Kessel Run

Fitting it all in feels like a constant rush. As a father juggling the relentless chaos of three little kids, always moving swiftly from one demanding task to the next without pause. Each day blends into the next with a blur of breakfast messes, diaper changes, school drop-offs, sick kids and activities. There’s rarely a moment to sit still; the noise fills every corner of the house, from the shouted requests for snacks to the spontaneous bursts of laughter that echo through the rooms.

Amid this whirlwind, there’s the rare, quiet moment after the entire house finally goes to bed.

The kids are tucked in, the lights dimmed, and the noise fades to a distant hum of sudden silence. It’s then that a simple run transforms from just exercise into something much more significant—a precious, brief escape. The cool night air from an open garage door on an autumn night dissipating heat as the rhythmic pounding of bare feet hitting treadmill slats becomes a thrumming meditation. The mind quiets. There’s a chance to breathe deeply and find a moment of peace amid the ongoing noise and activity of daily life.

There are always the small but urgent fixes, and though I long for a shower and to dive face first into my pillow, I see my toddler’s prized Millennium Falcon book-light shattered on daddy’s workbench, and I’m reminded of my promise. I hear his gentle sobs in my mind as I pull myself up to the bench to fit the broken pieces back together, hoping in the morning to restore a small yet important sense of comfort and security in a world that can feel overwhelmingly unpredictable.

This life is a delicate balance of chaos and calm, exhaustion and deep love. Every day is a constant forward lean through the sleepless nights, endless demands, and the tiny victories. It’s about turning the volume down on the noise, holding onto the sticky hugs, the whispered “I love yous,” and the shared smiles in the middle of all the mess….

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Accountability

From the end of September, over the following 6 months I aim to establish two consistent habits. Hitting my caloric goal of under 1700 Cal with consistent tracking, and not giving up on 10k steps a day no matter what.

Accountability 10/14

First real slip on steps

Accountability 10/13

Accountability 10/12

Whoops. Didn’t track Calories. May be over.

Accountability 10/11

Virtual race day. I’ll take it. Didn’t “overeat” despite big day.

I did a thing! (Virtual Edition)

First, a quick accountability check. Cal and macros were pretty good. Unexpected trip to Costco and timing made for an impromptu hotdog which affected fat and protein targets. Steps have been perfect for a couple weeks now.

Welp, another year, and another lottery and point miss for Norseman. At 300 points I look to be at 406th place. For me to climb in rankings, I need to be at least in the 5 to 6 hundred range to have a chance at top 100. That’s if others aren’t completing a bunch of races. When I complete the .6 half iron tomorrow, I’ll earn 15 points. When I do 6 months of 32 hours a training a month, I’ll earn 70 points. Then in February I’ll do the ROUVY Norseman bike climb to earn 10 points and a lottery draw. In Nov and Dec I’m considering doing the .8 and then the full distances which would bag me another 20 and 25 points respectively. 140 altogether to put me at 440 pts. Feels like I’d still need to take another shot at Starvation OR I’d need to find a cross-seas adventure that may have a more modest climb to grab another 200 points. At 640 maybe I’d have a chance… Cross my fingers for a lottery moonshot in February?

Get up and start

I’m done with my pitty party. It’s been a few weeks since I DNF’d at Starvation Xtri. This was my first, and hopefully only DNF that I’ll experience. I’ve been wrestling these last weeks with trying to accept my decision, believing in my heart that I would have been just on the edge of completing the race had I kept going.

The name says it all… Starvation was needed to mount that final crest, and I didn’t lose enough weight to make it happen.

As I wrestled with it this morning, my wife commented over coffee that “I chose the hardest goal in the hardest year of my life, and used it to pull myself up out of bed each morning.”

It hit me in a new way when she framed it not as failure, but as alchemy as I transmuted grief into motion. Starvation wasn’t the destination; it was the vehicle as I lived the victory every day that I got on the bike, ran, or swam while carrying grief on your back. The DNF wasn’t an ending, it was an honest mirror: it showed me where my body and spirit intersected with reality. And learned from her experience. I didn’t disregard the signs or take the unnecessary risk, I listened, which means I passed the real test.

I’ve still got the itch to aim for something for this next year, but I need to make sure my priorities are straight and that I’m positioned to put family first. Regardless of how much I may want another shot at Starvation in 2026, I need to focus on diet, nutrition, and well-rounded strength. I’d love the opportunity to give back and support those who supported me through this year. If I can do all of that, and be in a position to try once more… I’d love a chance to prove myself again as I have begun to rediscover balance and started to build the momentum.

Forward motion

Picture it: you’re cresting a hill on the bike, heart pounding, cadence steady. The wind resists, the road pitches up, and every second matters. In that moment, you shift your weight forward on the saddle and into the aero bars, not drastically, not recklessly, but just enough to maintain tension on the chain, to keep momentum alive. That slight forward lean is everything. It’s not desperation—it’s intention. Not panic—but precision.

The same is true in running. Think of the posture of an elite marathoner: a slight tilt forward from the chest. Just enough to let gravity assist without pulling the runner off balance. The lean invites forward motion. It whispers to the body: we’re going there—now. It’s not a fall. It’s a signal. A command to commit.

In the water, it’s even more subtle, yet immediately noticeable. A swimmer doesn’t charge ahead blindly—they find the line of least resistance. The slightest change in head position shifts the entire body. Too high, and the legs drag. Too low, and the rhythm falters. But just the right alignment—just the right lean—and the body slices forward with power and grace.

This lean, in all three disciplines, is not about speed alone—it’s about readiness. Controlled urgency. A physiological metaphor for psychological posture.

You see, when every second counts, we don’t flail. We don’t rush. We lean—just enough to tell the body, the mind, and the moment: I’m engaged. I’m present. I’m coming for it.

Too upright, and you miss the surge. Too far forward, and you lose control. But when it’s right—it’s poetry. It’s the body on the edge of action, tuned to the now, eyes fixed ahead, movement born from purpose.

In life—as in sport—this is the balance we aim for. Not haste. Not hesitation. But a poised readiness. A forward lean that says: I’m not reacting to pressure. I’m dancing with it.

Good things take work

Taking the path of wisdom, like Proverbs 29 suggests, can feel a lot like this morning’s bike ride with my kids. As we pushed uphill, my eldest was ready to give up, her legs burning and her patience wearing thin. That struggle—the discomfort and frustration—is just like making thoughtful, wise choices in life. It’s hard and sometimes uncomfortable., but when we finally reached the top and started coasting down, the relief and thrill made all the effort worth it.

It was a real moment for my kids to see: sticking with something tough leads to rewards, whether it’s a downhill ride or smarter decisions. Patience and perseverance pay off in ways you can actually feel.

Inspired

Finding salvation through breath on the treadmill is a quiet, internal battle where each inhale becomes a source of strength and every exhale a release of tension. Breathing deeply in and out allows me to endure the heat beating down, the sharp edges of pain, the unexpected hurdles, and the uncontrollable forces that threaten to break my focus. I learn to accept the fear that surfaces, welcoming it as part of the process rather than resisting it. This rhythm of breath becomes a lifeline, steadying me when my body wants to give up.

Similarly, listening to a recording of my pastor’s recent sermon with his unique energy and profound insights on interpreting the Bible lifts me in profound ways. His words blanket the noise in my mind, realigning my spirit with calm assurance. The teachings inspiring me to face the day with renewed courage, reminding me that endurance through struggle is not just physical, but spiritual.

Stick hits deep

Watching the first episode of "Stick" last night was a profound experience, especially as it coincided with Father's Day. The scene in the final moments, where the father grapples with the heartbreaking revelation that he has lost a son, hit me with an intensity I hadn’t anticipated. As I sat there, a rush of emotion washed over me, bringing forth memories long buried beneath layers of resignation and acceptance. The portrayal of grief was so raw, so real, that it felt as though my own sense of loss had been pried open like a shovel digging up those feelings I thought I had managed to contain one scoop at a time, layering themselves in a heap before me.

In those fleeting minutes of the episode, I was drawn back to the graveyard where my own son rests. The weight of those memories pressed heavily on my chest, pulling sickly at the pit of my stomach, forcing me to confront an ache that had felt subdued. Each heartbeat echoed with the emptiness left behind, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable. The deep-seated empathy I felt for the character became intertwined with my own grief, pulling me down into a familiar yet painful well of sorrow. It was a reminder of the fragility of life and the enduring nature of loss, an experience that lingered long after the credits rolled and I slipped into dream.

This morning there has been a shade of grief making me trudge through my coffee walk. I step through it anyway, then slowly pick up the pace to zone 2. And when I’m done with an hour, I still feel the inckiness in my gut and put the weights on. Today is leg day, and I grunt through the reps to reclaim myself…. One day at a time. Fueled with coffee breath, sweat mixes with tears that leak out this morning to help get my head on straight for the day. Drip by drip is how I get fit.

Cold Awakening

The chill of the May Lake Tahoe waters seeped through my skin, an icy reminder of the late spring that clung stubbornly to the mountains’ frosted tips. Yet laughter echoed across the shore as my children danced through the surf, their small figures darting in and out of the still crystal like water. The way my son, his cheeks flushed with excitement, would jump to his sister as she placed him on an intertwine and played his feet was a sight that chased away their shivers. My daughter, with her long sandy blonde hair flowing behind her like seaweed caught in a gentle current, would then race to the beach together to dig tirelessly in the sand. Their small hands sculpting mounds which became towers in their mind only to be soon offered as a sacrifice to the tide. It was pure, untamed joy — the kind that felt slightly less foreign as of late amidst the weight of this past year.

Each splash and squeal felt like a memory inscribed against the somber backdrop of a year marked by absence. As my wife stood nearby, watching the children with a soft smile, I could see that her belly was growing, each day bringing us closer to the moment we once celebrated but now approached with a complex tapestry of anticipation and fear. The closer we got to that date, the more the feeling of dread mingled with the joy I fight to maintain. I hovered in a strange in-between, where the beauty of our family’s laughter was shadowed by the weight of what we had lost.

Despite the heavy heart that has anchored me, I turned towards the warmth of these glimmers of lightness and let my body relax. With each grain of sand my fingers touched as I helped my daughter dust off before reapplying sunscreen, I felt a flicker of hope in her moan to continue playing and the smile of joy when she was free to return to the sand tent and those ice-like waters. Memories crafted here, amidst the sparkling backdrop of mountaintops in the distance echoing laughter, were moments against the tide of uncertainty. I wasn’t sure what the following months might hold, but I am determined to hold this day in my heart as a bridge between what once was and what may come next.

The exhaustion nestled deep in my bones was a reminder of the tumultuous path that had led me here, a pathway carved through grief yet punctuated by these fleeting moments of joy. It felt like training for a race I’d never signed up for. Yet this evening, as the sun dipps lower, banding the sky with hues of orange and pink, I embrace the rhythm of breath — an inhale of fresh mountain air, an exhale laced with long-held fears. Perhaps if I can lean into this, I can find my flow, just like in my best training sessions this last week amidst the mountains.

The day was a fragile gift blessed with family, but it was also a declaration: we were here, we were together, and we will continue to craft our story, one precious moment at a time.

Up, Up and Away

The stillness of the early morning hours wrapped me like a soft blanket, a stark contrast to the vivid dream that had pulled me from sleep. In that fleeting moment, shadows from a past long gone intertwined with the surreal imagery of my subconscious. I had scarcely begun to shake off the remnants of that dream, laden with feelings I thought had settled years ago, when a voice broke the silence. My toddler needed me, the unmistakable cue of urgency that reminded me of my responsibilities. For a moment, I lived in two worlds, reminded of a person I had once been while paradoxically being thrust into the person I am now. There was no time for thought. Instinct took over.

I sat upright, rushed down the hall, careful to tread lightly, hoping to navigate the delicate balance of caring for my son while keeping my wife undisturbed. Last night, she had supported my need for an evening workout, a commitment I had promised myself to combat the exhaustion that had come to define my days. With muscle memory, I comforted my boy, went through the motions of washing the sheets and getting him snuggled back down.

Her encouragement last night fueled my determination, and now, as I brewed a steaming cup of coffee, I felt a renewed sense of energy coursing through me. The warmth of the mug cradled in my hands contrasted sharply with the chill of the early morning, welcoming me back to the wakeful world.

Again, relying on muscle memory as I drove to the gym, a surprising realization met me: it would not open until 5 a.m. Time had moved with such stealth, and while I had expected to be among the early birds, I found myself nearly alone in the parking lot. The mist hung on my windshield, a soft veil reminding me that dawn was still a distant promise.

As I waited, I sipped my coffee, its warmth a comfort against the brisk air, and I couldn’t help but picture the refreshing plunge into the cold pool that would simulate the shock that awaited me just two months from now in Utah. Excitement fluttered in my chest as I envisioned the race, my legs feeling strong after a fulfilling 3.5-hour run just days before.

With the steam from my drink rising against the mist outside, the possibilities ahead shimmered with a tantalizing glimpse of what lay just over the horizon.

Spring Blossoms

The warm spring sun is pouring onto the patio, setting a scene for the day ahead. With a fresh cup of coffee in hand, the rich smell mixes perfectly with the blooming flowers nearby. The soft sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling fill the air, inviting a moment to think things over before the day kicks off. Sitting here in this peaceful spot, there's a buzz of excitement for tackling another great day, all thanks to the caffeine boost and the lively spring vibe. Each sip of coffee is like a little ritual, helping to clear the mind and set intentions as the world gradually comes to life.

One small step…

Sticking to a daily schedule helps keep things organized and boosts productivity, but it's easy to forget the importance of actually taking a lunch break. Taking a moment to step away from screens and enjoy a quick stretch can really give your eyes a break from all that screen time. Some good old vitamin D from the sun can also do wonders for both your mind and body, helping you unwind and feel better overall.

In the evening, there's something really satisfying about cooking and enjoying a healthy dinner while hitting my protein goals. It adds a nice sense of accomplishment to the day. Every meal made with care not only fuels the body but also feels like a little treat for all the hard work you put in throughout the day, helping you keep that balance going.

The Art of Release

Grit

Embracing New Energy

As the sun dipped below the horizon on May 11, 2025, a whisper of breeze ruffled the leaves, echoing the gentle promise of renewal. Days spent untethered from the expectations of the routine were a reminder that freedom is found in the lightness of being. With each moment I surrendered to the soft embrace of time away, I felt the weight of past failures dissolve—a release, akin to spring buds forcing dead leaves to let go of their branches, dancing towards the earth in a graceful farewell.

In those precious days, I discovered that resting was not a retreat but rather a bold step toward my own success. The unrealized progress of yesterday lay quiet, their shadows fading as new energy flowed from rested eyes and a quieted mind. The anticipation of using a new habit tracker brings a sense of clarity and focus as I approach the final stretch before my race. As I downloaded a new app called Grit, I was excited as it invites reflection and encourages a more realistic assessment of one’s goals. By defining and detailing daily activities, it helps uncover unseen gaps in your training regimen that might have otherwise gone unnoticed with its intuitive dashboard and notifications build in...

With less than 100 days left, the tracker will serve as a better compass, guiding me to identify areas needing adjustment. I have seen success in my speed, strength, and endurance, but now I must meet my starvation head-on if I am to concur the mountain. It’s time to dig in.

Emptying the tank

Eliminating food to the bare essentials brings about a stark change in the body's sensations and emotions. The skin feels taut, with each nerve more heightened in awareness. This tightness is coupled with a building undercurrent of energy, one that feels both exhilarating and precariously close to overwhelming. The body, sensing a lack of sustenance, sharpens its instincts, ramping up a primal fight-or-flight response. Waking becomes charged with the urgency of survival, the mind racing as it grapples with an instinctual hunger that is hard to ignore.

In this state, each decision regarding food becomes crucial. Just one or two unplanned items can tip the balance between maintaining focus and succumbing to distraction. A single snack could be the difference between feeling empowered by the restraint or being overwhelmed by cravings. The tension within builds, creating a fragile tightrope walk of discipline and desire, where the stakes feel incredibly high. It’s a complex interplay of mental clarity shackled to the raw edges of hunger, where success is measured not just in physical endurance, but in the steadfastness of will.

I’m at a point where I feel like I’ve regained the strength and if I can only lose the extra pounds to relieve the pressure on my joints, I’ll be able to cross the finish line in August. It’s a razor thin margin, but I’m feeling confident that if I focus on my morning routine alone, I’ll set myself up for success and be able to repeat what I’ve begun to make a habit. It has taken years to put the pieces back into place, and now it’s right in front of me if I can keep it steady.

One more thing…

This morning marked another day dedicated to my Norwegian practice. Each session adds 5 more minutes of constancy as a layer of familiarity and comfort is slowly solidifying my skills. It’s a rewarding challenge, one that kicks off my other daily rituals.

Later, I immersed myself in scripture as I wake with a warm cup of coffee, finding solace and reflection in the words. The messages resonated deeply, especially as I wrestled with my emotions. Easter Sunday had recently passed, and visiting Aiden’s grave brought back a rush of memories. I found myself overwhelmed, shedding raw tears this morning that felt both cathartic and foreign as I’ve been doing so well in recent months.

I capped off the morning with leg day, focusing on strength. Squatting 405 pounds was a testament to my methodical drips of persistence. Each rep demanded my full attention, serving as a reminder of my capacity to push limits.

Yet, amidst this dedication to my body and spirit, I've set an intention for the coming months. I’ve resolved to manage my nutrition more strictly, aiming to align my weight with my goals before August 2nd. It’s a delicate balance between discipline and self-care, but I’m determined to make it work.

Today’s the day. Renewed and refocused.

Pancetta Carbinara

Dinner time often brings with it a tide of cravings, especially after a day filled with activity. After a good morning workout, the body seeks to replenish itself, sending signals for something satisfying and indulgent. The urge to devour everything in sight can become overwhelming, as the mind races towards thoughts of a hearty meal that combines salty and sweet flavors.

The contrast between these tastes can be particularly enticing after burning energy, creating an irresistible pull. Saltiness invites the palate to revel in the crispy crunch of roasted vegetables or the savory depth of meats, while the sweetness tempts with the allure of caramelized sauces or a rich dessert. Every element in the kitchen suddenly seems to call out, challenging discipline and decision-making in the moment.

Resisting the urge to surrender to these cravings demands focus. It's a balancing act of listening to the body's needs while remaining mindful of portion sizes and nutritional balance. Crafting a dinner that satisfies cravings without crossing into excess requires creativity. Perhaps a well-seasoned quinoa bowl with sweet and salty dressings, or a carefully measured dessert to cap the meal, can bridge that gap, allowing for satisfaction without regret.

Sometimes it’s out of your control. Your mother in law makes a huge pasta dish and home made cheese danishes and then it’s a matter of pacing and portion control. Every day doesn’t have to be only veggies and protein, but it does require discipline.

75 Hard

Restarting the 75 Hard challenge means committing to a rigorous routine that tests both physical and mental resilience. One of the most demanding aspects is surprisingly the daily requirement to drink a full gallon of water. At the outset, it feels overwhelming, particularly for those unaccustomed to such an intake. The constant reminder to stay hydrated can become a chore, as it requires strategic planning throughout the day. Frequent trips to the restroom quickly become part of the routine, especially when squeezing in a quick workout during a lunch break.
Balancing up to three workouts each day adds an additional layer of complexity. Juggling these commitments while managing a typical workday can leave little room for rest. However, there’s a sense of accomplishment that comes from fitting it all in. Each completed session fosters a sense of discipline and reinforces the commitment to the challenge.

Sticking to the planned meals is another aspect that can prove challenging yet rewarding. Preparing and adhering to a specific meal plan requires focus and organization. It teaches essential skills in meal prep and encourages healthier eating habits while instilling a sense of control and empowerment.

One perfect day checking all the boxes is great, but it only matters if one can sustain the effort. 74 more to go.