shared at Shawn’s memorial spoke of her wit, humor, passion and caring for others while carefully avoiding acknowledging her mode of passing. In addition to elaborating on Shawn’s virtues—I chose to openly discuss her choice to commit suicide. I did it because I knew that if even one person at that service could gain perspective by my addressing this tight issue, then Shawn would have wanted me to. And I did it because I believe that not talking about it can be more destructive for those of us who still have daily choices to make about living.

 Let’s talk

 The ‘survivors’ of friends who kill themselves naturally expend energy trying to figure out what their role may have been in this persons demise. Was it something we didn’t do? Could we have helped in any way? I do think there can be value for us in finding some answers if, we are open and ready to hear them. I knew that Shawn fought hard and had exhausted her options for a functional life unless she could make the decision to square off and be honest with herself about her “secrets”. I couldn’t make that decision for her. And I knew that the many discussions we had about suicide, though ultimately futile on my part, helped me gain an honest perspective of her pain and who she was at that time in her life. Those talks are what helped me in due course to accept her passing.

 About six weeks before David’s death I was in Portland for a slide show and book signing. We had dinner and talked about sports injuries we both struggled with, caught up on family news and upcoming adventure plans. But he held back uncharacteristically from engaging in his usual effervescent joy of conversation. Like me, David was someone who thrived on connecting in substantive conversation. So much so that we once ran out of gas driving across a remote part of Nevada the day after we had both run Wasatch 100 in Utah. We were ensconced in an intense conversation, and engaging was more important to him than monitoring the gas gauge—even if that meant he had to hobble for 6 miles on wrecked legs to the nearest gas station.

 At dinner the end of July there seemed an anvil of worry on David’s face and in our extended goodbye hug. Since then I’ve often wondered if maybe things would be different if I would have asked him then, the question that he and I had previously perused in discussions—“Have you ever thought about suicide?” I’ve pondered that if we all were able to shirk the taboo and talk about this topic that maybe David, or maybe someone you know, would still be with us.

 I know that some of you reading this will feel as though I’ve stepped over a social line in discussing David’s death in this way—especially around the holidays. I respect your view but I’m much more driven by the possibility that honest words of caring may prevent you or someone you care for from taking their life prematurely. We can shut down all suicide websites and ban discussion from our communities but the thoughts and subsequent execution will always remain a part of our world. Being in denial about suicide’s existence in human thought doesn’t make it go away and may stoke the fire for those unable to gain healthy perspective on their own.

 I respect an individual’s decision to live—or not. We drive the bus in our choices, but when the road becomes unmanageable and life gets a bit too tough for too long then perhaps what we really need is to feel like we can pull over to the side of the road and get a mediated perspective from someone we trust—without being chastised. Maybe if we all can feel comfortable talking about the struggle freely while broaching the topic of suicide with people we trust, we could create a platform on which to touch those with situational or long term emotional needs.

 If you suspect some one you care for is struggling, reach out. If you are struggling, reach out to someone you trust or a professional. It is human to work through immense challenges in our lives and it is so very human to help each other work through these tough times. Reach out. Talk about it. And in that, your holiday just might look a tad bit brighter.

Wishing you warmth and perspective this holiday week and in the coming year.

Terri