We get it. I am training. Running to remember and representing our kids. AND... and what?
AND I am learning tons about myself, my grief and how it is affecting me. Consistency is my focus right now. Training for the Ironman is more about consistency and smart training than it is about training volume or even pushing really hard all of the time. I am at a point in my training where I am preparing my body, conditioning my body to train for an Ironman. To even have a chance at qualifying for Kona, the world championships, I will need to train for a few more years. Those years will not be spent punishing myself every day, they will be spent training consistently. They will be spent teaching my muscles what I need them to do, every day. Sometimes people ask me how far I usually run or ride my bike, and at this point in training, that doesn't matter. At this point, I am teaching my body that it is alright to run for an hour or two hours straight, teaching my heart how to get blood to my muscles for that long and not explode. Teaching my muscles how to use the capillaries and oxygen better. My body is not yet at a point where I can punish it and not pay dearly for it the following week.
I am also learning these same lessons about dealing with my grief. I am learning that the facts are not changing and my pain isn't going to go away. There is no way around the fact that I lost my son. That does not mean that I can't take consistent baby steps to learn how to cope and learn how to move with my grief. At first, this all seemed like one big obstacle to overcome, to conquer. That could not be farther from the truth. There is nothing about grief to get over. If you try, you will wear yourself down, you will hurt yourself and you will feel dejected when you fail to "get over it". The failure will feed into your sadness and into your pain and will exacerbate your grief. Nobody wants that.
Grief is something that you will live with, whether you want to or not. Some days, grief will lead you where it wants you to go, down dark holes and into cold places. Some days, you will claim your soul back and have days full of light, joy and even peace. There is a dance that happens. As life plays, you and grief will be dancing away, getting lost in whatever music you have on repeat. You will ebb and flow, sweep the dance floor and embrace tightly as you spin to the rhythm. How do you keep grief from leading? how do you keep grief from taking over? You consistently choose to dance to a song that makes you strong. Find some moves that you can do when grief starts to take over. Maybe you look at old pictures, maybe you read the bible and ask God to remind you that it isn't His fault, or maybe you simply cry for a while. Find something that lets you regain the lead. It may not be right away, but something that gives you control again, something that you can do consistently.
The day we lost Carson, I was lost. The day we lost Carson I had no more direction, but I knew that I had somewhere to go. I went to God. I prayed. I played songs of praise and cried through them. The hardest thing to figure out is that it is not God's "fault". He loves us and your child did not die as a test of your faith, or any other stupid garbage that people will try to spoon feed you when you are sad. God is here holding you and crying with you. He wants nothing more than to reunite your soul with your child's. That is why Jesus came, Jesus came so that you will one day be able to hold your child again. He didn't come so that God could smite you and say, "Now prove to me how faithful you are." That is ridiculous. Let Him care for you.
Eventually, you may be able to lead your dance more often than grief does. God will help. When you are at a point that you lead more often, you can start to find pieces of yourself again. They might look brand new, they might look totally different and foreign to you, but they are your pieces, pick them up. February 12, 2015 I did not run, bike or swim. In April when I was able to find my pieces, they weren't the same. I had a new drive and passion that I hadn't EVER had before. New Pieces, totally foreign, different. When you are able to get to a point of new passion, you find that you may be able to open countless new opportunities to lead the dance. Grief is still a part of my every day, but I am able to dance and move more smooth with it.
Being a big clumsy white dude, I don't dance well. I can openly admit that. Grief is one thing that I have been able to dance with. There is nothing more difficult than to learn this dance. By no means am I a master of the dance, but I am learning. I am learning that consistency is by far the most important factor. The more often we practice doing something, the more often we are able to do it effectively. The more consistent we are while dealing with our grief, the more effectively we will be able to deal with our grief. Our dance will change, there will be days where we flow just right and days where we can't get it. Some days grief will lead, some days we will. The only thing that I know for certain is that it isn't going to go away... ever.
Keep putting one foot in front of the other. As long as you consistently put down the next foot, you will make progress. First step is to know that God loves you and he is not testing you or punishing you. Forgive Him and forgive you.
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Monday, January 18, 2016
Grief Will Change You
I have changed. Things are different. I don't look the same. I don't act the same. I don't feel the same. My clothes fit different. I've lost weight. I don't talk the same. I don't have the same drive.
Look what this grief is doing to me.
Carson's life was a gift. It was a gift that I shall not take for granted. In four short years, I learned about patience, love, happiness, patience, family, fatherhood and patience than I had in any amount of years prior. Kids are only kids for a while, then they become teenagers and they only do that once (thank heavens) and before you know it, they are adults. It's funny to me how I spent so many years being in the same place as my family and not really being with them. Sounds strange, but I am willing to bet that you know the feeling. I was in the same place, I occupied the same area and breathed the same air, but I wasn't totally present. These were years that I will never get back. I held being at work in a higher, much higher priority than being present for my family. I have learned.
We moved to North Platte and I was already working on improving the being present situation. I practiced a deal where I would put my phone down in funny places on purpose so that I would forget where it was. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Since I was at a new place of employment, I set clear boundaries of home time and work time. I have tried very hard not to mix the two and I believe it has worked for the most part. These have all been baby steps. Baby steps to get my family to a place where not only did they know me, but I got to know them. I got to be present for them and be a real father. Making that change was and still is my priority.
Since Carson's passing, I have started a new project, Team Crusher. Getting ready to run an Ironman Triathlon in August of 2016. The race is the exciting part, but not the real part. The race is the culmination. It will be a long day of grueling activity, sure. Outsiders will see it as the accomplishment, but the race is gravy. I am not waiting until race day to remember the kids on Team Crusher. They deserve more than that. Since my commitment to the race a few months ago, I have basically been training 2 sessions a day 6 days a week. This is all time that I remember my kids. This is all time that I pray for our families. The time and work that is put into a race is the real deal. People don't simply show up on race day ready to go. Since October 25, I have trained for 105 hours, I have swam 31,360 yards, ridden my bike 606 miles and run 150 miles. This might be small potatoes to some athletes out there, but that is 105 hours that the Team Crusher kids have carried my fat butt.
In April of 2015, I was a grieving couch potato. I have changed. Things are different. I don't look the same. I don't act the same. I don't feel the same. My clothes fit different. I've lost weight. I don't talk the same. I don't have the same drive.
Loss does not have to be your end. Grief does not have to win. Find something that you can live for and do it. Do something in memory of your loved one.
www.teamcrusher.com
www.facebook.com/teamcarsoncrusher
Look what this grief is doing to me.
Carson's life was a gift. It was a gift that I shall not take for granted. In four short years, I learned about patience, love, happiness, patience, family, fatherhood and patience than I had in any amount of years prior. Kids are only kids for a while, then they become teenagers and they only do that once (thank heavens) and before you know it, they are adults. It's funny to me how I spent so many years being in the same place as my family and not really being with them. Sounds strange, but I am willing to bet that you know the feeling. I was in the same place, I occupied the same area and breathed the same air, but I wasn't totally present. These were years that I will never get back. I held being at work in a higher, much higher priority than being present for my family. I have learned.
We moved to North Platte and I was already working on improving the being present situation. I practiced a deal where I would put my phone down in funny places on purpose so that I would forget where it was. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Since I was at a new place of employment, I set clear boundaries of home time and work time. I have tried very hard not to mix the two and I believe it has worked for the most part. These have all been baby steps. Baby steps to get my family to a place where not only did they know me, but I got to know them. I got to be present for them and be a real father. Making that change was and still is my priority.
Since Carson's passing, I have started a new project, Team Crusher. Getting ready to run an Ironman Triathlon in August of 2016. The race is the exciting part, but not the real part. The race is the culmination. It will be a long day of grueling activity, sure. Outsiders will see it as the accomplishment, but the race is gravy. I am not waiting until race day to remember the kids on Team Crusher. They deserve more than that. Since my commitment to the race a few months ago, I have basically been training 2 sessions a day 6 days a week. This is all time that I remember my kids. This is all time that I pray for our families. The time and work that is put into a race is the real deal. People don't simply show up on race day ready to go. Since October 25, I have trained for 105 hours, I have swam 31,360 yards, ridden my bike 606 miles and run 150 miles. This might be small potatoes to some athletes out there, but that is 105 hours that the Team Crusher kids have carried my fat butt.
In April of 2015, I was a grieving couch potato. I have changed. Things are different. I don't look the same. I don't act the same. I don't feel the same. My clothes fit different. I've lost weight. I don't talk the same. I don't have the same drive.
Loss does not have to be your end. Grief does not have to win. Find something that you can live for and do it. Do something in memory of your loved one.
www.teamcrusher.com
www.facebook.com/teamcarsoncrusher
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