The Good Ones

We lost one of the good ones this week.  Bill Usher, my wife's uncle, passed away in the early morning hours Monday, and my family is reeling from the effects.  Bill Usher was a good man.  One of the best.  He was an amazing mix of characteristics that drew people to him like moths to a flame.  His passion for life expressed itself in so many aspects of his life.  Here are just a few moments that epitomize that.

One of the first times I met Bill was on a ski vacation to Sunriver, Oregon.  I was with a large group of my wife's friends and Bill came over with his wife Mary to have dinner with us.  The night was a festive one.  Bill drank and ate with gusto and his laugh was infectious, filling the room with his presence.  Towards the end of the night, when we'd all had a "little" bit to drink, the party evolved into a dance party.  Bill laughed and danced with the best of us.  The boys started getting rowdy and all of a sudden I saw this sixty year old man pick up our friend Shad and "body slam" him into the couch.  It wasn't hurtful, merely playful, but I remember being impressed by how strong and powerful he was.  I'd learn more about his strength and fitness on the ski slopes.

We met Bill at Mt. Bachelor one sunny weekend morning.  He was strapped in and ready to go.  Being that I was on my high school ski team and have skied for years, I didn't worry too much about keeping up with him.  I couldn't have been more wrong.  The man was like a dart down the mountain.  I don't know if he took a single turn down the entire run.  He simply pointed his skis down the hill and flew.  I found myself having to push it to keep up.  He almost always beat me down the mountain.  He was in his sixties at this time and I was in my mid-twenties.  I marveled at him and remember deciding in that moment that I wanted to be him when I was older.  I wanted to have that same gusto about life that he did.  I wanted to have passion and joy about the things I did.  I wanted to take risks, to feel the wind in my hair, my laugh trailing me down the mountain as his did.

I got to know Bill better over the coming years.  His passion for life continued to marvel me, and when I took a job as a teacher, I found a new reason to enjoy our conversations together.  Bill was a fantastic teacher, as is evident by his many former students who stopped him in restaurants and on the street in Bend.  When Tracy and I visited Bill and Mary, he was full of curiosity and questions about my students, about how I was trying to reach them, about how I maintained the standards in my classroom.  He cared, not only about me, but about the profession as well.  He found it a noble calling, a worthy occupation, and he understood the pitfalls and the drawbacks of it as well.  I could talk to him about things that were happening in my classroom that some folks either wouldn't understand or didn't care about.

He was a good one.

That's the closest I can get to summing it up.  A good one.  We know those good people when they come into our lives and we feel it when they leave us.  Bill Usher came into my life in a flurry of laughter and joy.  He always made me feel welcome in his home and in his life.  I've been lucky to share these last 14 or so years with him.  He taught me a lot of things about how to be in the world.  His presence will be missed.  So, I raise my glass to him (as he would want all of us to do) and drink to the good one himself.  We'll miss you, Bill.

Finishing

I stand in the early morning hours around Wikiup Reservoir dressed in my workout gear and bike helmet waiting for the duathalon to start.  I've never done anything even remotely close to this, so I'm nervous, as is my brother who stands next to me.  We've even lapsed into our adolescent bickering when I won't follow his advice about how to handle my bike tire's need for more air.  Waves of bikers, four abreast, line up and wait for their turn to begin the race.  My heart beats wildly in my chest as we approach the starting line.  We aren't allowed to mount our bikes until we cross a line on the other side of the official start, so my bike cleats clack along on the asphalt as I near the start.  My brother wishes me good luck with good humor and we are told to begin.  I jog my bike across the start line and into the free zone, where I throw my leg over and begin what will be a three hour lesson in finishing.

From the first moments we begin, I can tell I am not in my brother's class athletically.  He's already pulling ahead of me by lengths and we haven't event crossed the first mile of the 28 mile bike ride.  I try to keep up for a while, but my nerves and the elevation have me panting.  My chest tightens with anxiety as I have the first thought of many, Can I do this?  I tell myself it is too early for this kind of thinking and push the thought out of my mind.  I peddle on.

The next time I have the thought is during the one significant incline of the bike course, which happens around mile 12.  I was told the incline lasted about three quarters of a mile, but I swear that thing stretched on for two.  As I pedal my way up the hill, passing a few folks, but mostly being passed by others, I tell myself I can stop and take a rest once I reach the top.  Once this thought is in my head, it begins to infiltrate my mindset.  Why not just stop here and have a "Goo" and then finish the hill?  Just take a momentary rest.  It's amazing how that one thought propagates and tries to push out all the other competing thoughts.  I strengthen my resolve and tell myself no.  I crest the top of the hill without stopping and keep pushing on.  Cresting that hill did wonders for my motivation and stamina.  The rest of the bike course seemed to simply slip by with a feeling that almost resembles pleasure.

At the transition point, when I switch out of my biking gear and get on with the running, I feel good.  I'm tired, sure, but these are the first moments when I really begin to feel that I can accomplish this feat.  Keep in mind, I haven't jogged a single step yet.

I leave the transition post feeling pretty good.  The day is getting hot in Sunriver, with temperatures expected to crest in the 90s, and although I've been good about water and hydrating all day, I'm starting to feel the wear of the heat.  Once I jog out of the transition and get about a mile into the run, I can feel myself getting a bit wobbly.  I slow to a fast walk in order to make sure I can keep going, but I'm suddenly struck with anxiety about my ability to finish.  The idea of getting this far (I trained the least for the biking portion) and failing causes me to pick up my pace again and to push forward with a new, if not a bit addled, resolve to cross the line.

It takes me multiple sessions of walking to get to the end of the 10k course, but as I draw near, there are spectators who encourage me on.  "One more mile," they shout.  "Just 500 more yards.  You can do it." And I find myself believing them.  Knowing it is true.  I pick up the pace from a walk to a jog and resolve to not slow down until I cross the finish line.  In the last corner, I feel myself flagging something serious.  I'm getting a little sick to my stomach and I hope to not make a fool out of myself by getting sick at the finish line. 

When I turn the last corner, I'm overjoyed that I've made it, but I scan the crowd for my family.  I don't see them.  Much of my motivation has been for my daughter to see me finish and I'm disappointed that she is going to miss it.  She missed my finish at a 5k race I ran earlier in the season.  I'm within feet of the finish line when I see a movement through the race course dividers.  My daughter steps through the bars and runs to hold my hand.  She wants to finish the race with me.  She takes my hand and I could swear that she pulls me across that finish line.

I've never done anything like that duathalon before.  Never pushed my body to the limit like that.  But, it wasn't the physical challenge that was the hardest for me.  It was the mental one.  It's given me a new clarity about things in my life, about the things that I want, and what it takes to get them.  I'm still in a state of recovery and rejuvenation from my years of grinding too hard after things that weren't necessarily in line with what I want, but I'm springing back.  More soon...