I am grateful for friends who understand that interaction with tightly-knit social groups involving my past primary partner can still be awkward for me and that their respectfulness and genuine interest in my well-being makes it less so.
I am grateful for art that takes talent I do not possess, for the willingness of a passionate artist to explain the mechanics of creating her intricate mosaic art, and for her appreciation of the struggles of a fellow human traveler.
I am grateful for the perspective candle light provides.
Noun
gratitude (uncountable)
1. The state of being grateful.
Generally my experience with Daily Positives was incredibly productive and I got much more positive feedback than critical. The act of publishing them caused a few challenges I did not anticipate but probably should have expected. Unfortunately, I allowed their value to be somewhat compromised by trying to accommodate a few too many things. Having not done them for a few months, I have a much better understanding of their value to me and to others. While maintaining them privately would be valuable (and I highly encourage you to do so) the public acknowledgment provides two additional important benefits to me.
The first is by providing a model that encourages and supports others in self improvement. The suffering and life lessons I have experienced are much more tolerable for me knowing that sharing them may provide some sort of benefit for others. Secondly, the act of publicly acknowledging things I am grateful for creates an accountability for me personally.
With that, I’d like to formally introduce you to Gratitude. You can maybe think of Gratitude as Daily Positives 2.0. The intent here is to pick one thing that I am grateful for each day and to acknowledge it through a post focusing on how an experience impacts me and/or why specifically I appreciate the experience. This time around I’m trying to avoid bulleted lists, generic references to friends, and the diary-type feel. Generally, I’d like to keep the Gratitude entries brief, but if I’m feeling somewhat verbose, I may put a bit more context around things. We’ll see how this goes.
After an amazing amount of work over the last 8 years and especially in the last 6 months, the house is officially on the market. This is more painful than it had to be because of my change of heart in late November. When it became evident that my relationship was over, I’d crunched the numbers and decided that it didn’t make a whole lot of financial sense to keep the house. At the time I rationalized that it was more of an emotional attachment and like other emotional attachments, I’d get over it eventually. Late last Fall, after the glow of The Trifecta had reached its apex, the work on the Fucking Trim Project (FTP) became more meaningful for me and my attachment to the house deepened. I didn’t feel like a building about to be auctioned. It no longer felt like ours. It felt like mine.
I applied for a mortgage, paid for an appraisal, and continued to finish the trim with a different energy and focus. To her credit, Michele had been very supportive through out the process while being helpful and patient. I knew several factors would have to fall just right for it to work out. Sadly, a couple of them did not. Now I am left to give up yet another “attachment”. This isn’t as painful and difficult as the other recent losses, but it is still painful and difficult. It feels as though my soul is starting to wear thin.
I am extremely proud of what was accomplished with my “Wittewood” and am deeply satisfied with the results. It has provided me with much more than just a place to sleep over the last 8 years. It has been much more of a home than it has a house.
I recently had a friend ask for my thoughts on doing three IM events in a season. He is already registered for 2 and contemplating adding a third. I’d like to share my thoughts with others that may be considering something similar.
He writes:
Dean,
I hope you are well. Hey, I am thinking of doing 3 IM’s next year as a way to raise some money for a scholarship in memory of my Dad who passed in November. I am already signed up for IMCDA, IM Florida and may add in IM LOU…..So I know you did 3 last year…Any advice? I know you did 3 in 2010 so I just want to pick your brain since you are the MASTER at this.
I responded:
Good to hear from you! Yeah, I may be a grizzled veteran, dunno about Master. Really sorry about the delayed response, I’ve had a really rough couple of months (nothing to do with Ironman) and I just discovered I never got back to you.
I love your idea of incorporating a fundraiser into the epic experience. If your goal is finish three in a season and to raise money and awareness for your father’s cause, I am confident you will be successful and fulfilled. Having done a couple already, you realize that having time goals can be a crap shoot based on the limited control over most of the variables. Having time goals for three events is even dicier. In my humble estimation, the odds of achieving time goals go down exponentially with every event you add given the workload and the extended time frame (June – November). Not to say you shouldn’t shoot for something, just don’t get hung up on them or beat yourself up if you fall short.
You really have to be on top of things from a training perspective and listen to your body. Everything is magnified, in that a little nagging injury could become catastrophic if not resolved quickly and thoroughly. You have to error on the ultra-conservative side and constantly manage your expectations. I was fortunate in dealing with a couple of issues pre-IM CdA (low glucose & and Achilles flare up). Taking the long view really helped not push things too far or too fast. My general strategy was to go into #1 slightly under-trained, three week recovery and 6 good work weeks before #2. Not that I’d do it again, but I’d either do events on back to back weekends or allow at least 4 weeks in between. The 2 week window between #2 & 3 made for a rough event at IM WI. Ultra fatigued, whereas the weekend before (1 week after IM Lou) I felt invincible.
The other component is one I like to refer to as real-life. Not being pro or full time athletes, there are a lot of other things that have to be dealt with over a potentially long season. I lost my marriage and got hit by a truck during the first IM event of the season. While I doubt that you will experience that level of misfortune, you have to be prepared for life to unfold regardless of your goal or intentions. That may mean incredible disappointment. Some people may want to ignore or minimize the risk, some people may be deterred by the risk. Know that there is honor in even considering the feat and there is much to be gained in the attempt, regardless of the final outcome.
For me, there were many, many thoughts of doubt and futility throughout the experience. I was incredibly close to not even making the trip to Louisville for #2. Part of the lesson is perseverance. When I was coming in after finishing the first half of the marathon at IM WI before getting to special needs, I heard a woman cheering me on and telling the person next to her “that’s a finishing smile”. It wasn’t. It was a beaming smile of someone that fully understood what it took to get to that point in a third IM (and in life) and was incredibly grateful for the opportunity – finish line or not. That is why I was successful.
So ultimately my advice is that you have to relish the experience and the journey as much as the finish lines because the finish lines may never materialize or they may take much longer to get to than what you initially envision. My experience was completely different from what I imagined but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Happy to discuss any specific questions or thoughts you have. I promise my follow up will be more prompt!
thanks!
~dean
PS – IM Lou is still open!
Though I do not believe in an afterlife, for humans or dogs, I find some sort of perverse comfort in imagining Sitka reuniting with Tobie after a year and a half apart since Tobie’s passing. Indeed some of the last words I spoke to Sitka were that Tobie would be so excited to see him and I asked him to say hi to Tobie for me.
My little comforting vision goes something like this…
I’m driving Sitka home in the Outback and he has his head out the back passenger window, left eye squinting with his mouth open in the perfect husky grin. His tongue is out, soaking up the crisp Fall wind. Tobie is sitting by the back corner of the house surveying the side yard and intently watching the road for signs of our return or for a careless chipmunk to taunt him while he passes the time.
As we turn the corner coming fully into view, Tobie’s gentle panting freezes for a split second before he unleashes a quick deep bark of recognition and then races around the back of the house toward the front gate. Sitka howls with approval and pushes hard against the glass of a half-open window, resisting the attempt at containing his excitement.
As we pull up to the garage, Sitka deftly switches to the other side of the car, howling more enthusiastically, his tail in a tight husky curl. Tobie’s bark turns into his impatient yip, unbefitting of a dog his size and stature, as he stakes out the gate, anxious for it to be opened. They have no need or desire to curb their exuberance.
I stop the car and open the back door as quickly as I can. Sitka leaps out like a bullet and sprints for the gate. Their noses meet through the black chain link fence and a flurry of husky kisses is unleashed. I have to gently nudge Sitka to the side in order to open the gate. The double latches installed to keep crafty huskies inside now seem too cumbersome, each additional millisecond a needless delay.
Sitka finally bounds through and leaps onto Tobie, the two become a frenzy of sniffing, tumbling, and guttural doggie noises and yips of delight. Tobie pulls back and crouches on his front shoulders, as if to pounce. Sitka circles, ears ultra-alert, chest out, his body rigid before launching into his uncanny “Sitka Dance”; the powerfully prancing rapid fire of his front paws pound the grass in Morse code while he pushes and leans broadside into Tobie, never directly facing him. Like a bizarre canine river dancer, his legs move but his upper body stays taut and motionless.
After a few more minutes of exuberant re-acquaintance, they run off. Tobie comfortably lumbers slightly in front, head up and slightly cocked to the side, mouth open waiting to playfully grab his friend. Sitka bounds along side, periodically rearing up on his hind legs to get a better shot at nipping at Tobie’s neck in their playful frolic. Curly tails wagging, tongues flapping, and fur waving with the motion of their strides. They are forever young and outrageously happy, as only dogs can be.
After a fitful couple hours of sleep I stumbled downstairs Monday morning, bleary-eyed into the mudroom. Sitka’s dishes were there, a few kibbles of food and a half-full water dish remained. His collar and leash hung lifelessly by the back door. There was no Sitka.
I shot an vacant glance at the white board where we noted his feeding and meds. It simply read “Sun PM”. No mention of the one-way visit to the Emergency Vet Clinic the night before. From the back hall, I quizzically surveyed the kitchen, dining room, and living room, hoping it had all been a bad dream. Painfully, it was not. There was no Sitka.
I slipped my bare feet into my flip flops and opened the back door, staring forlornly down the ramp we’d installed for he and Tobie to more easily get in and out of the house. I remembered helping Sitka down the ramp the previous evening before heading to our friend’s house. The back yard was filled with hundreds Sitka paw prints and little yellow pee stains dotted the track I’d shoveled for him to more easily navigate through the snow. There was no Sitka.
A few steps out I knelt down, melting a paw print with my warm fingers, wanting to imagine a gentle lick from Sitka as he ambled over. I looked around helplessly. Everywhere there were signs of Sitka, but there was no Sitka.
The gravity was suffocating. Like Mom, and Tobie, and my marriage to Michele, there would never be another Sitka.
It is with tremendous sadness that I announce the passing of our beloved pup Sitka. Though his health has been steadily declining over the past several months and we knew this was inevitable, we didn’t expect the end to come quite so suddenly. Losing the ones you love never gets any easier. We have been incredibly fortunate to have been blessed with his love and companionship for more than 15 years. He has left a void in our hearts that no living thing will ever replace.
Me & my little buddy Sitka, the bestest husky pup ever, taking our last breath together.
During a visit to a friend’s house this evening to watch the Packer game, Sitka started acting like something was wrong. It became progressively clearer that it was something significant so I checked with a vet friend and with Michele and we decided he should go to the emergency vet clinic. They immediately started him on an IV for pain meds and hydration as he was clearly in shock and having a very hard time breathing. Michele met me there and I relayed what the emergency vet had explained to me and what our vet friend had said.
An x-ray confirmed the initial diagnosis of gastric dilatation-volvulus and significant surgery would be the only way to fix it. They had released the pressure in his stomach so he could breathe easier but he was not responding very well to the other treatment and was still in shock though resting somewhat comfortably. Michele and I discussed the options, risks, and consequences. There were a number of significant factors not in Sitka’s favor: he was 15 years and 4 months old; he may not stabilize enough for surgery; he may not survive surgery; and his recovery would be difficult and there’d be no guarantee of avoiding another occurrence. Michele and I knew that his health had been rapidly deteriorating lately and he likely only had a few weeks left even before this episode happened. It did not seem right to make him suffer needlessly so we made the excruciatingly difficult decision to euthanize.
Michele and I got to spend a few minutes with him privately beforehand and were there with him through the final process. Afterwards, we hugged and did what we could to console each other. We lost Tobie just a little over a year and a half ago and though this was more sudden, it was certainly no easier.
Sitka's x-ray: the two large dark blobs show his twisted stomach
