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.

 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