Wow, I'd say it's about time I wrote something, and I can't say not writing is a reflection of nothing going on. In fact, it is probably more accurate to say that not writing is a reflection of a ton of things going on. For the sake of brevity, let's do bullet points of some major events over the last two months:
* Directed a bike tour of Florida - 400 miles in 4 days for traffic safety.
* Appointed to the Board of Directors for Florida NAMI.
* Joined development team for NAMI Bikes 2014.
* Joined and left a RAAM bike racing team.
* Began development of a 24 bike ride to promote anti-bullying.
* Completed the a training program mental illness awareness and suicide prevention for police.
* Began work on an enhanced experience spinning program for the police department.
* A bunch of other stuff.
Now, the point of this particular post isn't to line up the things that I have been doing, but to point out the mistakes I have been making in getting involved in too many things. That is not to say that any of these things are not worthy, important to me, or should be tossed aside. However, if you know anything about depression, you know that it is important to regulate stress and practice self-care. Well, each and every one of these things, added to work and personal responsibilities can ramp up stress to rather intensive levels, and this has the effect of sprinkling triggers throughout your days and weeks that can kick in depressive episodes at the most unpredictable times.
So, to get straight to the point, these last too months have been a combination of being extremely busy, coupled with the task to curtailing certain obligations that have less of a return on investment in time and effort. That is to say, dialing back the intensity a bit. What's more, I have been making more of an effort to do one of my primary management activities -- cycling. Not directing a cycling team, or developing a race or event, but just riding my bike for exercise, fitness, and enjoyment. It seems I allowed myself to become so immersed in cycling that my actual time on the bike was becoming limited more and more. With less of the positive impact of riding in my life, things were getting a bit harder day by day.
This is were my experience in dealing with my depression comes into play and is put to good use. Managing depression means understanding the disease and what has positive and negative effects on it. It means taking control of the events around you, being willing to say, "No", and putting the brakes on when necessary. I guess you can say depression is like driving a car. You can't run the engine at 9000 RPM, and you can't speed out of control, because you will come to a grinding halt. You have to take control of the steering wheel and guide it when and where you can. And it means you can never, ever take your eyes off the road.
Inattention with depression, like a car, means you may end up in a tree. So, I've been very busy, but time to grab the wheel and drive, not just hang on for dear life.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Do SOMETHING about the mentally ill !!!
One of the things that I have found very interesting in the news lately and in the current media discourse, is the attention to mental illness. Of course, much of this is coming out of the gun debate, and while this particular blog is not about that, the references to the mentally ill have generally been a concern to me.
The mentally ill.
What comes to your mind immediately when you read that? Be honest. Crazy guy with a gun? A woman with wild hair in a straight-jacket screaming in a rubber room? A homeless man shuffling along mumbling to himself?
Something needs to be done about them!
Let's face it, if you don't think about people with mental illnesses this way, a lot of people do. The fact is that the majority of the time -- the great majority of the time, mental illness is not like this at all. For every portrayal of someone who is in an extremely animated psychotic state, there are many more who suffer in silence, or even worse, know there there is something wrong, but are too afraid to see a doctor, or simply don't understand what is going on. For the record, when referring to mental illness, one must understand that mental illness has the same breadth of severity as other forms of illness. That is to say, a cold is a virus, and so is the Black Plague, but they are two vastly different things. A person with schizophrenia who has learned to cope with its symptoms is mentally ill, but is still functioning and succeeding in life. In a physical comparison, a person with diabetes who deals with his or her disease effectively, does the same. A person with diabetes who ignores the symptoms will likely die from the affliction. In other words, when the media or policy makers decide that something "needs to be done" about, or as they term it "help" the mentally ill, it is very important to examine if they are making decisions based upon knowledge or ignorance. Policies and attitudes need to be educated and thoughtful, and definitely not extremist in thought. Would we support amputating someone's leg because they broke a toe? No way. Should someone with a diagnosed mental illness be denied certain rights or jobs or credit because he deals with a particular illness? The answer to that is "no" as well.
Look, I am very outspoken about having depression. The reason I am outspoken isn't to trumpet it to the world. Rather, it is to show others who have, or think they might have a mental disorder to know that they can survive and thrive in the workplace. This includes a work environment that includes significant stress and responsibility. My very existence and success in law enforcement serves as an example that while having a diagnosis is a burden, with some smarts and some attention to self-care, an illness can often be controlled and pushed back to a manageable state. Let me be clear. There is not a day that goes by that I am not reminded that I have depression, but the fact that every single day I knock it down and push on shows others that if I can do it, so can they.
So remember when you hear debates, or see portrayals about people that have mental illness, listen carefully and discern what is really being said. What you will find very often is the speaker, whether it is a journalist, a politician, a lobbyist, or an activist, really has no clue about what mental illness really is. In fact, let's take this to the next level. You never hear about "what to do" with people who have other illnesses. If we are saying that mental illness is in fact an illness, probably at its root based on some physical brain abnormality on some level, why don't we just call it an illness, like any other?
So when policy makers talk about the mentally ill, delete the "mentally" part. How do they sound now?
The conversation should never be based on what to do about, it should be based on what to do for.
And finally, on a somewhat unrelated side note, some time ago, a friend of mine who has schizophrenia and is a cyclist, was told by a bike club that he couldn't ride with them. Apparently he made them feel uncomfortable. They decided to do something about him by rejecting him. Now this friend, I might add, in addition to having schizophrenia, is also smart, resourceful, a dad, and driven to help others who suffer. So, he made his own bike team, and entered races, and consistently places and wins. He just finished a double-century. (That's 200 miles in a single ride, folks) He is the example not to count someone with a mental illness out. They have learned to fight and win battles every day, and they more often than not become experts at meeting life's challenges face to face - and conquering them.
Here is his blog - check it out!
http://www.bringchange2mind.org/blog/entry/blog-walking-and-cycling-to-end-stigma-by-eric-ward
The mentally ill.
What comes to your mind immediately when you read that? Be honest. Crazy guy with a gun? A woman with wild hair in a straight-jacket screaming in a rubber room? A homeless man shuffling along mumbling to himself?
Something needs to be done about them!
Let's face it, if you don't think about people with mental illnesses this way, a lot of people do. The fact is that the majority of the time -- the great majority of the time, mental illness is not like this at all. For every portrayal of someone who is in an extremely animated psychotic state, there are many more who suffer in silence, or even worse, know there there is something wrong, but are too afraid to see a doctor, or simply don't understand what is going on. For the record, when referring to mental illness, one must understand that mental illness has the same breadth of severity as other forms of illness. That is to say, a cold is a virus, and so is the Black Plague, but they are two vastly different things. A person with schizophrenia who has learned to cope with its symptoms is mentally ill, but is still functioning and succeeding in life. In a physical comparison, a person with diabetes who deals with his or her disease effectively, does the same. A person with diabetes who ignores the symptoms will likely die from the affliction. In other words, when the media or policy makers decide that something "needs to be done" about, or as they term it "help" the mentally ill, it is very important to examine if they are making decisions based upon knowledge or ignorance. Policies and attitudes need to be educated and thoughtful, and definitely not extremist in thought. Would we support amputating someone's leg because they broke a toe? No way. Should someone with a diagnosed mental illness be denied certain rights or jobs or credit because he deals with a particular illness? The answer to that is "no" as well.
Look, I am very outspoken about having depression. The reason I am outspoken isn't to trumpet it to the world. Rather, it is to show others who have, or think they might have a mental disorder to know that they can survive and thrive in the workplace. This includes a work environment that includes significant stress and responsibility. My very existence and success in law enforcement serves as an example that while having a diagnosis is a burden, with some smarts and some attention to self-care, an illness can often be controlled and pushed back to a manageable state. Let me be clear. There is not a day that goes by that I am not reminded that I have depression, but the fact that every single day I knock it down and push on shows others that if I can do it, so can they.
So remember when you hear debates, or see portrayals about people that have mental illness, listen carefully and discern what is really being said. What you will find very often is the speaker, whether it is a journalist, a politician, a lobbyist, or an activist, really has no clue about what mental illness really is. In fact, let's take this to the next level. You never hear about "what to do" with people who have other illnesses. If we are saying that mental illness is in fact an illness, probably at its root based on some physical brain abnormality on some level, why don't we just call it an illness, like any other?
So when policy makers talk about the mentally ill, delete the "mentally" part. How do they sound now?
The conversation should never be based on what to do about, it should be based on what to do for.
And finally, on a somewhat unrelated side note, some time ago, a friend of mine who has schizophrenia and is a cyclist, was told by a bike club that he couldn't ride with them. Apparently he made them feel uncomfortable. They decided to do something about him by rejecting him. Now this friend, I might add, in addition to having schizophrenia, is also smart, resourceful, a dad, and driven to help others who suffer. So, he made his own bike team, and entered races, and consistently places and wins. He just finished a double-century. (That's 200 miles in a single ride, folks) He is the example not to count someone with a mental illness out. They have learned to fight and win battles every day, and they more often than not become experts at meeting life's challenges face to face - and conquering them.
Here is his blog - check it out!
http://www.bringchange2mind.org/blog/entry/blog-walking-and-cycling-to-end-stigma-by-eric-ward
Monday, March 4, 2013
Be Nice to Your Crew
This last summer I had the privilege to serve as crew chief for Team Kinema (pronounced Kin-eh-ma) at the Race Across America (RAAM). To those of you who may not know or be familiar with it, RAAM is undeniably the toughest, most grueling bike race in the world. It is 3000 miles, non-stop, from Oceanside, California to Annapolis, Maryland. Teams and solo riders take on this incredible challenge and if fortune is upon them, they complete the race between 6 and 12 days. Sleep is a foreign concept during the race, and the stress upon individuals physically, and even more-so, mentally, is incredible. I'm not kidding that RAAM can cause otherwise sane and sound people to be driven into psychosis and hallucinations. If you ever wanted to experience a psychotic break, race RAAM as a rider or crew member. I personally enjoyed 60 hours of no sleep. A fellow crew member was sure that she was being stalked by an otter when she snuck off away from the car to pee. The issue was that this otter apparently lived in the Arizona desert. RAAM has been described as something more than a race and this fact is true. It is beyond a race. It is a descent into the ultimate in human endurance and it is no joke. RAAM has collected its toll in broken bodies and broken minds.
Racers have died in RAAM.
Solo racers and teams launch on different days, as teams invariably overtake soloists a few days into the race, and the organizers prefer everyone finish within a reasonable spread of one another. So, our team headed down to the start line to watch the solo riders begin their race. Before each rider would leave, they were interviewed with a mic on a loudspeaker by the ride director, so they could say a few words to the crowd. I remember one racer in particular who was asked by the director, "Do you have any advice for the other racers and teams during the race?" The answer was short, concise, but incredibly meaningful. Five words. "Be nice to your crew".
This may at first sound simple and trite, but consider a solo racer a couple years earlier who had recruited his family members as crew. About 500 miles into the race and deep in the boiling desert, he was coming apart. The story is that he continually berated the crew and let out an endless assault of stinging criticism. Bear in mind that crew is also mentally and physically exhausted, often going sleepless, without food, without showers, and more, and they are tasked with encouraging the racer. At some point, as the follow vehicle crawled along behind the racer, the driver got too close and tapped the rear wheel of the rider. The rider hit the deck, but luckily was unharmed, and he had enough energy to once again verbally blast the crew. This time his chastising backfired. Big time. The crew had had enough, and this time, they simply turned the support vehicle around, and headed west, abandoning their rider in the desert. His race ended right there, and suddenly he learned a hard lesson that he could not continue his journey alone.
Now, I have to say, as a crew member, that you must NEVER abandon a rider. The racer in this case, although he was a complete jerk, was put into a very dangerous situation. The desert can get to 120*F, and it wouldn't take long to get into real, life-threatening trouble. As it turned out, he was okay, and got home, albeit probably not a very happy home.
"Be nice to your crew." It suddenly speaks volumes.
In the mental health arena, you may be a "racer" or "crew". As a racer, you are the person with the affliction. You are the person driving forward against a challenge and internal enemy that is relentlessly striving to put you out of the race and crush you. You find ways to manage your energy and will, and drive on with the goal to achieve ultimate victory. The crew are the racer's family and friends. Those that provide support, encouragement, guidance, refreshment, and a push when needed.
My blog tonight isn't an admonition for someone with a mental illness to be nice to their support system (although it's not a bad idea). Rather it's intended to highlight just how important the "crew" is, and to prompt those of you who are crew to someone, to know how critically important you are. Just as in RAAM your racer will not make it without you. Unlike RAAM, you may find yourself to be support crew completely not of your choice. Your loved one may have been affected by a mental illness after several years of marriage, or perhaps you saw your brother, sister, or best friend slowly feel the advance of the disease. Maybe your war-fighter has returned with images in his or her mind that just will not fade. Whatever the case, welcome to the toughest race in the world. Like RAAM, this is for real. People can die.
If you are somebody's crew member, the number one training task for you is to learn about your loved one's disease. Immerse yourself in literature, blogs, advice columns, and books about it. Why? Because when your loved one is coming apart, turning inward, lashing out, or suffering, the success of the entire race falls on you. In RAAM, crew chiefs were instructed that as the race wore on, they would be more and more responsible for making simple decisions for exhausted racers who would lose huge chunks of cognitive ability. These simple decisions, and the inevitable complex ones can only be made based upon a foundation of knowledge. When you understand the illness, you understand what can and should be done to help get your racer to this finish line as a victor, and not a victim.
And just to put a stamp on it, here is a really good music video about support in hard, lonely times...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjGSXGCi4Fc
Ride on. You can do this.
Racers have died in RAAM.
Solo racers and teams launch on different days, as teams invariably overtake soloists a few days into the race, and the organizers prefer everyone finish within a reasonable spread of one another. So, our team headed down to the start line to watch the solo riders begin their race. Before each rider would leave, they were interviewed with a mic on a loudspeaker by the ride director, so they could say a few words to the crowd. I remember one racer in particular who was asked by the director, "Do you have any advice for the other racers and teams during the race?" The answer was short, concise, but incredibly meaningful. Five words. "Be nice to your crew".
This may at first sound simple and trite, but consider a solo racer a couple years earlier who had recruited his family members as crew. About 500 miles into the race and deep in the boiling desert, he was coming apart. The story is that he continually berated the crew and let out an endless assault of stinging criticism. Bear in mind that crew is also mentally and physically exhausted, often going sleepless, without food, without showers, and more, and they are tasked with encouraging the racer. At some point, as the follow vehicle crawled along behind the racer, the driver got too close and tapped the rear wheel of the rider. The rider hit the deck, but luckily was unharmed, and he had enough energy to once again verbally blast the crew. This time his chastising backfired. Big time. The crew had had enough, and this time, they simply turned the support vehicle around, and headed west, abandoning their rider in the desert. His race ended right there, and suddenly he learned a hard lesson that he could not continue his journey alone.
Now, I have to say, as a crew member, that you must NEVER abandon a rider. The racer in this case, although he was a complete jerk, was put into a very dangerous situation. The desert can get to 120*F, and it wouldn't take long to get into real, life-threatening trouble. As it turned out, he was okay, and got home, albeit probably not a very happy home.
"Be nice to your crew." It suddenly speaks volumes.
In the mental health arena, you may be a "racer" or "crew". As a racer, you are the person with the affliction. You are the person driving forward against a challenge and internal enemy that is relentlessly striving to put you out of the race and crush you. You find ways to manage your energy and will, and drive on with the goal to achieve ultimate victory. The crew are the racer's family and friends. Those that provide support, encouragement, guidance, refreshment, and a push when needed.
My blog tonight isn't an admonition for someone with a mental illness to be nice to their support system (although it's not a bad idea). Rather it's intended to highlight just how important the "crew" is, and to prompt those of you who are crew to someone, to know how critically important you are. Just as in RAAM your racer will not make it without you. Unlike RAAM, you may find yourself to be support crew completely not of your choice. Your loved one may have been affected by a mental illness after several years of marriage, or perhaps you saw your brother, sister, or best friend slowly feel the advance of the disease. Maybe your war-fighter has returned with images in his or her mind that just will not fade. Whatever the case, welcome to the toughest race in the world. Like RAAM, this is for real. People can die.
If you are somebody's crew member, the number one training task for you is to learn about your loved one's disease. Immerse yourself in literature, blogs, advice columns, and books about it. Why? Because when your loved one is coming apart, turning inward, lashing out, or suffering, the success of the entire race falls on you. In RAAM, crew chiefs were instructed that as the race wore on, they would be more and more responsible for making simple decisions for exhausted racers who would lose huge chunks of cognitive ability. These simple decisions, and the inevitable complex ones can only be made based upon a foundation of knowledge. When you understand the illness, you understand what can and should be done to help get your racer to this finish line as a victor, and not a victim.
And just to put a stamp on it, here is a really good music video about support in hard, lonely times...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjGSXGCi4Fc
Ride on. You can do this.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Pink, Robots, and Racing
Last weekend was one of the most instructive experiences I have ever had on a bike. I participated in the Bike Sebring 12 hour bike race where cyclists compete to see how long each can ride in 12 hours. Those who ride the furthest in their respective categories win medals and the respect of their peers. In the end, things went remarkably well for me, and I ended up medaling with a 3rd place finish. But, the medal is nothing compared to what the real takeaway was for me...
Preparations for the race began months before with the formation of Team Grayson Pink Robot Racing. The name sounds strange, but let me explain and it will all make sense.
I have a beautiful little boy who is eclectic, creative, imaginative, and fun. He has a wide variety of interests from robots, to Star Wars, to his animals, mermaids, blasters, drawing, and more. He loves pink too. It's his favorite color.
One day, about eight months ago, Gray came home from Pre-K and in the course of a conversation I was having with him, I asked him, "What's your favorite color?" To my surprise, he answered, "Blue". I asked him why suddenly he liked blue and not pink. He then said with a hint of shame in his voice, "Boys don't like pink. Boys like blue."
Now, I know my little boy, and I know that he loves pink, and I knew immediately that somebody, somewhere had decided that it was up to them to tell Grayson what color he should like because boys are supposed to like pretty much anything but pink. Of course, I got down face to face with Gray and told him in no uncertain terms that he was allowed to like pink, and in fact, Daddy loved pink too. Pink was a cool color and boys could certainly love pink. Pink rocks. The little guy seemed validated and relieved.
But beyond the pink issue, I was concerned. I took it to heart that Grayson had experienced perhaps his first run in with another person manipulating his self-determination. The very idea that some other random person has the gall to decide for another person what that person should like, or be was an affront to basic human care and value for others I thought. You are lesser than me unless you are like me. This, I believe is the root of bullying and ostracizing behaviors. I am not okay with that concept and even less okay when that concept is forcefully imparted upon my son. You may have noticed that I am an activist, so the little talk with the little guy just wasn't enough for me.
So we made a bike team.
Grayson and I made our very own bike team called Team Grayson Pink Robot Racing. As excerpted from the team's Facebook page, he's what the team is all about:
Team
Grayson Pink Robot Racing is a cycling team created to support those
people who have experienced or are vulnerable to experiencing bullying,
judgment, and being ostracized for being different. The name of the
team is diverse, and its mission supports and celebrates diversity and
self-determination.
Being different is not a weakness. It is strength, and self-determination is the right of ev eryone. This team exists as a home and rallying point for those who are made to feel lesser-than. Here, you are everything this team is about -- we will show those who think we are weak, that we are STRONG and we can and will accomplish great things and outstanding achievements.
Today is a bike team, and tomorrow it will be so much more. Our color is pink, WE are the engines for our machines and WE determine the distance we will take them. We are pink, unstoppable robots! Let's roll!
Fast forward to February 16th and the team hit the race course for 12 hours. Racing for the team were of course me, and I was joined by my friend to be referred to as Female Racer 1 or F1 because she didn't want her real name used in the blog. Crewing were of course the little Gray-man and my wife, Connie.
Without going into the turn by turn details of the race, there was one outstanding factor that definitely defined the race. The wind. Not just a little breeze or a few occasional gusts. No, this was a sustained 25mph headwind for miles and miles, accentuated by 35mph gusts. Some riders were so beaten down by the hours of relentless winds that if they didn't get blown off the road, they quit long before the end of the race. There were times I wanted to quit too, but I had come to the race with a purpose. I wanted to show Grayson how tough pink was. How important individuality was. Dad would wear sissy pink and grind out 12 hours on a bike and crush the concept that pink, or softness, or caring, or gentleness were anything but brave, worthy, and rock solid concepts. Actions, not words, drive me. I could tell Grayson pink was cool, or I could show him.
As I pressed forward into the blistering winds, I had ample time to think. I thought about how people and especially kids, who suffer at the hands of others, and are beaten down like the wind wore down the riders, could eventually reach that breaking point. That point where they give up or lash out. The point where the pain of living becomes greater than the fear of death. When suicide becomes an option.
You see, Team Grayson Pink Robot Racing is inextricably linked to the mission of suicide prevention. When a child is reduced and invalidated by others to the point that they are driven to find a way out, any way out, it is especially sad. To me, sadder even that an adult with a mental illness, like me, because adults even with such an affliction, are adults and more apt to understand and deal with what it happening to them. Children are not equipped in the same way. They take the abuse, internalize it, and slowly dissolve.
I pressed on. I pressed on because my friend F1 was with me and she stuck with me, and I stuck with her. Our crew poured out their love for us and their support. The wind kept blowing, even getting stronger as the day wore on. But as fatigue and pain would set in, I remembered the mission and indeed, I could not forget it, because after each lap he was standing right there in his little pink crew shirt, cheering his Daddy and F1 on. In pressing on, I thought the following, which I posted this week on the team's Facebook page as well...
Sometimes it's hard to think you can go the distance in life, in school, through pain, or ridicule. Cruelty can feel like it will wear you down to the bone. But don't give up. You can go a little longer. You can press a little farther. Not because it's easier than you think. It is hard. But you are stronger than you think and importantly, you are not alone. We are freaks too. We are different. We stand out and we will stand up. For you and for ourselves. Our revenge is our success and our proof to others that we can do great things, and that the greatness that we aspire to is of our own choice and direction. Be yourself. Embrace yourself and chart your course not along the beaten path, but along a road of your own. Each cobblestone you lay bears your imprint and inspiration. And you know what you will find? You will not be following the path worn into the ground by others. No, instead you will be leading those that will follow you on your road, because those that stand out and stand strong are the beacons for others who are finding their own strength.
Finally, at the end of the day, I hope that Grayson learned the lesson that he, like the rest of us, can and should determine who he will be. He is a beautiful individual and in being an individual he is not alone (irony?), and when others push back, he can push through, stronger than the winds of ignorance and intolerance. The headwinds in life will not weaken him. They will make him strong.
Press on. You can do it too. You are not alone.
Preparations for the race began months before with the formation of Team Grayson Pink Robot Racing. The name sounds strange, but let me explain and it will all make sense.
I have a beautiful little boy who is eclectic, creative, imaginative, and fun. He has a wide variety of interests from robots, to Star Wars, to his animals, mermaids, blasters, drawing, and more. He loves pink too. It's his favorite color.
One day, about eight months ago, Gray came home from Pre-K and in the course of a conversation I was having with him, I asked him, "What's your favorite color?" To my surprise, he answered, "Blue". I asked him why suddenly he liked blue and not pink. He then said with a hint of shame in his voice, "Boys don't like pink. Boys like blue."
Now, I know my little boy, and I know that he loves pink, and I knew immediately that somebody, somewhere had decided that it was up to them to tell Grayson what color he should like because boys are supposed to like pretty much anything but pink. Of course, I got down face to face with Gray and told him in no uncertain terms that he was allowed to like pink, and in fact, Daddy loved pink too. Pink was a cool color and boys could certainly love pink. Pink rocks. The little guy seemed validated and relieved.
But beyond the pink issue, I was concerned. I took it to heart that Grayson had experienced perhaps his first run in with another person manipulating his self-determination. The very idea that some other random person has the gall to decide for another person what that person should like, or be was an affront to basic human care and value for others I thought. You are lesser than me unless you are like me. This, I believe is the root of bullying and ostracizing behaviors. I am not okay with that concept and even less okay when that concept is forcefully imparted upon my son. You may have noticed that I am an activist, so the little talk with the little guy just wasn't enough for me.
So we made a bike team.
Grayson and I made our very own bike team called Team Grayson Pink Robot Racing. As excerpted from the team's Facebook page, he's what the team is all about:
Team Grayson Pink Robot Racing exists as an athletic
(cycling) team to support and validate those who are different and
vulnerable to bullying.
Being different is not a weakness. It is strength, and self-determination is the right of ev eryone. This team exists as a home and rallying point for those who are made to feel lesser-than. Here, you are everything this team is about -- we will show those who think we are weak, that we are STRONG and we can and will accomplish great things and outstanding achievements.
Today is a bike team, and tomorrow it will be so much more. Our color is pink, WE are the engines for our machines and WE determine the distance we will take them. We are pink, unstoppable robots! Let's roll!
Fast forward to February 16th and the team hit the race course for 12 hours. Racing for the team were of course me, and I was joined by my friend to be referred to as Female Racer 1 or F1 because she didn't want her real name used in the blog. Crewing were of course the little Gray-man and my wife, Connie.
Without going into the turn by turn details of the race, there was one outstanding factor that definitely defined the race. The wind. Not just a little breeze or a few occasional gusts. No, this was a sustained 25mph headwind for miles and miles, accentuated by 35mph gusts. Some riders were so beaten down by the hours of relentless winds that if they didn't get blown off the road, they quit long before the end of the race. There were times I wanted to quit too, but I had come to the race with a purpose. I wanted to show Grayson how tough pink was. How important individuality was. Dad would wear sissy pink and grind out 12 hours on a bike and crush the concept that pink, or softness, or caring, or gentleness were anything but brave, worthy, and rock solid concepts. Actions, not words, drive me. I could tell Grayson pink was cool, or I could show him.
As I pressed forward into the blistering winds, I had ample time to think. I thought about how people and especially kids, who suffer at the hands of others, and are beaten down like the wind wore down the riders, could eventually reach that breaking point. That point where they give up or lash out. The point where the pain of living becomes greater than the fear of death. When suicide becomes an option.
You see, Team Grayson Pink Robot Racing is inextricably linked to the mission of suicide prevention. When a child is reduced and invalidated by others to the point that they are driven to find a way out, any way out, it is especially sad. To me, sadder even that an adult with a mental illness, like me, because adults even with such an affliction, are adults and more apt to understand and deal with what it happening to them. Children are not equipped in the same way. They take the abuse, internalize it, and slowly dissolve.
I pressed on. I pressed on because my friend F1 was with me and she stuck with me, and I stuck with her. Our crew poured out their love for us and their support. The wind kept blowing, even getting stronger as the day wore on. But as fatigue and pain would set in, I remembered the mission and indeed, I could not forget it, because after each lap he was standing right there in his little pink crew shirt, cheering his Daddy and F1 on. In pressing on, I thought the following, which I posted this week on the team's Facebook page as well...
Sometimes it's hard to think you can go the distance in life, in school, through pain, or ridicule. Cruelty can feel like it will wear you down to the bone. But don't give up. You can go a little longer. You can press a little farther. Not because it's easier than you think. It is hard. But you are stronger than you think and importantly, you are not alone. We are freaks too. We are different. We stand out and we will stand up. For you and for ourselves. Our revenge is our success and our proof to others that we can do great things, and that the greatness that we aspire to is of our own choice and direction. Be yourself. Embrace yourself and chart your course not along the beaten path, but along a road of your own. Each cobblestone you lay bears your imprint and inspiration. And you know what you will find? You will not be following the path worn into the ground by others. No, instead you will be leading those that will follow you on your road, because those that stand out and stand strong are the beacons for others who are finding their own strength.
Finally, at the end of the day, I hope that Grayson learned the lesson that he, like the rest of us, can and should determine who he will be. He is a beautiful individual and in being an individual he is not alone (irony?), and when others push back, he can push through, stronger than the winds of ignorance and intolerance. The headwinds in life will not weaken him. They will make him strong.
Press on. You can do it too. You are not alone.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Guts n' Stuff
Dealing with depression isn't popping a pill, going to a therapy session, or reading Psychology Today. It is living with a constant awareness of your state of mind, and endless micro adjustments to your interaction with the world, other people in your life, and how you understand yourself. It is a frustrating process, never being quite in control of when symptoms are going to crop up, but you become better at recognizing them and "cutting them off at the pass". In this sense, the disease makes me much more self-aware and more aware of my relationship with others. I think in this way, it may make me a better person in some aspects, in that it definitely pays to be on top of my cognition of everything I do and say, every second. With the preamble complete, let me tell you about my week, or rather my weekend.
This weekend was a tough one. The kind where you say stuff that you end up apologizing for later. Depression in men especially has the added fun tidbit of unhinging your mouth from your brain and when you may disagree with someone, or if you perceive you disagree with someone, the result can be an explosive launch of verbal insensitivity and offense that seems to spill out like Jell-O flipping out of a bowl. Once it goes, it goes, and in the end, nobody is happy. It can be triggered by stress, environmental factors, not taking your meds, not eating right, or whatever, but it can be triggered. Well, this time, it was dealing with negotiations with the ex-wife concerning after school child care programs. Doesn't sound like a profound, impacting, life event? Doesn't have to be. Remember, depression is a mental illness - it's not a rational thing.
So, here's how it goes (and nope, not going to bash anyone - I have depression, I'm not stupid). My ex got a new job which will require her to put our boy in an after-school program on her weeks. That's understandable, but some ideas she has don't jibe with some concerns I have. I discuss with my current wife and total wonderful love of my life (she reads this), and she gives me a few pieces of input, which I am conflicted about. Now the particulars don't really matter, and in the end everything worked out fine, but at the time when I was discussing with her on the phone, my response was, and I quote, "Why don't I just do what everyone else wants me to do?!! What about what I want?!!! F*** it! Just f*** it! I have to go. Bye!" [Click].
Oops.
Yeah. That's why depression can ruin relationships among other things. That's what I mean when I say you apologize a lot when you have depression. The other thing is that after a slight little overreaction as illustrated above, you often snap out of it and realize that you just peed in your Wheaties.
This is where an understanding of the disease both by the afflicted person and family and friends can make a huge difference. Of course, the goal is to manage the disease so these little incidents don't happen, but every once in a while they do. Well, Connie didn't leave me. She didn't file for divorce. We sat on the bed and talked. I told her I felt very alone. I didn't mean this as an insult to her and she knew this. It was a description of a symptom just like, "I have a runny nose". I told her some other things too that I was feeling. She laid her head on my chest and said she was there for me. That made all the difference. She knew what I was experiencing and knew what to do. She reassured me and made sure that I knew that she was in my corner and wouldn't abandon me. That's like Penicillin to depression.
Now, that doesn't mean that depression goes *poof*. I still felt bad throughout the weekend but I knew what I was dealing with. I communicated more readily with Connie. I told her that I was moving slow, my back hurt, and I didn't feel motivated. She stepped in and motivated me, and she knew enough about depression to know what works for me. "Jim, why don't you go for a bike ride?"
So, I rode. I rode hard, and although it didn't cure me, it did feel a little better and had an accomplishment in the bank. Sunday I did the spin bike, and ramped up the climbs to double what I usually do. The hard workout was a good shot in the arm. Today, I visited my massage therapist and that carved out a good hour of "Jim time", to take care of my sore legs, and tight neck and back. Once you get in a depressive state, it needs to work itself out, and it can take a while. If you are treating the disease, it may take a few days. If you are not treating the disease, it may take a few weeks, or it may kill you. Fortunately, I treat it, and live with it. Key words - live with it.
Depression is a disease that you learn to live with, and the learning part takes a long time to master. I am still learning, but every day I get stronger and this affliction has less power over me. One thing I know for sure is that had I not gone to my doctor the first time, I would have learned nothing, and there is a very real possibility that I wouldn't be around to write this. Depression is a silent killer, so I talk a lot and I talk loud about it.
You may recall, that when I started this blog, I promised to share everything about my journey, and you can see that the journey isn't just about miles on the bike. It's the road that I travel not as a cyclist, but as a human being with a challenge borne by millions of others. I'm like you. I slip. I get up. I keep going.
I almost feel like I am writing to someone in particular tonight. So, I'll finish with a message. Don't give up. You are allowed to make mistakes. If you have depression or some other mental illness, remember that you didn't ask for it and you don't deserve it. It does things to you and you can get tired. You can slip. Maybe it will get the better of you at times. But it is okay to forgive yourself (someone who suffers will understand what I mean). It's okay to acknowledge that you are not okay, and it is okay to ask for help. It is okay to tell someone you love that you feel vulnerable. It's okay to accept support from someone who wants to help you. You are not weak. You live and move forward with a weight that a lot of people don't have to haul around. You are strong.
And it takes guts to live with it.
This weekend was a tough one. The kind where you say stuff that you end up apologizing for later. Depression in men especially has the added fun tidbit of unhinging your mouth from your brain and when you may disagree with someone, or if you perceive you disagree with someone, the result can be an explosive launch of verbal insensitivity and offense that seems to spill out like Jell-O flipping out of a bowl. Once it goes, it goes, and in the end, nobody is happy. It can be triggered by stress, environmental factors, not taking your meds, not eating right, or whatever, but it can be triggered. Well, this time, it was dealing with negotiations with the ex-wife concerning after school child care programs. Doesn't sound like a profound, impacting, life event? Doesn't have to be. Remember, depression is a mental illness - it's not a rational thing.
So, here's how it goes (and nope, not going to bash anyone - I have depression, I'm not stupid). My ex got a new job which will require her to put our boy in an after-school program on her weeks. That's understandable, but some ideas she has don't jibe with some concerns I have. I discuss with my current wife and total wonderful love of my life (she reads this), and she gives me a few pieces of input, which I am conflicted about. Now the particulars don't really matter, and in the end everything worked out fine, but at the time when I was discussing with her on the phone, my response was, and I quote, "Why don't I just do what everyone else wants me to do?!! What about what I want?!!! F*** it! Just f*** it! I have to go. Bye!" [Click].
Oops.
Yeah. That's why depression can ruin relationships among other things. That's what I mean when I say you apologize a lot when you have depression. The other thing is that after a slight little overreaction as illustrated above, you often snap out of it and realize that you just peed in your Wheaties.
This is where an understanding of the disease both by the afflicted person and family and friends can make a huge difference. Of course, the goal is to manage the disease so these little incidents don't happen, but every once in a while they do. Well, Connie didn't leave me. She didn't file for divorce. We sat on the bed and talked. I told her I felt very alone. I didn't mean this as an insult to her and she knew this. It was a description of a symptom just like, "I have a runny nose". I told her some other things too that I was feeling. She laid her head on my chest and said she was there for me. That made all the difference. She knew what I was experiencing and knew what to do. She reassured me and made sure that I knew that she was in my corner and wouldn't abandon me. That's like Penicillin to depression.
Now, that doesn't mean that depression goes *poof*. I still felt bad throughout the weekend but I knew what I was dealing with. I communicated more readily with Connie. I told her that I was moving slow, my back hurt, and I didn't feel motivated. She stepped in and motivated me, and she knew enough about depression to know what works for me. "Jim, why don't you go for a bike ride?"
So, I rode. I rode hard, and although it didn't cure me, it did feel a little better and had an accomplishment in the bank. Sunday I did the spin bike, and ramped up the climbs to double what I usually do. The hard workout was a good shot in the arm. Today, I visited my massage therapist and that carved out a good hour of "Jim time", to take care of my sore legs, and tight neck and back. Once you get in a depressive state, it needs to work itself out, and it can take a while. If you are treating the disease, it may take a few days. If you are not treating the disease, it may take a few weeks, or it may kill you. Fortunately, I treat it, and live with it. Key words - live with it.
Depression is a disease that you learn to live with, and the learning part takes a long time to master. I am still learning, but every day I get stronger and this affliction has less power over me. One thing I know for sure is that had I not gone to my doctor the first time, I would have learned nothing, and there is a very real possibility that I wouldn't be around to write this. Depression is a silent killer, so I talk a lot and I talk loud about it.
You may recall, that when I started this blog, I promised to share everything about my journey, and you can see that the journey isn't just about miles on the bike. It's the road that I travel not as a cyclist, but as a human being with a challenge borne by millions of others. I'm like you. I slip. I get up. I keep going.
I almost feel like I am writing to someone in particular tonight. So, I'll finish with a message. Don't give up. You are allowed to make mistakes. If you have depression or some other mental illness, remember that you didn't ask for it and you don't deserve it. It does things to you and you can get tired. You can slip. Maybe it will get the better of you at times. But it is okay to forgive yourself (someone who suffers will understand what I mean). It's okay to acknowledge that you are not okay, and it is okay to ask for help. It is okay to tell someone you love that you feel vulnerable. It's okay to accept support from someone who wants to help you. You are not weak. You live and move forward with a weight that a lot of people don't have to haul around. You are strong.
And it takes guts to live with it.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Why?
This was a Facebook post I did today, but I think that it captured a thought I have had for a long time about why I do things in the first place...
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Cough cough!
I think I've pretty much experienced everything the flu has been able to throw at me. Let's see, there's been a 103+ degree fever, coughing, sneezing, hacking, congestion, aches, chills, runny nose, and today, well, let's just say I couldn't keep anything down. I had actually gone back to work this week, because if you know anything about me by now, I can't stand sitting around on the sidelines. Bad idea. Monday went okay. Not great, but I was especially tired when I went home. Tuesday, the Chief got tired of my coughing, and kindly urged me to take the day off and don't come back until I was all cleared up. He was right, as I stayed home today, and stayed in bed all day. Definitely not back from this thing yet, and the truth is the flu is nothing to be messed with. Overdo it and you can find yourself in the hospital.
Ok, this isn't a blog about the flu. It is about this journey to show that someone suffering from a mental illness can accomplish something great, and to document every step of that journey. It is meant to teach and inspire. So, yes, there is a teaching moment here.
Things don't go according to plan. Depression was not in my plan. The flu was not in my plan. Getting behind in my miles was not part of the plan. A sign of strength is what do you do when the plan changes, or is tossed out altogether. So, here is the plan:
1. Get well (obviously). That means a lot of rest and sleep. Hoping to be able to go to work tomorrow. Main thing at this point is congested lungs. They clear up some more and I am good to go - I think.
2. Look for opportunities to make up significant miles. This means that 2013 will have to be pretty robust as far as 100+ mile rides. Those are the most efficient way to make up and build mileage. One 125 mile ride is almost a week's worth of 30 mile rides. It just happens that I am a member of RUSA (Randonneurs USA) a long distance cycling organization, and there are a number of rides coming up in 2013 not too far from here. You can bet I'll be doing some of them.
3. Stay consistent. The 30 miles a day still applies, so between consistency and big rides, everything will be okay!
And, the moral of the story here is that you are not hearing a certain word. Quit. I can't quit depression, and I can't quit life. If this ride is a celebration of life and success, then I welcome obstacles. I welcome bumps in the road. I was not somehow removed from day to day challenges in life just because I decided to make an additional challenge. This is on top of what life has for me. You know want you do in long distance ride when it gets tough. Easy. You pedal.
Pressing on!
Ok, this isn't a blog about the flu. It is about this journey to show that someone suffering from a mental illness can accomplish something great, and to document every step of that journey. It is meant to teach and inspire. So, yes, there is a teaching moment here.
Things don't go according to plan. Depression was not in my plan. The flu was not in my plan. Getting behind in my miles was not part of the plan. A sign of strength is what do you do when the plan changes, or is tossed out altogether. So, here is the plan:
1. Get well (obviously). That means a lot of rest and sleep. Hoping to be able to go to work tomorrow. Main thing at this point is congested lungs. They clear up some more and I am good to go - I think.
2. Look for opportunities to make up significant miles. This means that 2013 will have to be pretty robust as far as 100+ mile rides. Those are the most efficient way to make up and build mileage. One 125 mile ride is almost a week's worth of 30 mile rides. It just happens that I am a member of RUSA (Randonneurs USA) a long distance cycling organization, and there are a number of rides coming up in 2013 not too far from here. You can bet I'll be doing some of them.
3. Stay consistent. The 30 miles a day still applies, so between consistency and big rides, everything will be okay!
And, the moral of the story here is that you are not hearing a certain word. Quit. I can't quit depression, and I can't quit life. If this ride is a celebration of life and success, then I welcome obstacles. I welcome bumps in the road. I was not somehow removed from day to day challenges in life just because I decided to make an additional challenge. This is on top of what life has for me. You know want you do in long distance ride when it gets tough. Easy. You pedal.
Pressing on!
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Don't Panic!
An important concept in bicycle racing is the idea of "do not panic". Bike races can be long, and a lot can happen. Riders, get flats, get dropped, get flats, maybe crash, and sometimes they have to stop and pee. Whatever the case, it can result in a rider being off the back of the race. It is tempting for a racer to jump back onto the bike and ride as hard as possible, and if and when he gets back on the main group or "peloton", he has nothing left in the tank. Smart racers race tactically. They find other racers trying to get back into the race and they work together to slowly reel in the main body of racers. It takes time and smarts, but if done right, they get back in the race and aren't completely drained of every ounce of energy.
Well, today as predicted in my last entry, I came down with the flu. Actually last night, but today I felt terrible with a 100+ fever, chills, aches, and the whole nine yards. My little five year old boy has the flu too (he gifted it to me), so we are both out of action and he calls us "sick buddies".
Yesterday, I did get my initial ride in with 37 miles completed, and I actually felt good, but with no riding today, I am now 23 miles in the hole. Not too bad actually. Remember, I have all year to do the 11,000 miles and I don't have to make up all the miles at once. Also, the 30 mile a day average is just that, an average. Throw in a few 100+ miles rides throughout the year, and some races and brevets (I'll talk about what those are some other time) and the miles will be made up. I actually won't be in emergency mode until I get to 500 miles in the hole, and I don't plan on that happening!
But, what comes to mind immediately is that applies in a bicycle race can apply to life. Things happen that put us behind the eight ball. The key, is again, don't panic. Having a support system of friends, allies, and supporters can see us through those times when it seems like the goal just can't be reached. It can be reached, but asking for, and using help is what it takes. It's not being weak. It's being smart.
Now, back to getting well. Still not out of the woods!
Well, today as predicted in my last entry, I came down with the flu. Actually last night, but today I felt terrible with a 100+ fever, chills, aches, and the whole nine yards. My little five year old boy has the flu too (he gifted it to me), so we are both out of action and he calls us "sick buddies".
Yesterday, I did get my initial ride in with 37 miles completed, and I actually felt good, but with no riding today, I am now 23 miles in the hole. Not too bad actually. Remember, I have all year to do the 11,000 miles and I don't have to make up all the miles at once. Also, the 30 mile a day average is just that, an average. Throw in a few 100+ miles rides throughout the year, and some races and brevets (I'll talk about what those are some other time) and the miles will be made up. I actually won't be in emergency mode until I get to 500 miles in the hole, and I don't plan on that happening!
But, what comes to mind immediately is that applies in a bicycle race can apply to life. Things happen that put us behind the eight ball. The key, is again, don't panic. Having a support system of friends, allies, and supporters can see us through those times when it seems like the goal just can't be reached. It can be reached, but asking for, and using help is what it takes. It's not being weak. It's being smart.
Now, back to getting well. Still not out of the woods!
Monday, December 31, 2012
He we go!
Tomorrow, it all begins. I am at the same time apprehensive, excited, and hopeful for what this adventure and mission will bring. Today, a reporter from a local television station came by the house to interview me about my coming out about my depression and the bike mileage goal for the year. I wasn't concerned about the public aspect of it, per se. That's what this is all about after all, but at the same time, there isn't any backing out now. When you have a full time job, a little kid, and any number of things that come up, carving out time to make 11,000 riding miles is no small task. But, when this task is done, I am hoping that any doubt about what someone with depression or any other kind of mental illness can do is wiped away. That being said, I am worried...
Here is the deal. My five year old has the flu. Not a cold, but a for sure diagnosed case of the F-L-U. He's got the whole she-bang -- fever, coughing, aches, runny/stuffy nose, and lethargy. Now, going back to the idea that in order to make 11,000 miles, I need to do about 30 miles a day without fail, if I get the flu, one of two things will happen. One, ride with the flu. Lying in bed with the flu is bad enough. Pedaling a bike with the flu is sheer misery, and I can image what manner of excretions from my face I'll be dealing with. Not pretty. The second option is skip days and stay in bed, but what that means is then I have to make up the miles, meaning those miles need to be made up somewhere, so monster miles would be looming. I don't want to get behind the curve right from the start, that's for sure.
I like option three. Option three is I don't get the flu, and somehow this strain is one in which I got a vaccination earlier in the year. You see, this year, I didn't get a shot, because I'm one of those hard heads who believes that the flu shot makes me sick. In fact, last year, after I got the needle, I was feeling awful for about a month and a half. Making a quick comparison, it seems like a better deal to be flattened for a week than to feel blah for over a month. Do I have a scientific explanation for last year's cruddy feeling? Nope. Just my take, but bottom line is I didn't get a flu shot this year and I am currently three feet from a child version of a giant germ who wants to, more than ever, give kisses and hugs and share food. My immune system is probably at Def-con 5.
So, tomorrow I have 30 miles on the schedule, and maybe a few more. I am hoping, really hoping that the ride is a mundane, non-eventful trip, and not a monumental challenge day one. I know, in fact am betting, that there will be some tremendously difficult days, because let's face it, those are interesting and meaningful to write about. Just not tomorrow, and not involving the flu.
Oh, and just a reminder, with each blog hereafter and through 2013, I will post a link to my online bike journal and twitter account for more information sharing for anyone interested, or just really, really bored.
So, here we go, and by the way - Happy New Year!
Here is the deal. My five year old has the flu. Not a cold, but a for sure diagnosed case of the F-L-U. He's got the whole she-bang -- fever, coughing, aches, runny/stuffy nose, and lethargy. Now, going back to the idea that in order to make 11,000 miles, I need to do about 30 miles a day without fail, if I get the flu, one of two things will happen. One, ride with the flu. Lying in bed with the flu is bad enough. Pedaling a bike with the flu is sheer misery, and I can image what manner of excretions from my face I'll be dealing with. Not pretty. The second option is skip days and stay in bed, but what that means is then I have to make up the miles, meaning those miles need to be made up somewhere, so monster miles would be looming. I don't want to get behind the curve right from the start, that's for sure.
I like option three. Option three is I don't get the flu, and somehow this strain is one in which I got a vaccination earlier in the year. You see, this year, I didn't get a shot, because I'm one of those hard heads who believes that the flu shot makes me sick. In fact, last year, after I got the needle, I was feeling awful for about a month and a half. Making a quick comparison, it seems like a better deal to be flattened for a week than to feel blah for over a month. Do I have a scientific explanation for last year's cruddy feeling? Nope. Just my take, but bottom line is I didn't get a flu shot this year and I am currently three feet from a child version of a giant germ who wants to, more than ever, give kisses and hugs and share food. My immune system is probably at Def-con 5.
So, tomorrow I have 30 miles on the schedule, and maybe a few more. I am hoping, really hoping that the ride is a mundane, non-eventful trip, and not a monumental challenge day one. I know, in fact am betting, that there will be some tremendously difficult days, because let's face it, those are interesting and meaningful to write about. Just not tomorrow, and not involving the flu.
Oh, and just a reminder, with each blog hereafter and through 2013, I will post a link to my online bike journal and twitter account for more information sharing for anyone interested, or just really, really bored.
So, here we go, and by the way - Happy New Year!
Saturday, December 29, 2012
I'm not riding today...
I'm not riding today.
Today is not a day for riding. It is not a day for me. It is not a day for getting exercise, training, wearing Spandex and riding bikes. It is a day about support for someone I love. It is a day of strength, reflection, and without a doubt, plain old heart crushing grief. Today, I am the support system.
Six years ago today, my wife's son, who I have taken as my stepson, Matthew Beard, died of injuries sustained by a drunk driver who slammed into his car he was riding in on I-95 in West Palm Beach, FL. For Connie, the holidays mean revisiting the horror of learning her only son had been in a crash on December 21st, 2006, and spending the next week in Delray Beach Medical Center Trauma ICU as her son, never recovering from his crash induced coma, slowly slipped into death. Each day she kept vigil by his side. Each day she prayed for him to open his eyes. Every day, when the nurses allowed her to, she spoke to him and sang to him. He could hear her, she knew that, as when she would quietly and gently sing "Arms of an Angel" to him, tears would stream down his cheeks. He knew she was there. Mom was with him.
She was there when the doctors told her that her boy was "brain dead" on December 27th, and that she would need to give the order to stop the life support machines. She couldn't do it. She couldn't kill her son. Matt knew that she couldn't do it. He did it for her, and on December 29th, 2006, at 12:33 a.m., he died, on his own.
So, I'm not riding today.
Today, I reached over to Connie in our warm bed and cuddled with her and held her. I am making her breakfast this morning and some tea, I think. Today, I just need to be here with her. I know I cannot take the pain away, and I can't bring Matt back, but I can make sure that Connie is not alone in her grief, especially not today.
I often talk about depending on others to support those of us who have a mental illness to help us be strong and get well or better. It is in times such as this, with Connie, that also speak to the importance to taking care of ourselves and getting help when we need it. It is not only to help us in our own struggle, but when we are needed, and we are the ones whom others need to lean upon, we can be strong enough to be there for the ones we love. Today, I am the one who is the pillar and the shoulder to cry upon. Those who have helped me, supported me, and given me strength couldn't have fathomed that when they prompted me to seek help, that they would ultimately help support a mother whose only son was abruptly taken through a senseless and preventable crime. The lesson here it that those who are in need can and will become those who are needed, and caring, support, and compassion for others is in the end, the foundation upon which we find our own strength.
That's why I'm not riding today.
If you are so inclined, light at candle for Matt at:
http://matthew-beard.last-memories.com/
Today is not a day for riding. It is not a day for me. It is not a day for getting exercise, training, wearing Spandex and riding bikes. It is a day about support for someone I love. It is a day of strength, reflection, and without a doubt, plain old heart crushing grief. Today, I am the support system.
Six years ago today, my wife's son, who I have taken as my stepson, Matthew Beard, died of injuries sustained by a drunk driver who slammed into his car he was riding in on I-95 in West Palm Beach, FL. For Connie, the holidays mean revisiting the horror of learning her only son had been in a crash on December 21st, 2006, and spending the next week in Delray Beach Medical Center Trauma ICU as her son, never recovering from his crash induced coma, slowly slipped into death. Each day she kept vigil by his side. Each day she prayed for him to open his eyes. Every day, when the nurses allowed her to, she spoke to him and sang to him. He could hear her, she knew that, as when she would quietly and gently sing "Arms of an Angel" to him, tears would stream down his cheeks. He knew she was there. Mom was with him.
She was there when the doctors told her that her boy was "brain dead" on December 27th, and that she would need to give the order to stop the life support machines. She couldn't do it. She couldn't kill her son. Matt knew that she couldn't do it. He did it for her, and on December 29th, 2006, at 12:33 a.m., he died, on his own.
So, I'm not riding today.
Today, I reached over to Connie in our warm bed and cuddled with her and held her. I am making her breakfast this morning and some tea, I think. Today, I just need to be here with her. I know I cannot take the pain away, and I can't bring Matt back, but I can make sure that Connie is not alone in her grief, especially not today.
I often talk about depending on others to support those of us who have a mental illness to help us be strong and get well or better. It is in times such as this, with Connie, that also speak to the importance to taking care of ourselves and getting help when we need it. It is not only to help us in our own struggle, but when we are needed, and we are the ones whom others need to lean upon, we can be strong enough to be there for the ones we love. Today, I am the one who is the pillar and the shoulder to cry upon. Those who have helped me, supported me, and given me strength couldn't have fathomed that when they prompted me to seek help, that they would ultimately help support a mother whose only son was abruptly taken through a senseless and preventable crime. The lesson here it that those who are in need can and will become those who are needed, and caring, support, and compassion for others is in the end, the foundation upon which we find our own strength.
That's why I'm not riding today.
If you are so inclined, light at candle for Matt at:
http://matthew-beard.last-memories.com/
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Just Bike Stuff
Well, it has been a whirlwind week between the tragedy in Newtown, CT and all of the positions about guns, mental illness, Constitutional rights, etc. Frankly, it was exhausting, and I had to turn the TV off after about three days of constant horror on the news. Secondly, I have a five year old, and in my opinion, he doesn't need to know anything about that. I was quite happy to have Tom and Jerry and Scooby Doo filling the screen. That being said, that's about all I'm going to say about that. I'm going to talk about cycling.
I have a lot of riding to do.
You see, 2013 is shaping up to be a big year not just regarding my goal to ride 11,000 miles over the course of the year, but with other events looming in the near future. In February, I am returning to ultra-racing with a twelve hour race in Sebring, Florida at Bike Sebring 12/24. Thus far, everything is set up. The hotel, rental car, jerseys and equipment, bike, and registration are all ready to go. The only teensy, tiny, little factor is me. With less than 2 months to go, I am definitely not in race shape. It is certainly doable, but it is going to take me becoming a social monk while I spend seemingly every moment I have to spare on the bike. Ultra-races aren't necessarily fast, but they do require your body to be accustomed to enjoying pain over a ridiculous amount of time. An ultra-cyclist is of the mindset where pain in the feet, butt, back, shoulders, legs, elbows, neck, and well, everything, is considered "normal". Add on to that the joys of nausea and nice things like acid reflux (from being hunched over on the bike so long), and you get the picture that it is important to train your body to put up with it.
So far, I've had some good training time, with the last two rides being back to back cold excursions of sub 40 degree weather (don't laugh northern friends -- this is Florida!). I actually prefer bad conditions for bike training, as I picture all the competition staying inside warm and snug while I knock out some miles. I know this isn't the case, and I know I can't train with the hope the competition will be unprepared. In fact, I have to train like the competition will come to the race prepared for the best race of their lives. Truth is, I know some of those animals, and for all my bike love, they could be classified as plain obsessed with their rides. Like, sick obsessed, where they post on Facebook that they had a "nice 147 mile ride with friends" the other day and enjoyed some hot chocolate afterwards. I would much rather they say, "Suffered in a living hell, then puked my guts out". That's dreaming though.
Anyway, that's not all of the bike saga. In April, I will be on board again as the ride director for the GEICO Road Safety Bicycle Tour. That's a 4 day, 400 mile bike ride around Florida to promote traffic safety awareness to Florida drivers. This is the 5th year of such a tour and we plan on having the biggest team yet with about 15 riders and 10 crew. The team is made up of very Type-A personalities and very accomplished athletes, who are also stakeholders in the traffic safety arena. Yes, of course, we all are stakeholders if we use the roads in any capacity, but these folks have a particular nexus. They are cops, firefighters, doctors, crash survivors, and parents/loved ones of people killed and injured in crashes. It all becomes a very emotional and mission driven event with a LOT of moving parts. Currently, we are coordinating team selections, press event locations, and partner-agency participation. It is a months-long endeavor and almost feels like a second job. It's a great second job, but more and more in the back of my mind I know that there is some point that I will need to hand it off to someone else or let it go. You see, this one is my baby, and this spring it will be nearly 10 years since I first conceptualized it and began to beg around for support. Ultimately, I'd like to take the team to RAAM (Race Across AMerica), but geez, I can feel the bones getting tired on this particular corner of the bike world. We'll see how long we keep the wheels turning on this one!
I have a lot of riding to do.
You see, 2013 is shaping up to be a big year not just regarding my goal to ride 11,000 miles over the course of the year, but with other events looming in the near future. In February, I am returning to ultra-racing with a twelve hour race in Sebring, Florida at Bike Sebring 12/24. Thus far, everything is set up. The hotel, rental car, jerseys and equipment, bike, and registration are all ready to go. The only teensy, tiny, little factor is me. With less than 2 months to go, I am definitely not in race shape. It is certainly doable, but it is going to take me becoming a social monk while I spend seemingly every moment I have to spare on the bike. Ultra-races aren't necessarily fast, but they do require your body to be accustomed to enjoying pain over a ridiculous amount of time. An ultra-cyclist is of the mindset where pain in the feet, butt, back, shoulders, legs, elbows, neck, and well, everything, is considered "normal". Add on to that the joys of nausea and nice things like acid reflux (from being hunched over on the bike so long), and you get the picture that it is important to train your body to put up with it.
So far, I've had some good training time, with the last two rides being back to back cold excursions of sub 40 degree weather (don't laugh northern friends -- this is Florida!). I actually prefer bad conditions for bike training, as I picture all the competition staying inside warm and snug while I knock out some miles. I know this isn't the case, and I know I can't train with the hope the competition will be unprepared. In fact, I have to train like the competition will come to the race prepared for the best race of their lives. Truth is, I know some of those animals, and for all my bike love, they could be classified as plain obsessed with their rides. Like, sick obsessed, where they post on Facebook that they had a "nice 147 mile ride with friends" the other day and enjoyed some hot chocolate afterwards. I would much rather they say, "Suffered in a living hell, then puked my guts out". That's dreaming though.
Anyway, that's not all of the bike saga. In April, I will be on board again as the ride director for the GEICO Road Safety Bicycle Tour. That's a 4 day, 400 mile bike ride around Florida to promote traffic safety awareness to Florida drivers. This is the 5th year of such a tour and we plan on having the biggest team yet with about 15 riders and 10 crew. The team is made up of very Type-A personalities and very accomplished athletes, who are also stakeholders in the traffic safety arena. Yes, of course, we all are stakeholders if we use the roads in any capacity, but these folks have a particular nexus. They are cops, firefighters, doctors, crash survivors, and parents/loved ones of people killed and injured in crashes. It all becomes a very emotional and mission driven event with a LOT of moving parts. Currently, we are coordinating team selections, press event locations, and partner-agency participation. It is a months-long endeavor and almost feels like a second job. It's a great second job, but more and more in the back of my mind I know that there is some point that I will need to hand it off to someone else or let it go. You see, this one is my baby, and this spring it will be nearly 10 years since I first conceptualized it and began to beg around for support. Ultimately, I'd like to take the team to RAAM (Race Across AMerica), but geez, I can feel the bones getting tired on this particular corner of the bike world. We'll see how long we keep the wheels turning on this one!
Pic from the 2012 tour -- I watched rear-ends mile after mile...
So, while the whole meaning behind this blog really isn't about bikes, it is at the same time, set upon a stage built on cycling. To me, cycling has provided me a philanthropic outlet to make a difference in the things that are important to me, and I guess you could say that I have discovered my therapy. As a matter of personal advice, I would definitely recommend that anyone who is in the fight against mental illness of any kind, to use the things you love to do as a means to step away from the struggle and give yourself the gift of recreation. Even better, use your gift to yourself as a way to give to others. Take it from me, it does a lot to make one feel better.
Time to go. I have to get some sleep. Riding in the morning.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
What Matters
I am looking forward to tomorrow. It's when I get my little boy for the week. He is five years old and in kindergarten.
It goes without saying that like other parents, I have been greatly affected by the tragedy in Newtown, CT. For me, the most terrible picture I have in my head is the unspeakable fear that those precious little children must have felt with a killer unmercifully gunning them down. The feelings I have are broad, ranging from sadness, anger, and disgust. I am also not a big fan of those who would be quick to politicize the issue in order to push their own agendas. Frankly, it is my believe that most solutions that are offered and much too simple when compared against the complexities of human social interaction. I do not think the answers are found in quick and simple legislation. I am far more confident in the work of sociologists, criminologists, and psychologists, who are not swayed by the next election, but by facts and truth. They have a monumental task ahead of them.
For now, what I wanted to say is, with the immense amount of pain and sadness being conveyed over the news, social media, and other outlets, it is important, especially to those of us susceptible to triggers for depression, PTSD, and other afflictions, to take time to take care of ourselves. That is not to say put the recent events out of our minds, because we can't nor should we. But, it is vital to take time to enjoy time with your kids, spend an hour or two doing something you love, or visit an old friend. A friend of mine recently went to the beach with his family. Today, I rode my bike. Others may read, workout, paint, or go for a nice drive. Whatever the case may be, it is not a matter of "taking a break" but a means of strengthening ourselves to maintain our ability to function and perform and be strong for those who may be having a rougher time.
Having a mental illness is no fun, but for many it is very treatable, and it does not mean a person with a mental affliction is weak. It means he or she must take the time to take care of themselves. From there, we are in a position of strength to allow others, experiencing their own, new and acute mental anguish to lean on us. We understand how much we need to rely on the support of loved ones and friends, so we are ready, willing, and able to return the favor.
Lean on me. Lean on us. We have some experience in pain and uncertainty and we are in the fight.
Finally, if the recent events have made you feel in a very low place, and you feel alone and someone to talk to, friend is waiting for your at 800-273-TALK. Give them a call -- lean on them.
It goes without saying that like other parents, I have been greatly affected by the tragedy in Newtown, CT. For me, the most terrible picture I have in my head is the unspeakable fear that those precious little children must have felt with a killer unmercifully gunning them down. The feelings I have are broad, ranging from sadness, anger, and disgust. I am also not a big fan of those who would be quick to politicize the issue in order to push their own agendas. Frankly, it is my believe that most solutions that are offered and much too simple when compared against the complexities of human social interaction. I do not think the answers are found in quick and simple legislation. I am far more confident in the work of sociologists, criminologists, and psychologists, who are not swayed by the next election, but by facts and truth. They have a monumental task ahead of them.
For now, what I wanted to say is, with the immense amount of pain and sadness being conveyed over the news, social media, and other outlets, it is important, especially to those of us susceptible to triggers for depression, PTSD, and other afflictions, to take time to take care of ourselves. That is not to say put the recent events out of our minds, because we can't nor should we. But, it is vital to take time to enjoy time with your kids, spend an hour or two doing something you love, or visit an old friend. A friend of mine recently went to the beach with his family. Today, I rode my bike. Others may read, workout, paint, or go for a nice drive. Whatever the case may be, it is not a matter of "taking a break" but a means of strengthening ourselves to maintain our ability to function and perform and be strong for those who may be having a rougher time.
Having a mental illness is no fun, but for many it is very treatable, and it does not mean a person with a mental affliction is weak. It means he or she must take the time to take care of themselves. From there, we are in a position of strength to allow others, experiencing their own, new and acute mental anguish to lean on us. We understand how much we need to rely on the support of loved ones and friends, so we are ready, willing, and able to return the favor.
Lean on me. Lean on us. We have some experience in pain and uncertainty and we are in the fight.
Finally, if the recent events have made you feel in a very low place, and you feel alone and someone to talk to, friend is waiting for your at 800-273-TALK. Give them a call -- lean on them.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Winnie the Pooh and an Address Book
Tonight I was reminded of the possibility that my address book may change, and it fact, it may be changing even now, without my knowledge. One of the things that I was keenly aware of when I became outspoken about my depression was the fact that not everyone may be understanding nor amicable to the idea of associating with (or dealing with) someone with a mental illness. Oh, and by the way, I don't shy away from the term "mental illness" either. My depression is not a "condition" or "issue" or feeling. It is a serious disease, and let's face it, some people are uncomfortable being around those of us who are saddled with an affliction. That's sad, because they don't need to be afraid or uncomfortable. I'm not, nor have I ever been dangerous to anyone else. I've never exposed anyone else to peril, and in fact, in serious situations where I am a decision maker, my disease and personality actually provide me with a unique analytical perspective on cause and effect. I don't approach life in an overly optimistic sense, but I am not fatalistic either. I am a realist. And, by the way, depression doesn't make one stupid either.
What depression does do, is turn one inward on his or herself, and without going deeply into the symptoms and nastiness of the thing, to make a long story short, people in a depressive episode are no fun. Picture Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. Except this Eeyore is not only morose, he is also irritable, snappy, finds himself apologizing a lot, and becoming more and more isolation in actuality and perceptions.
In a Winnie the Pooh story, Pooh and Piglet and Roo would rally around Eeyore and at the end of the story, they would all go to Rabbit's house for carrot pie and honey. In reality, Pooh and the gang may get tired of Eeyore and stop calling or coming around. Eeyore becomes more and more socially removed, and he is alone with his thoughts, despair, and hopelessness. Eeyore may turn to alcohol, or drugs, or some other self-medicating, and/or self-destructive activity. The poor grey ass spirals and eventually he dies, except for...
Tigger. Forgot about him didn't you? And Owl, and Christopher Robin. Heck, even some characters we don't even know yet. Eeyore's address book changes. Those that were friends may drift away, fatigued of their friend, and those friends who are full of energy, or wisdom, or compassion emerge into a new paradigm and a new dynamic that accepts an Eeyore that is, in their eyes, more than his disease.
I'm not afraid to have my address book change. If friends turn away, or what I previously perceived as opportunity, or career goals, or more, then so be it. Is it fun? No. I am not saying that I relish the thought. But I also know that all of those I have in my life and all those that I have close to me I want close to me because they accept me for who I am. I don't want friends to associate with me because of who they think I should be, or because they think they can cure me, or because they just think it is a noble thing to do. The friends that I have I want to have because they love me not despite of, but through my illness. When someone is willing to work a little at polishing brass, it gleams brighter the more you stick with it. Leave it alone and it goes dull.
I have grown to appreciate all the support and love I have received from those friends, family, and colleagues and support me for who I am, and because of this, I am all the more motivated to stick with those I know who suffer as well from mental illness. I know that the work I put in for others pays dividends beyond measure, and I want my friends to know that to me, and to others perhaps yet to be entered into "contacts" that they are worth all the polish and elbow grease in the world. The resulting glow is what, in turn, brightens my world.
If my address book is to change, then let it change. I need to make room for Tigger.
What depression does do, is turn one inward on his or herself, and without going deeply into the symptoms and nastiness of the thing, to make a long story short, people in a depressive episode are no fun. Picture Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. Except this Eeyore is not only morose, he is also irritable, snappy, finds himself apologizing a lot, and becoming more and more isolation in actuality and perceptions.
In a Winnie the Pooh story, Pooh and Piglet and Roo would rally around Eeyore and at the end of the story, they would all go to Rabbit's house for carrot pie and honey. In reality, Pooh and the gang may get tired of Eeyore and stop calling or coming around. Eeyore becomes more and more socially removed, and he is alone with his thoughts, despair, and hopelessness. Eeyore may turn to alcohol, or drugs, or some other self-medicating, and/or self-destructive activity. The poor grey ass spirals and eventually he dies, except for...
Tigger. Forgot about him didn't you? And Owl, and Christopher Robin. Heck, even some characters we don't even know yet. Eeyore's address book changes. Those that were friends may drift away, fatigued of their friend, and those friends who are full of energy, or wisdom, or compassion emerge into a new paradigm and a new dynamic that accepts an Eeyore that is, in their eyes, more than his disease.
I'm not afraid to have my address book change. If friends turn away, or what I previously perceived as opportunity, or career goals, or more, then so be it. Is it fun? No. I am not saying that I relish the thought. But I also know that all of those I have in my life and all those that I have close to me I want close to me because they accept me for who I am. I don't want friends to associate with me because of who they think I should be, or because they think they can cure me, or because they just think it is a noble thing to do. The friends that I have I want to have because they love me not despite of, but through my illness. When someone is willing to work a little at polishing brass, it gleams brighter the more you stick with it. Leave it alone and it goes dull.
I have grown to appreciate all the support and love I have received from those friends, family, and colleagues and support me for who I am, and because of this, I am all the more motivated to stick with those I know who suffer as well from mental illness. I know that the work I put in for others pays dividends beyond measure, and I want my friends to know that to me, and to others perhaps yet to be entered into "contacts" that they are worth all the polish and elbow grease in the world. The resulting glow is what, in turn, brightens my world.
If my address book is to change, then let it change. I need to make room for Tigger.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Little Goals
Some days are harder than others, and it is becoming more and more apparent the magnitude of the commitment I have made. In a nutshell, to make 11,000 miles in a year, I will have to ride, without fail, 30 miles a day, every day, for 365 days. Now of course, there are some days that I simply won't be able to ride. Work may dictate my schedule, and I have a five year old, and he comes first. But, that will simply mean that if I miss a ride, I will need to make the following rides longer or I will have to "bank" miles by doing longer rides prior to an anticipated day off from riding. This last Saturday, I scoped out a 15 mile route that I plan on riding in mornings before work for about an hour (5am-6am) daily. Add on longer weekend rides, some ultra-races (12/24hrs), 100 milers, and commuting, and the numbers are very doable.
Physically, that is.
You see, depression has a way of pushing you away from the things you love -- family, friends, and things you love to do, and I love cycling. Sure, my depression is treated, and I am waaaaay better off than when I was undiagnosed. However, depression isn't something that gets squashed and you never hear from it again as long as you take your medication. It lingers just below the surface and as emotions and environmental factors ebb and flow, it has a tendency to peek its head up above the surface and remind you that it is still there.
That was the case last Saturday. I didn't want to ride my bike. I didn't have anything else to do. I just didn't want to ride and the whole idea of getting into my bike clothes with the stupid little colors and the stupid Spandex, and those ridiculous shoes just seemed like a complete exercise in frivolity. It seemed like such a better idea to go take a nap and, I dunno, waste time on Facebook. On top of that, I felt snappy, and just irritable. Blah.
Yet, I've learned a lot about this disease, and I know how to recognize when it is exhibiting itself, and more importantly, how to give it a good smack down from time to time.
Here I was, needing to get on the bike to ride (I have a race in February -- need to train!), but not wanting to get my butt on the saddle. So, I initiated the "gift" strategy. The gift strategy is a little trick I play on my mind to get myself training, but with a limited perceived goal. Something easily attainable that makes that negative little influence have very little to protest. So, I told myself that I would ride, but only ride 5 miles. That's nothing, and amounts to about 20 minutes of riding. Of course, you know the ending to this story... Once I am out riding and on the bike, 5 miles gives way to 10, then finally 17 miles for the day. Not a record setting distance, but a good hour workout and much better than taking a nap. Although, I do have to say, depression or not, I do like naps. Happy naps though, not depressed naps.
Moral of the story? Well, it applies to really anyone who needs a little extra motivation to do something physical. When you know you need to train, workout, or just work on something, whittle the mountain down to a mole hill and reduce the size of the goal to something you can wrap your mind around. No, limiting the goal doesn't mean nap time, but what it does mean is make the goal look and feel like something easy. Once you get started, you will almost certainly do more than you planned, and every minute and every mile you go beyond your goal, the more you succeed beyond your expectations. That is awesome therapy and a great positive moment to put a heel onto whatever is trying to demotivate you.
Little goals can lead to big successes. Score one for perseverance.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Thankful
Can I be thankful that I have depression? Thankful for the lowest of the lows that I have experienced? The frightening ideations of suicide, loneliness, and isolation that it brings? Well, no. I would be very hard pressed to find any sort of appreciation about anything directly linked with this disease, but there is one byproduct that I have become very aware of, and indeed, thankful for.
The people in my life.
Over last year or so, I have become more and more accustomed to speaking out about my disease and reaching out to others to share my story. The reason being of course, is simple. I want to use myself as an example of someone who has experienced the real-deal, full-blown impact of depression, and by depression, I mean DEPRESSION. Moreover, I want to show that if I can benefit and succeed with treatment, so can others, and if I can feel better, so can they. This is a treatable disease like any other, and stigma and fear should not be impediments to getting help. If I sound like and advocate for the mentally ill, then I guess I am.
With the revelation I have made to my friends, family, and coworkers, the possible worst case scenario, fear and rejection, has as of yet, not raised its head. Instead, the experience has been quite the opposite. Not only have I felt support, others that I know, love, and respect have told me their own stories, asked for my input, or sometimes, even asked for help. This experience has been humbling beyond measure, and it has also helped me develop a deeper and fuller appreciation for the people I am close to.
It's one thing to know what someone likes, enjoys, or has an interest or opinion on, but when someone opens up a vulnerability, real trust comes into play. Trust is the foundation upon which solid and long lasting relationships are built. My experience is that I have seen more people offer me their trust than ever before. For that, my life has become much more enriched, and for that, I am truly thankful.
Depression still sucks though.
The people in my life.
Over last year or so, I have become more and more accustomed to speaking out about my disease and reaching out to others to share my story. The reason being of course, is simple. I want to use myself as an example of someone who has experienced the real-deal, full-blown impact of depression, and by depression, I mean DEPRESSION. Moreover, I want to show that if I can benefit and succeed with treatment, so can others, and if I can feel better, so can they. This is a treatable disease like any other, and stigma and fear should not be impediments to getting help. If I sound like and advocate for the mentally ill, then I guess I am.
With the revelation I have made to my friends, family, and coworkers, the possible worst case scenario, fear and rejection, has as of yet, not raised its head. Instead, the experience has been quite the opposite. Not only have I felt support, others that I know, love, and respect have told me their own stories, asked for my input, or sometimes, even asked for help. This experience has been humbling beyond measure, and it has also helped me develop a deeper and fuller appreciation for the people I am close to.
It's one thing to know what someone likes, enjoys, or has an interest or opinion on, but when someone opens up a vulnerability, real trust comes into play. Trust is the foundation upon which solid and long lasting relationships are built. My experience is that I have seen more people offer me their trust than ever before. For that, my life has become much more enriched, and for that, I am truly thankful.
Depression still sucks though.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Logistics
The fact is the endeavor that I have set out to do is a reflection of a life facing a monumental challenge, and in that sense, it is the perfect stage in which to put the message out. Doing the simple math, in order to make the goal as far a mileage, I need to ride my bike, or any bike for that matter, a little over 30 miles every day. That means every day, no days off from the bike, 30+ miles a day. Of course, it goes without saying, that there may be days here and there that I simply won't be able to get on the bike. That means the miles get carried forward. Miss a ride, the next ride could be 60 miles. Miss too many rides and I won't be able to recover the goal. That means this will be hinged on consistency and a complete dedication to making this goal.
It will be important to take advantage of every opportunity I get to ride. I have already decided that I will outfit one of the unused police bikes and I'll factor in some police patrol riding. The miles count and I can stay in touch with some patrol skills. Also, I think it is going to mean some early mornings before work, a bunch of commuting, taking advantage of group rides, and basically whatever it takes. I have this vision of commandeering some kid's Big Wheel toward the end of the day. "Hey, kid! Gimme your ride! I need five more miles today!"
And, I think a simple rule should be put in place. Indoor spin or stationary bike rides don't count! They can be used for fitness, but let's face it, there is really nothing that captures the spirit of a mission while spinning o a gerbil machine. They are great to lose weight, but not for this. What does this mean for me? There's gonna be some coooold and wet rides to come. Bring 'em on!
My friend Karin likes to call my bike ideas, "kooky", and for once I think she may be right. With what I feel is riding on this (literally), I do not think that failure is an option. I always picture that there is someone out there depending on me to complete this mission. Not only can I not fail for me, I cannot fail for those whom I ride.
Now, can someone please change the length of the day to say, 26 hours?
It will be important to take advantage of every opportunity I get to ride. I have already decided that I will outfit one of the unused police bikes and I'll factor in some police patrol riding. The miles count and I can stay in touch with some patrol skills. Also, I think it is going to mean some early mornings before work, a bunch of commuting, taking advantage of group rides, and basically whatever it takes. I have this vision of commandeering some kid's Big Wheel toward the end of the day. "Hey, kid! Gimme your ride! I need five more miles today!"
And, I think a simple rule should be put in place. Indoor spin or stationary bike rides don't count! They can be used for fitness, but let's face it, there is really nothing that captures the spirit of a mission while spinning o a gerbil machine. They are great to lose weight, but not for this. What does this mean for me? There's gonna be some coooold and wet rides to come. Bring 'em on!
My friend Karin likes to call my bike ideas, "kooky", and for once I think she may be right. With what I feel is riding on this (literally), I do not think that failure is an option. I always picture that there is someone out there depending on me to complete this mission. Not only can I not fail for me, I cannot fail for those whom I ride.
Now, can someone please change the length of the day to say, 26 hours?
Sunday, December 2, 2012
11,000 Miles for Hope
Thank you for visiting my blog. I think first, to get things started, an introduction is in order and an explanation of what this blog is all about...
My name is Jim Russell, and I am the Deputy Chief of Police at the Florida State University in Tallahassee, Florida. I've been at FSU nearly 20 years, and prior to my employment at the University, I was a student there, first as a Fine Arts major, then later switching to Criminology. I graduated in 1991 with my B.S. degree and after going to the police academy in Central Florida, I was hired at FSU in 1993. I've been there ever since. Now, before my very first post goes in the police direction, the important thing to note is that this is not a page about police work, my career, or any of that. This blog is personal, and is about my journey, that I want to share with you, which takes place seated on a bike saddle. I feel it is important to share my experiences, including successes and failures, so you can take this ride with me. What's more, I hope that as I share, you can use my experiences in your own life.
So, anyway, like a mentioned before, this is about my personal journey and on that note, I'll jump right in.
I have clinical depression. There, I said it. It is a mental illness. I believe I have had it some some 20 years or more, but in 2010 I was officially diagnosed by my primary care physician. I wasn't shocked at all to get the diagnosis, as I'll explain later. Although I had suffered from symptoms of depression for a long time, in my own mind, I thought I was just sad from time to time. I figured this was the result of environmental factors, such as relationship issues, occasional loneliness, anxiety about various issues, etc. Things that everyone goes through from time to time, but I had no idea that the feelings and the depth of my depression were not normal, and were indeed, becoming more serious.
Bear in mind that to my friends and family and later, to my colleagues, nobody had any idea that I was suffering. I became an expert on putting the "brave face" on. I had (and still have) a good sense of humor, (don't worry, I promise I'll say funny stuff later) was active, and got along well with others. I was always outgoing and creative, and rose through the ranks pretty quickly at work. In 2000, I made sergeant at 30 years old, and in 2003, I was promoted to lieutenant. I knew my craft.
But inside, it was another story. I would enter deep, dark periods that were highlighted by feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness, and disconnect from others. Between 18 and about 25 years old, I dove into poetry, and wrote hundreds of poems as an emotional valve to express myself. They weren't too bad, I thought, but they nearly all followed a very melancholy theme. I also painted quite a bit, and my paintings were highly reflective of a depressed state. I still have them, and now when I look at them, I know immediately that the artist was clearly depressed. At the time, I explained to those who saw them that I was simply attempting to elicit an emotional response from the observer. Yeah, right.
But there was more. I used my poetry and art to express my emotional state, and actually provide myself some relief it seems. I can remember on an occasion when I was about 19, actually cutting myself on my upper left shoulder. Not deep, but enough to draw blood, and enough to make a scar that I have to this day. If you asked me then why I did it, I wouldn't have been able to explain. Now though, I know it is a psychological phenomenon called "cutting" and it is literally a physical manifestation of causing pain on one's self to release emotional pain. Theories explain that it may release endorphins or remove the focus off of internal emotional pain. It is not a suicidal act, however, "cutters" may be more apt to attempt suicide at a later date. It certainly is indicative of something going on inside. Fortunately, I only did it the one time, but I had other outlets...
From about 14 years old, I was deeply into physical fitness. I saw working out with weights as a way to make myself better, literally. In my mind, if I could sculpt my body or lift weights beyond what people expected I could do, I would elevate myself not to others, but to me. Depression it seems, has an affect on self-esteem. Not only that, but I would work out hard. Sometimes spending 4 hours in the gym, and when I learned that I didn't have the body type to be a bodybuilder, I turned my attention to powerlifting. Powerlifting hurts, and between the pain associated with the workouts and the transformation that the exercises did, you could say that I found my "cutting" release through another, less damaging means.
In a nutshell, the story is that I obviously had depression for a very long time, but I remained functional and successful in most endeavors, although always beneath the surface, it continued to reside. I would attend and graduate from college, get a great job at FSU, and do well in that job. In fact, in a sense, I can say that it was my job and the connections I made there that ultimately provided me with the courage and resources I needed to get help, get treatment, and get better.
You see, this is not a blog about suffering, but it a story about hope and healing. But, a little more before we get to that part.
Depression isn't a stagnant disease that is satisfied with attaining a certain level, and it doesn't strongly manifest itself all the time. It comes in waves and is very cyclical. It can also increase in frequency and intensity as it makes its visits. As I got older, this is exactly what my depression did. My lows became even lower, and I would retreat to a deep, dark place. Whatever feelings of worthlessness I had were even stronger, and although I was surrounded by friends, and had a beautiful little boy, I felt more and more alone. I was even experiencing real physical aches and pains in my muscles and joints. Add to that a crumbling marriage and financial woes associated with that, and I was not in a good place. What stymied me though, was that the levels of pain I was feeling were not parallel to the influences in my life. Sure, at times things were not great, but they weren't so bad that I should have been contemplating, you guessed it, suicide.
Now, I hadn't hatched a plan, and I wasn't giving away my possessions, but there it was, a viable option in my mind to my woes and my pain. Suffering from depression doesn't make you stupid, so more and more, I knew that what I was feeling and my thoughts were not normal. Something wasn't right and it didn't make sense. Yet there it was and the thoughts would come, and when they did, I found myself not dismissing them. Remember that I was not yet diagnosed, so in my mind, I did NOT have depression or any other mental illness. I was fine, just dealing with some issues. Sure.
Of course, work continued and as far as professional issues, things were going pretty well. I was getting more and more into suicide prevention and learning about the subject not due to me, but because we had dealt with some sad cases at work with students taking thier own lives. I learned that suicide is the #2 killer of college students (yes, you read that right - #2), and I knew that getting involved with prevention and partnering with other campus departments was extremely important. I was fortunate to meet at the police station with Dr. Thomas Joiner, a recognized expert on the subject of suicide and quite frankly the preeminent researcher on the subject. As we spoke, he equated suicide as being the end result of factors that are detectable and treatable, but which often go untreated. Just like heart disease shows signs of advancement and just like it can be caught and treated, so can depression and other mental illnesses associated with suicide. He had no idea when he was explaining this to me, but a giant lightbulb switched on in my head.
I set up an appointment with my family doctor.
As I spoke to my doctor, she quickly recognized that I had depression and we discussed how we might go about treating it. She prescribed me medicine which required me to take a small pill once a day. From there, after a couple weeks, the dark places slipped away, the suicidal ideations faded, and for the first time in many, many years, I felt...good. Not ecstatic, but normal. No unexplained weeks of dispair. No sleepless nights. No worthless feelings. Just normal me.
It was that simple, yet it was not. The success of the treatment amazed me, but I knew that I would not be "cured" of depression. I was now a person diagnosed with a mental illness, and I was a cop. That was scary, because in the world of first responders, police, and military, mental illness is often viewed as a sign of weakness and is highly misunderstood. At worst, I thought that I could be looking at the end of my career, but I also knew if that was the price to be paid for living a full life, then so be it. I did know however, that I needed to talk to my boss, the Chief of Police, and let him know exactly what the scoop was. I prepared myself in my own mind. I forgave myself for having an illness. It sounds funny, but I needed to reassure myself that it was not my fault. It was not something that I asked for, nor was it something that I could control or deserved. Like cancer or diabetes, or any number of other diseases, it just showed up and walked right on into my life. It was here to stay, but I didn't need to give it the run of the house.
When I talked to the Chief, I was not surprised, but still glad when he took it all in stride and assured me that he was still completely confident in my abilities, and I could count on his support. That's the kind of guy Chief David Perry is. He believes in his people and appreciates that struggles that they face. He only asks for honesty and integrity, and I think that my sharing with him my personal battle did more to build trust than anything else. I have always felt that as his number two in command, he deserves to know everything about what is going on in my life so he can make an informed decision when he needs to rely on me. At the end of the day, people depend on him and depend on me to make decisions that have a very serious impact on people's lives.
So where does the bike come in?
Of course, during this time, every second of every day wasn't spent being curled up in a corner depressed. I continued to pursue many different interests, and one which captured my heart and soul was cycling. I had stopped with the weighlifting due to developing problems in my knees, and in 1996 I found that the police bicycle squad was a great way to stay in shape and work at the same time. From there, a friend introduced me to road cycling, and after a few years of dabbling in it, I went for it full bore in 2004, when I realized I needed to get a little weight off (I was getting older). I completed my first 100 mile bike ride in August 2004 and having enjoyed the fulfillment that it brought entered several more and did my first race in February, 2005. Say nothing that it was a 12 hour bike race, but I did pretty good with a third place finish, having completed 166 miles in 12 hours. I was hooked.
At the same time, I was concentrating my professional work in the area of drunk driving prevention and enforcement. I was very concerned that we were losing too many young people to impaired driving crashes, and made efforts at enacting DUI checkpoints on campus, participating in the DUI Task Force, and coordinating educational activities. In 2004, with some help, I came up with the concept of a bicycle ride around the state of Florida in order to increase awareness about traffic safety to include seatbelt use and DUI prevention. The concept was launched in reality with the 180 Energy Drink Ride for Survival in 2006 where a team of riders, me included, rode around Florida for 1100 miles in 12 days, speaking at universities and other public locations about our mission. With the support of Anheuser-Busch (yup, the beer) and Florida S.A.F.E. (Stay Alive From Education) our concept was not only successful, but was recognized by NHTSA as a Best Practice in Traffic Safety Marketing in 2006. I knew that using the bicycle as a platform for delivering a safety message was one that worked.
With too many events to list here, I pushed the bike heavily as a means to forward a traffic safety message, and with the advent of my added knowledge regarding mental health, from a first person perspective, I knew it would not be long before the bike would find its way into advancing awareness about this as well.
It wasn't just about using the bike as the only means to push a message. While I laid low for the most part in 2011, I knew that not only would I not allow depression to conquer me, but I was going to take the fight to it. Afterall, although I struggled with it for years, it had not beaten me, and most certainly I was not the only person in the world who struggled in silence. On top of that, I was well aware that in law enforcement, depression and suicide are very real issues, and it was especially sad for me to hear about brothers and sisters in law enforcement taking their own lives. I decided, after a lot of introspection, that if I truly loved the people I worked with, and if I really wanted to do something positive to help others, I was in a unique position to do so. I had never heard of a deputy chief or any high level police administrator coming out about their own struggles. I thought that if my officers and staff were fighting their own battles without help or hope, and if they saw that I would tell them my story without shame or fear of stigma, they may find the courage to take that small step to see a doctor for help. So, in February, 2012, during the FSUPD departmental-wide meeting, I told ALL of our staff my story.
The world didn't end. Instead, within 30 minutes of the meeting closing, 5 of my staff came forward and thanked me for sharing. They shared their own stories and told me about situations in their own families. They shook my hand and I knew that I had kicked down doors that needed to be opened. Since then, many more of my staff have spoken to me and I have made deep and lasting connections with professionals in the mental health community to forward the mission. In fall 2012, I rode my bike for 24 hours on a circuit around the FSU campus to demonstrate that having a mental illness does not make one weak, and that there is hope, even during the darkest of times. During and after this ride I received messages from students that will forever touch my heart, and it further tempered me to keep going on my task to tell my story so others can know there is hope.
Which brings me to this blog.
The bike events that I have put together and done have shown me that without a doubt, the bicycle or any major physical endeavor with a purpose, can be shown to be a parallel of life's struggles. People identify with it and the participants can literally demonstrate their dedication to a cause. This cause certainly means something to me, and 2013 is shaping up to be the most meaningful, intensive, and difficult bike "ride" I have ever come up with. But it is that important to me, and that important that I share it with you every step of the way and every mile -- so that we make every mile count.
Take the last five years of suicide data in Florida and you will see that for every 5 years combined, about 11,000 Florida residents take their own lives. That's 11,000 people with loved ones and families who may have been helped, some of whom through a simple visit to their doctor, like me. If we get the message out that there is hope, and hope is not a distant concept, but a very real, accessible, and tangible thing, I am convinced that lives can and will be saved.
That's why I am deciding to ride my bike 11,000 miles over the course of 2013, and document it all - the ups, the downs, the struggles, and successes, as a reflection of the challenges we all face, but in my case, the challenge faced by a person diagnosed and living with the mental illness called depression. Along the way I want to share my story and my new experiences, and learn about the experiences of others. I want you, the reader, to see that someone living with a mental illness can live a full, complete, and happy life, and that someone like me can attain great things against great odds.
Each mile is dedicated to someone who is lost due to suicide. I will log every mile. I will share everything.
Will you join me on this journey here? I hope you do. For hope.
My name is Jim Russell, and I am the Deputy Chief of Police at the Florida State University in Tallahassee, Florida. I've been at FSU nearly 20 years, and prior to my employment at the University, I was a student there, first as a Fine Arts major, then later switching to Criminology. I graduated in 1991 with my B.S. degree and after going to the police academy in Central Florida, I was hired at FSU in 1993. I've been there ever since. Now, before my very first post goes in the police direction, the important thing to note is that this is not a page about police work, my career, or any of that. This blog is personal, and is about my journey, that I want to share with you, which takes place seated on a bike saddle. I feel it is important to share my experiences, including successes and failures, so you can take this ride with me. What's more, I hope that as I share, you can use my experiences in your own life.
I have clinical depression. There, I said it. It is a mental illness. I believe I have had it some some 20 years or more, but in 2010 I was officially diagnosed by my primary care physician. I wasn't shocked at all to get the diagnosis, as I'll explain later. Although I had suffered from symptoms of depression for a long time, in my own mind, I thought I was just sad from time to time. I figured this was the result of environmental factors, such as relationship issues, occasional loneliness, anxiety about various issues, etc. Things that everyone goes through from time to time, but I had no idea that the feelings and the depth of my depression were not normal, and were indeed, becoming more serious.
Bear in mind that to my friends and family and later, to my colleagues, nobody had any idea that I was suffering. I became an expert on putting the "brave face" on. I had (and still have) a good sense of humor, (don't worry, I promise I'll say funny stuff later) was active, and got along well with others. I was always outgoing and creative, and rose through the ranks pretty quickly at work. In 2000, I made sergeant at 30 years old, and in 2003, I was promoted to lieutenant. I knew my craft.
But inside, it was another story. I would enter deep, dark periods that were highlighted by feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness, and disconnect from others. Between 18 and about 25 years old, I dove into poetry, and wrote hundreds of poems as an emotional valve to express myself. They weren't too bad, I thought, but they nearly all followed a very melancholy theme. I also painted quite a bit, and my paintings were highly reflective of a depressed state. I still have them, and now when I look at them, I know immediately that the artist was clearly depressed. At the time, I explained to those who saw them that I was simply attempting to elicit an emotional response from the observer. Yeah, right.
But there was more. I used my poetry and art to express my emotional state, and actually provide myself some relief it seems. I can remember on an occasion when I was about 19, actually cutting myself on my upper left shoulder. Not deep, but enough to draw blood, and enough to make a scar that I have to this day. If you asked me then why I did it, I wouldn't have been able to explain. Now though, I know it is a psychological phenomenon called "cutting" and it is literally a physical manifestation of causing pain on one's self to release emotional pain. Theories explain that it may release endorphins or remove the focus off of internal emotional pain. It is not a suicidal act, however, "cutters" may be more apt to attempt suicide at a later date. It certainly is indicative of something going on inside. Fortunately, I only did it the one time, but I had other outlets...
From about 14 years old, I was deeply into physical fitness. I saw working out with weights as a way to make myself better, literally. In my mind, if I could sculpt my body or lift weights beyond what people expected I could do, I would elevate myself not to others, but to me. Depression it seems, has an affect on self-esteem. Not only that, but I would work out hard. Sometimes spending 4 hours in the gym, and when I learned that I didn't have the body type to be a bodybuilder, I turned my attention to powerlifting. Powerlifting hurts, and between the pain associated with the workouts and the transformation that the exercises did, you could say that I found my "cutting" release through another, less damaging means.
In a nutshell, the story is that I obviously had depression for a very long time, but I remained functional and successful in most endeavors, although always beneath the surface, it continued to reside. I would attend and graduate from college, get a great job at FSU, and do well in that job. In fact, in a sense, I can say that it was my job and the connections I made there that ultimately provided me with the courage and resources I needed to get help, get treatment, and get better.
You see, this is not a blog about suffering, but it a story about hope and healing. But, a little more before we get to that part.
Depression isn't a stagnant disease that is satisfied with attaining a certain level, and it doesn't strongly manifest itself all the time. It comes in waves and is very cyclical. It can also increase in frequency and intensity as it makes its visits. As I got older, this is exactly what my depression did. My lows became even lower, and I would retreat to a deep, dark place. Whatever feelings of worthlessness I had were even stronger, and although I was surrounded by friends, and had a beautiful little boy, I felt more and more alone. I was even experiencing real physical aches and pains in my muscles and joints. Add to that a crumbling marriage and financial woes associated with that, and I was not in a good place. What stymied me though, was that the levels of pain I was feeling were not parallel to the influences in my life. Sure, at times things were not great, but they weren't so bad that I should have been contemplating, you guessed it, suicide.
Now, I hadn't hatched a plan, and I wasn't giving away my possessions, but there it was, a viable option in my mind to my woes and my pain. Suffering from depression doesn't make you stupid, so more and more, I knew that what I was feeling and my thoughts were not normal. Something wasn't right and it didn't make sense. Yet there it was and the thoughts would come, and when they did, I found myself not dismissing them. Remember that I was not yet diagnosed, so in my mind, I did NOT have depression or any other mental illness. I was fine, just dealing with some issues. Sure.
Of course, work continued and as far as professional issues, things were going pretty well. I was getting more and more into suicide prevention and learning about the subject not due to me, but because we had dealt with some sad cases at work with students taking thier own lives. I learned that suicide is the #2 killer of college students (yes, you read that right - #2), and I knew that getting involved with prevention and partnering with other campus departments was extremely important. I was fortunate to meet at the police station with Dr. Thomas Joiner, a recognized expert on the subject of suicide and quite frankly the preeminent researcher on the subject. As we spoke, he equated suicide as being the end result of factors that are detectable and treatable, but which often go untreated. Just like heart disease shows signs of advancement and just like it can be caught and treated, so can depression and other mental illnesses associated with suicide. He had no idea when he was explaining this to me, but a giant lightbulb switched on in my head.
I set up an appointment with my family doctor.
As I spoke to my doctor, she quickly recognized that I had depression and we discussed how we might go about treating it. She prescribed me medicine which required me to take a small pill once a day. From there, after a couple weeks, the dark places slipped away, the suicidal ideations faded, and for the first time in many, many years, I felt...good. Not ecstatic, but normal. No unexplained weeks of dispair. No sleepless nights. No worthless feelings. Just normal me.
It was that simple, yet it was not. The success of the treatment amazed me, but I knew that I would not be "cured" of depression. I was now a person diagnosed with a mental illness, and I was a cop. That was scary, because in the world of first responders, police, and military, mental illness is often viewed as a sign of weakness and is highly misunderstood. At worst, I thought that I could be looking at the end of my career, but I also knew if that was the price to be paid for living a full life, then so be it. I did know however, that I needed to talk to my boss, the Chief of Police, and let him know exactly what the scoop was. I prepared myself in my own mind. I forgave myself for having an illness. It sounds funny, but I needed to reassure myself that it was not my fault. It was not something that I asked for, nor was it something that I could control or deserved. Like cancer or diabetes, or any number of other diseases, it just showed up and walked right on into my life. It was here to stay, but I didn't need to give it the run of the house.
When I talked to the Chief, I was not surprised, but still glad when he took it all in stride and assured me that he was still completely confident in my abilities, and I could count on his support. That's the kind of guy Chief David Perry is. He believes in his people and appreciates that struggles that they face. He only asks for honesty and integrity, and I think that my sharing with him my personal battle did more to build trust than anything else. I have always felt that as his number two in command, he deserves to know everything about what is going on in my life so he can make an informed decision when he needs to rely on me. At the end of the day, people depend on him and depend on me to make decisions that have a very serious impact on people's lives.
So where does the bike come in?
Of course, during this time, every second of every day wasn't spent being curled up in a corner depressed. I continued to pursue many different interests, and one which captured my heart and soul was cycling. I had stopped with the weighlifting due to developing problems in my knees, and in 1996 I found that the police bicycle squad was a great way to stay in shape and work at the same time. From there, a friend introduced me to road cycling, and after a few years of dabbling in it, I went for it full bore in 2004, when I realized I needed to get a little weight off (I was getting older). I completed my first 100 mile bike ride in August 2004 and having enjoyed the fulfillment that it brought entered several more and did my first race in February, 2005. Say nothing that it was a 12 hour bike race, but I did pretty good with a third place finish, having completed 166 miles in 12 hours. I was hooked.
At the same time, I was concentrating my professional work in the area of drunk driving prevention and enforcement. I was very concerned that we were losing too many young people to impaired driving crashes, and made efforts at enacting DUI checkpoints on campus, participating in the DUI Task Force, and coordinating educational activities. In 2004, with some help, I came up with the concept of a bicycle ride around the state of Florida in order to increase awareness about traffic safety to include seatbelt use and DUI prevention. The concept was launched in reality with the 180 Energy Drink Ride for Survival in 2006 where a team of riders, me included, rode around Florida for 1100 miles in 12 days, speaking at universities and other public locations about our mission. With the support of Anheuser-Busch (yup, the beer) and Florida S.A.F.E. (Stay Alive From Education) our concept was not only successful, but was recognized by NHTSA as a Best Practice in Traffic Safety Marketing in 2006. I knew that using the bicycle as a platform for delivering a safety message was one that worked.
GEICO Road Safety Tour 2012 - Our 4th Florida tour
With too many events to list here, I pushed the bike heavily as a means to forward a traffic safety message, and with the advent of my added knowledge regarding mental health, from a first person perspective, I knew it would not be long before the bike would find its way into advancing awareness about this as well.
It wasn't just about using the bike as the only means to push a message. While I laid low for the most part in 2011, I knew that not only would I not allow depression to conquer me, but I was going to take the fight to it. Afterall, although I struggled with it for years, it had not beaten me, and most certainly I was not the only person in the world who struggled in silence. On top of that, I was well aware that in law enforcement, depression and suicide are very real issues, and it was especially sad for me to hear about brothers and sisters in law enforcement taking their own lives. I decided, after a lot of introspection, that if I truly loved the people I worked with, and if I really wanted to do something positive to help others, I was in a unique position to do so. I had never heard of a deputy chief or any high level police administrator coming out about their own struggles. I thought that if my officers and staff were fighting their own battles without help or hope, and if they saw that I would tell them my story without shame or fear of stigma, they may find the courage to take that small step to see a doctor for help. So, in February, 2012, during the FSUPD departmental-wide meeting, I told ALL of our staff my story.
The world didn't end. Instead, within 30 minutes of the meeting closing, 5 of my staff came forward and thanked me for sharing. They shared their own stories and told me about situations in their own families. They shook my hand and I knew that I had kicked down doors that needed to be opened. Since then, many more of my staff have spoken to me and I have made deep and lasting connections with professionals in the mental health community to forward the mission. In fall 2012, I rode my bike for 24 hours on a circuit around the FSU campus to demonstrate that having a mental illness does not make one weak, and that there is hope, even during the darkest of times. During and after this ride I received messages from students that will forever touch my heart, and it further tempered me to keep going on my task to tell my story so others can know there is hope.
Which brings me to this blog.
The bike events that I have put together and done have shown me that without a doubt, the bicycle or any major physical endeavor with a purpose, can be shown to be a parallel of life's struggles. People identify with it and the participants can literally demonstrate their dedication to a cause. This cause certainly means something to me, and 2013 is shaping up to be the most meaningful, intensive, and difficult bike "ride" I have ever come up with. But it is that important to me, and that important that I share it with you every step of the way and every mile -- so that we make every mile count.
Take the last five years of suicide data in Florida and you will see that for every 5 years combined, about 11,000 Florida residents take their own lives. That's 11,000 people with loved ones and families who may have been helped, some of whom through a simple visit to their doctor, like me. If we get the message out that there is hope, and hope is not a distant concept, but a very real, accessible, and tangible thing, I am convinced that lives can and will be saved.
That's why I am deciding to ride my bike 11,000 miles over the course of 2013, and document it all - the ups, the downs, the struggles, and successes, as a reflection of the challenges we all face, but in my case, the challenge faced by a person diagnosed and living with the mental illness called depression. Along the way I want to share my story and my new experiences, and learn about the experiences of others. I want you, the reader, to see that someone living with a mental illness can live a full, complete, and happy life, and that someone like me can attain great things against great odds.
Each mile is dedicated to someone who is lost due to suicide. I will log every mile. I will share everything.
Will you join me on this journey here? I hope you do. For hope.
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