My Bipolar Ambassador

Smoking Cessation Update Th 04.29.2011

2011-04-28T07:39:00.000-07:00

OK, I promised accountability, and this is going to hurt. Yesterday I smoked 23 cigarettes and didn't notice any one of them. The habit is transparent, so it should be easier to quit than I expect.

Good news, went to my group swim lesson at Northwestern last night. Our Coach gave further instruction in freestyle stroke refinement and drills, then we worked on the backstroke. My private lessons begin tomorrow, Friday nights for five weeks.

Lane availability in the pool has been an issue for many years and I thought arriving at 4:30 am would allow for my own lane. Sadly, not the case. Long story short, have decided to swim after work, then go to the track for run workout. This encourages longer, varied training sessions, relieves boredom and repetition and allows for rush hour traffic to expire before my commute home. Winning all around.

So, workout this evening will be first in the pool:

3 x 50 Pull
2 x 50 kick
1 x 50 Fingertip drill
2 x 50 One armed drilled
2 x 50 Backstroke
1000 Freestyle
1 x 100 Cooldown

Drive to track and have snack in car.

3 (4x1/4 mile repeat) @ 3:00 min/ repeat
Cooldown

Home to Jack the dog!

OK, have a greast night and let's all train smart today. :)

Brian

Making the Moment

2011-04-26T06:16:00.000-07:00

Life gives us moments. It's up to you to decide what to do with them.

It's been a long winter in Chicago and I've focused all my energy on just trying to manage, survive and stay functional. Winter in Chicago last from November to April and we're just now, on April 26, 2011, starting to see a breaki in the weather.

I set a goal for the New Year, no use of sick time at work unless completely necessary. It's a challenge as I have a history of taking afternoons off due to fatigue. Part of me thinks this is merely a habit. Habits can be broken. I'm pleased to announce that during the first four months of the year I have only used 1 day of sick time, and that was for a physical illness. My goal is to manage my mental illness so effectively that I do not draw negative attention to myself from my employer through unpredicable, random and chaotic use of sick time. It's a red flag.

Winter is for me, as it is for almost everybody, a season of drudgery. Ironically, the only thing I look forward to is shoveling snow because it breaks up the monotony of work, cold and commuting in the ice and sub-zero winds.

Winter also relegates us to indoor training, which is highly disagreeable to me. I need the outdoors. I need the sunlight, the winds, even the rains to make me feel alive and that I'm not toiling in vain during my workouts like a hamster on an exercise wheel or a rat pushing a button for a pellet. Thankfully, Spring is here and I've moved my workouts outdoors and increaseed the frequency and duration of the training events.

Somehow all the little things I noticed over the barren winter are paying off now. Dietary adjustments, sleep habits and workout routes are now manifesting themselves as training methods and resources. I learned four new biking routes and three new running routes. Sadly, the only swim outlet for me right now remains the pool at the gym, which is overcrowded. By June 1, I expect that the lake will be warm enough for swimming, so, problem solved.

Here's a HUGE lesson I learned over the winter: I drink to much coffee.

I'm compulsive. I smoke a lot and I drink coffee all day. Always sipping coffee. It's a big problem and has led to disciplinary issues at work. I work in a lab and have an egg-head, beaurocratric, by-the-book supervisor that is highly inconsistent. For years I kept a continually refreshed cup of hot coffeee in my lab with no problem. One day, he decided to crack down and began looking for anything he could find to correct.

I found this upsetting as I regularly receive good or above-average performance reviews and there has never been a quality or productivity issue with my performance.

It's embarrasing to admit, but I'm 43 and still have adolescent issues with authority. I resented his inconsistency and being pushed around. I complained to our Director, stating that I'm an adult and expect to be treated with the same dignity, civility and respect that I offer to my peers. The result was a discipilary meeting.

Long story short, something clicked and I decided to take charge of the situation. My first step was to switch to decaf. Can't explain why, but after a month of only one caffeinated cup of coffee each morning, I feel a tremendous pressure lifted from my psyche. I sleep better, think more clearly and am much less prone to aggrivation and hostility. Everything seems easier and more content.

I've learned that I can control my behaviors and not live at their mercy.

My next step is to eliminate smoking. This has been a goal for ten years and I've never quit trying to quit, but I have new inspiration as a result of knowing I can live, survive and thrive without caffeine.

Here is my offering to you as a reader of this blog. I will chart the number of cigarettes I smoke each day and post the result. This is my way of being accountable to you and to encourage you to make changes in your habits that may be holding you back.

Do we have a deal?

The Commitment

2010-08-09T07:21:00.000-07:00

Competing in a triathlon was certainly an ambitious goal, but achieving that level of personal victory was destined to be hollow at best. If, after losing my mind, facing death and rebuilding myself into a pillar of strength and fortitude, the highest achievement I set for myself was to repeat a performance I had already completed, what was the point of growing at all?

I needed a new challenge, something beyond the level I knew. Something requiring the integration of dedication, determination and spirit that I was now capable of. I knew I had the tools, but didn't know how to demonstrate them. I needed a symbol, something recognizing the man I had become, the survivor I was, and the way I had learned to thrive against the odds in this world and in my own unbalanced mind.

Looking around my home, I was surrounded by elements from the past. The trophies, championship jersies, the long-retired basketball shoes were artifacts representing a variety of successes attained through physical exertion, but without brain power. I needed to add to my collection, to deepen the magnitude of accomplishment, to show what my new mind was capable of.

I wanted a medal.

I signed up for the Chicago Marathon and never looked back.

Committing to a marathon is a big deal. When you use the word commit near a psychiatric patient, it has many negative connotations. Enrolling myself as a participant in the marathon gave new meaning to the word committment, a positive connotation, and I felt a tremendous sense of victory in performing the act, feeling that I was taking back from the disillusioned public a word and an act that now belonged to me.

A Man for the Season

2010-08-09T06:42:00.000-07:00

June 2001

I was a new man now, having faced death and survived my suicidal tendencies that led to the bipolar 1 diagnosis.

Having faced my demons and learned from them, the biggest and newest tools I armed myself with were patience, foresight and mental fortitude.

During the '98 and '99 triathlon seasons, I really didn't know what I was doing. I got by the way I always did in everything, through sheer guts, iron-will and what little god-given talent I had.

This season would be different, I surmised/reasoned. It wasn't a conscious choice, it was a result of the resilience and faith always lurking deep inside me that came to the forefront thanks to the effects of medication and the trust I had in my doctor. She was, and is, brilliant, effective, elegant, eloquent, practical and realistic. The dedication she showed as a doctor in treating me not only as a psychiatrist but as a counseler resulted in my developing faith in my abilities and judgement, in my aptitude and skill-sets, in the practicality of my goals and desires and the realities of my ambitions.

Instead of putting all my eggs in one basket and training for one target race, I scheduled four triathlons in the summer of 2001. This allowed me the luxury of having a bad race or experience and learning from it, then applying that experience to the next race. In the past, I would have scheduled one race, a make-or-break event that may have turned out well, or may have been a devastating defeat leaving in its wake a fall and winter of shame, regret and the hauntings of failure and unmet expectations. The long term commitment was now my modus-operandi and it resonated quite well with my perspective on a mentally healthy lifestyle.

Making the upgrade from one race to a season of four wasn't the bigggest challenge I laid out for 2001, however.

When the rubber meets the road

2010-08-06T21:22:00.000-07:00

Now it was May 2001 and I was in great shape, or so I thought. I had trained for four months in the weight room and spent many hours in the pool, on the stationary bike and on the treadmill. Spring had sprung in Chicago and it was time to move out of the gym and take my act to the outdoors.

On a perfect Saturday morning I warmed up, laced up my shoes, said a prayer and went out for a run. During winter training, I was up to one continous hour on the treadmill and felt great. This day, I made it two blocks and almost had a heart attack. The stark reality is that running on a treadmill is no subsitute for road training because on the treadmill the belt moves with you, giving a false sense of achievement.

I was devastated. Four months of foundation work and I had to start over from scratch. Looking back on it, I showed resilience and good judgement because I just kept at it until I demonstrated progress, but it was mental torture. Within a month I was up to three miles and satisfied.

The biggest lesson I learned was that you can't recreate the past. Prior to diagnosis, I ran 7:30 miles in competition. After diagnosis, treatment and weight gain I ran 10:30 miles, but I was much more relaxed and confident in the act of running. For the first time it seemed like fun. It was also relaxing, more like a hobby than work.

I wasn't trying to fit a mold or be accepted by a group of faceless strangers while searching for some elusive Promised Land. I was just running because it was good for me and it felt good.

Week by week throughout May, my distances got longer and more pleasurable. I took pride in demonstrating the ability to repeat a performance, to show consistency and reliability.

Many studies and my psychiatrist's advice say that moderate to vigorous aerobic exercise is better than any anti-depressant medication, and this period proved that theory true. The hardest part was not over-doing it, trying to run faster or beyond realistic distance limits. It took faith and confidence in my new found judgement to know that enough was enough for one day and that there would always be a tomorrow. Regardless, I enjoyed the growth and maturity showed with my daily workouts, sonsidering them as essential as medicine and psychoanalysis, and also enjoyed feeeling good in a way I never imagined was possible.

Maybe it was a matter of over-optimism or searching once again for that elusive goal that would challenge me to push past my limits, but I wanted something big for myself, something beyond anything I had accomplished before.

The Comeback

2010-08-06T12:05:00.000-07:00

January 1, 2001

With the new year off to a not so inspiring start, I had decisions to make and choices to face.

What was I going to do for a job? What was I going to do for a career? What was I going to do about this crazy chick I had living in my house?

With no commitments and some money in the bank, I realized I had the luxury of time, but not too much of it. I had the standard cost of living, plus the cost of doctor's visits and medication, plus the overwhelming cost of COBRA payments, an option that would be running out soon.

I realized I needed a career and I settled on computer programming. I would immerse myself in the Java programming language and become a master. But, per doctor's orders, I also needed regular exercise, one hour a day.

I went back to the gym and felt like a stranger in a strange land. It was quite disconcerting, having no idea how to manage an environment I once flourished in. By this time my weight was still up 40 pounds @ 186# and my body fat was off the charts. I was also smoking more than ever.

I wandered into the gym and saw something new, something that had been desirable but elusive in the past two years: an opportunity and environmnent in which to reinvent myself, to bounce back from the level I had acheived in the past and fly further and higher with wisdom as my guide. The entire environment seemed foreign to me and I didn't know where to begin as I had lost all memory of what were once my strengths, weaknesses and preferences.

I did have two distinct advantages: anononymity and a lack of expectations.

I went to the gym each day and tried something new, just to see what felt good and what was agreeable to me. I found that I had the ability to block out all the interference and distraction that came with the environment: the other members doing their workouts, the history of former results I had been a slave to for years. I also had the distinct advantage of having no model or goal for myself or what I wanted to become. I was just playing, getting my feet wet. The gym had three hours of free parking in the garage and I used them all every day, but when it was time to go I left and didn't give the day's workout another thought.

Due to relationship complications with the nutty woman living in my house ( that's a completely different story and probably best left untold), I never gave the Java language programming idea a true shot, but in it's absence I found myself getting hooked on exercise and being a gym-rat.

Slowly, so slowly I never noticed, the results began to come. Not in appearance, but in mental well-being. All of a sudden I had a new job: keeping fit, and I treated it like a job, with a schedule and performance reviews and every other standard of measure I could imagine.

In April, I passed my brother Tom and made a smart-ass response to one of his comments. He responded "It's nice to seee you're getting back to your old self". I replied "I've been myself for awhile now. Nobody noticed."

Limbo

2010-08-06T11:41:00.000-07:00

I was released from the Field Service Engineer position with the Swiss printing press firm due to lack of enthusiasm. Apparently, my depression was still written all over my face and I had tried to change careers too soon.

.In August of 2000, two months into the job, my manager and his Director came to Cincinnati where we were doing a job and called me outside for a talk. He questioned whether I have the will to do the job.

I thought my record spoke for itself. In the months I was on the job, I was never late, never went home early and never took a day off. Looking back, my mistake was that I didn't socialize much outside of work. I'll forgive myself that as my cowrkers were not to my liking, even on my best days. I was informed of the termination in the sitting room of a hotel in downtown Chicago. On the way home I felt relieved while driving north on Lake Shore Drive and blasting, ironically, "Takin' Care of Business" by B.T.O. on the radio.

I filed for unemployment, but didn't collect as I had landed a tech support position with an I.T. company in the far NW suburbs within a week. It was a contract to hire position, with the hiring decision to be made after four months, on December 31, 2000.

Long story short, I didn't get the job, but I do feel I gave it my best and look back at that position as a turning point. I met my goals of being at the office @ 7:00 a.m. every day in a punctual manner and never leaving my desk to wander due to boredom. The medicine and therapy were paying off. I was becoming consistent in my behaviors at work and at home. I payed special attention to sleep patterns and quiet time. I eliminated interruptions at home and focused on being rested and ready for the next days work.

Eager to return to athletic training, I knew it would compromise my performance at work, so I kept it to a realistic minimum, just enouigh to be interesting and never too much to interfere with my day job. I even started dating, but nothing evolved from it. When informed of the decision that I would not be retained, I blurted out "Is this a performance issue?" My Director responded no, you're asking for too much money and we found a guy willing to do the same job for less. Lesson learned. Money doesn't come easily. No loss really, that job was just a way to keep me busy during the day and stop me from ruminating on the past.

Growing Pains

2010-08-06T09:15:00.000-07:00

The semester ended and I felt nothing but failure. Failure in school, failure at work, in training, in all the ideals I had wanted to change about myself. My goal was to be a new person, to have re-invented myself by Christmas and here I was, worse off than when I started at the Lake Geneva Triathlon when I was full of hope for the person I could become.

In November 1999, prior to Thanksgiving, I was highly manic, showing strong characteristics of mixed-state episodes. Hostile and irritable, I intentionally poisoned a large majority of work relationships because these people did not reflect the type of person I wished to become.

The logic was simple to me at the time: I wanted to be a certain type of person, these people did not possess or demonstrate those same characteristics, so I eliminated them. Granted, I still had to work there, but when you're manic it's easy to generate a layer of insulation around yourself that deters any unwanted influences from entering your space/mindset and interferring with the attainment of the goals you've established for yourself.

So I cut them off. No conversation, no acknowledgements, no polite nodding in the hallways. If somebody came to me wth a request that did not result in me growing towards my goals, they were dismissed, impolitely.

During this time I became a machine in the weight room. I was fixated, as is typical of somebody in a manic state.

I also spent hours throughout the night sitting in my lab taking self-ranking questionnares on mood disorders and learning disabilities to determine why, if I was supposedly so smart, why was I such an under-achiever, why had I terminated all my friendships, why did I refuse to speak to my coworkers and why could I not find one person in this world to enjoy the comppany of?

Here: Insert story about burn-out EE student that I tried to beat up in the Union on my way to the weight room for squat workout.

I met with a psychiatrist on Michigan Ave @ 7:00 a.m. on a Tuesday morning and told my story whuile he sat on the radiator listening closely for an hour. He responded "You seem like a stand-up guy that's trying to make something happen for yourself in life. I don't think there's anything wrong with you besides having ambition." This was good news.

However, after diagnosing myself with ADD, thanks to the advent of online testing, I made an appt. with a psychiatrist through my insurance company. It was a shot in the dark, but seemed worthwhile.

At our first meeting, I told my story and commented on my belief that I was ADD and needed medication to help me focus and start licing to my potential. He responded that, given my behaviors and beliefs, he would lose his license for giving me Ritalin, a stimulant to help me focus and instead prescribed the atypical antipsychotic medication Risperdal, 4mg/day, to eliminate what he believed were psychotic characteristics.

Who am I to challenge a doctor, right? I'm just a guy not making it in this world and looking for help. These doctors are all the same, I counseled myself, and if he says I need antipsychotic medication, then I do.

Well, let me tell you, I did feel a change rapidly, within several days. I was much calmer and not as upset or hyperfocused on tasks unrelated to making a living. I returned to running and felt safe to be alone at home or in public.

Then the weight gain started. I've always been underwight and very self-conscious about it. When I started seeing this doctor I was 6'00"/146#. Within a month I had gained 40 pounds and was ecstatic. If I was ripped and strong as a bull at 146#, just think of how dominant I could be @ 184#. Things were defintely looking up and I owed it all to medication.

Then something happened. The excitement wore off and my thoughts became very nuetral and bland. I blamed it on the winter blues and the fact that Christmas was over and we in the Midwest were settling in for a long cold winter. I buckled down and prepared for what was meant to be a dull, lifeless season.

My thoughts gradually transitioned over the next weeks. Instead of being uninterested in everything, I became fearful and distressed with an overwhelmingly ominous belief that something terrible was going to happen.

I believed my coworkers were plotting to have me fired, that my once magnificent physique and conditioning were eroding in front of my eyes and that my hopes for new, meaningful and gainful employment were evaporating with every day that I progressed deeper into what can only be described as a downward spiral.

These thoughts, while exaggerated, were not completely without merit. Prior to treatment, while I was still acting in an overtly hostile manner, my manager sat me down and said "Listen, I've talked to our Director and our peers. We all think it would be best if you took a week off and dealt with whatever issue that has been causing you to act this way. It won't count against your vacation, you'll get paid, there's no downside. The only condition is that you play basketball every day to relieve your stress and that you don't come onto campus property."

I responded in silence. A suspension. that's how I saw it. These people are too weak to have a strong personality and intelligence like mine in their midst, so they're getting rid of me for a week. It's not a vacation for me, it's a vacation for them - from me. I agreed in essence by responding in silence, then I worked nights, by myself, from 6:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m and got more work done than the rest of the staff put together. I also spent days working around the house, making small improvements and going to museums in the afternoons.

While my thoughts were turning negative, I began interviewing, trying to get the hell out of the University and score a big payday that would get me the high end sport utility vehicle I needed to travel to triathlons in style and be one of the in crowd.

It should have been a slam dunk. The Information Technology sector was booming, companies were screaming for workers and I had the skills to pay the bills. Alas, one of the effects of rampant negative cognitions is isolation and I had stopped reading the news. The I.T. bubble had burst. The market fell on Black Tuesday and I.T. never came back. I responded to job-board after job-board thinking the next one would be a grand slam, but the only reply I received was silence.

Ever-tenacious, I kept sending out applications while the negative thoughts got stronger and took a deeper hold on my being. I even started contacting search-firms, a practice I swore I would never repeat based on my experience with them during my engineering career years earlier.

Soon, the only reason I would show up at work was to check my messages and email to see if I had any responses to employment inquiries. The rest of the day I would leave the lab and lay at home on the couch, eating chocalte cake by the plateful.

On the rare occassion that a placement firm did contact me, I showed up and put my best foot forward.

In times of distress and sadness, we remember the worst and forego the good events. It's a characteristic of depression - discounting the positive. At my low point of interviewing, I responded to the interviewer's question of how many repair calls do I get in a weeek in my current position with the answer of three, which was true.

She laughed in my face.

That's when I started looking to re-enter the field of electrical engineering.

Long story short, I got a job as a field service engineer with a Swiss printing press company. The money was good, but it was 100% travel. I believed I had to take it.

I had poisoned my work relationships and felt it best to leave rather than attempt to repair them, I had no offers to stay in I.T. and this gig paid enough to support the lifestyle I forecasted for myself. But it came with a drawback, too much travelling.

My new doctor told me not to take it, that I wasn't ready for that much of a lifestyle change. My family was against it, but it was my only way out and I took it.

It was miserable. I was heavily medicated and dealing with disturbing and upsetting cognitive patterns every moment of every day while trying to learn a new job and adjust to new people. The only constant in the whole disaster was my brother Tom. He was a rock for me.

Every Monday morning he drove me to the airport with my tools for my 5:30 a.m. flight to whatever city I was going to that week and provided a steady reliable presence for me to focus on and draw from.

One Monday, we sat at the gate having coffee while waiting for the plane to board. I told him I was putting money away to buy a high end S.U.V. so I could show up at triathlons without my bike stuffed in the backseat of the car. He said, with a puzzled look on his face, "Is that why you're doing all this? The new job, the travelling, the career you hate, to buy an S.U.V. so you can fit in at your races?"

"I'll put a $50.00 bike rack on your car and all your problems will be solved."

Moral: Always get a second opinion.

Nice article on careers for persons living with bipolar

2010-08-06T09:03:00.001-07:00

http://www.helium.com/items/1914444-best-jobs-for-people-with-bi-polar-disorder

Growing up...

2010-07-22T12:23:00.000-07:00

"When the going gets weird,
the weird turn pro."

Hunter S. Thompson

"As long as I surrounded myself in scaffolding and labelled myself a work in progress,
nobody could ever accuse me of not being done."
Samuel W. Fussell
Muscle: Confessions of an Unlikely BodyBuilder
Harper Paperbacks, August, 1992

Lessons from Lake Geneva Triathlon, September 11, 1999, Pre-Diagnosis

Arriving late @ the race with my bike jammed in the backseat, I lost my newly acquired bike computer that I had learned to rely upon. The computer gave me a sense of control over the ride, showing me distance, speed and cadence. I found the computer three years later stuffed under the seat of the car while cleaning it prior to sale.

Already stressed for time, I had to assemble what was left of my bike and race off to registration. While hunting for parking, I saw a sleek, infinetely long row of shiny SUV's with bike carriers and perfect looking triathletes ready for the day on what I must admit now, in retrospect, was a beautiful and perfect summer day for racing. I want to be one of them, was the only thought on my mind.

Look at them: early for the day's event, relaxed, warmed-up, prepared and fully equipped. They've got good jobs and the money to buy SUV's for weekends of racing. They look good together, a unit, knowing.

So began my initiation to transition out of what I was into what I wanted to be, based only on the image of a golden morning shining upon competitors looking for thrills at dawn instead of the recesses of the night as I was conditioned to. Remember also when the dawn of the night and its revelations were glowing and mystifying in their enchantments.

The race went poorly, as I've desrcribed, but it was the decision to pursue a new triathlete image and lifestyle that was the lesson of the day.

I came home determined to grow out of my meanial, meaningless computer technician job at the University, a job I once adored but had grown out of due to lack of challenge, activity and income and find something with a salary that would provide the lifestyle I desired. I signed up through work for a Systems Administrator class that was a large undertaking, primarily due to my coworker.

He was a nasty alcoholic, showing up at work drunk regularly and often disappearing to the library for hours on end to sleep. My class was in a remote suburb, M-F, 8 am - 12 pm and, ideally, would give me the knowledge, skills, abilities and credentials necessary to make $75,000/yr. All I had to do was do the work, a familiar theme.

This was the fall semester of 1999, when the dot.com world was peaking and industry was screaming for IT pros. My director loved the idea of having me qualified to run the network and the ambition I showed in taking on the challenge. He was from NY. Enough said.

My coworker was pissed off, whiny, needy and disagreeable. He hated the idea. He wanted to come in late, sleep and get drunk while I acted responsibly. Too bad for him. I took the class.

Each morning, I rose at dawn in my quiet south side home with a purpose, which was quite a change. All I had to do was show up and learn. The class was taught through the University so there was no tuition fee and, while at the remote campus, I inherited the responsibilty of managing that building's electronics lab, independently, mind you. I had already quit basketball and was focused on the class.

The first few weeks went well, even in the face of escalating resentment from my coworker. Then I started taking days off from school. Just once a week to begin, and not without what seemed to be sufficient reason. Traffic was more than I could deal with, I needed more time to study, I could learn on my own, my teacher wasn't very good.

Then I started sleeping in on a regular basis. I don't recall the details, but one day I realized I hadn't showed up in weeks and became embarrassed to show up again. When I did, people laughed. I thought I was committed to the class and the lifestyle change it promised. I thought I demonstrated purpose. I failed. I was embarrassed again and once again my peers were mocking me. I showed up enough to complete the class and pass the exams, I have no idea how. That was always my story as a student. During this time I sought treatment for ADD and not living to my potential.

Race 3:Quitting a triathlon for the first time

2010-06-03T04:26:00.000-07:00

Race 3: Lake Geneva, WI. Sep 11, 1999

This race was the beginning of the end for my career, the first time I knowingly and consciously quit on anything in my life.

The race was on a Saturday. Again, this was in the pre-diagnosis days but the signs of illness were getting too strong to deny. I hadn't slept in days and had been training like a madman trying to fatigue myself. Playing in two basketball leagues, lifting in the weight room, swimming, biking, running, practicing yoga, working full time. Nothing had any affect on me. I was 6 foot, 146#, lean, mean and ripped to shreds with muscle, intellect and emotional resolve.

The Night Before

That night I lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling the blood surge in my veins. We had a family wedding that afternoon at 4:00 and I wondered what the hell I was going to do with myself until it was time to get ready. Laying in bed was a waste of time, something for the weak people in the world.

At 4:00 a.m., I remembered the race scheduled for 7:00 a.m. in Lake Geneva. I popped out of bed, collected my equipment and dashed off to the race, having no realistic idea of where Lake Geneva was, just that I had been there once fifteen years earlier when I was seventeen. Punctuality and deadlines had never been a priority for me except for work, but after getting shut out of the Chicago triathlon due to closed registration, I wasn't going to let a summer of training go to waste without one more race under my belt.

Race Day

I drove north on I-94 to Highway C, just over the border to WI, then was shellshocked to see the road sign saying "Lake Geneva 45 miles". I guessed I would make it to the race site with about ten minutes to unpack, register and set my equipment up in the transition area. The pressure was mounting and I felt each minute ticking off in my mind as the entirety of my summer lay in the fate of making it to the registration table on time.

Naturally, as I would discover at this race and subsequent races hosted by the same unnamed organizer over the years, the Lake Geneva Triathlon was not actually in Lake Geneva, but in Lake Fontana. Searching for the race site put me further behind schedule and increased the tension in my already overstressed, unbalanced mind. Somehow I found the race site, again battled for and found parking (this is a very rich and compelling story in the characteristics and mannerisms of manic thought/judgement that will be covered in a later entry) and made it to the starting line with about three minutes to spare.

At 6:55 we faced east on the beach and stood at attention in our wetsuits for The Star Spangled Banner, then it was into the swim. The stress of the morning and making it to race on time had exhausted all my mental resources and I just started swimming with no concept of strategy or pacing. I've always been able to relax during the swim, letting my mind float away to distant shores, dreaming of the days when I would understand life, its purpose and my role in it, but during this one mile swim all I felt was confusion, tension and that I had made a bad decision by showing up.

At some point during the swim, I had an epiphany. I'm very close to my parents, even in adulthood, and learned at an early age to respect and admire the world they've made for themselves and their offspring. I began calculating my expectations for performance in the race as well as my expected fatique factor and the time to commute home and get ready for the wedding. I realized completing the race and showing up at the evenings wedding rested and ready to be a pleasant guest were dicey, more of a chance than I was willing to take out of respect for my mother and father. I thought the respectful and responsible thing to do for myself, my parents and my family was finish the swim, abandon the race, and get ready for the wedding.

Shortly after this decision, one of the worst moments of my life occurred. I spent a lot of time prior to triathlon as a slam-dancer in nightclubs. I can be very aggressive, territorial and unnecessarially physical. Being manic in a highly competitive environment is as bad place to have these traits. As I swam along, content and somewhat relieved in my decision to abandon the race and attend the evenings wedding, another swimmer swam towards me from the right side. I saw him approaching slowly from a distance and was outraged that he was on a path to cross my path, a path that belonged to me. His line was crooked and I was insulted to the point of hysteria. With every right hand stroke, I looked at his path leading towards mine until finally we crossed. In a fully conscious, premeditaded act of aggression, I timed my stroke so that, as he crossed my path, I closed my fist and punched him directly in the face.

It should have bothered me, to be so aggressive and unsportsmanlike, but it didn't. I never even looked back. It was months later, after diagnosis, that I realized I may have hurt him ruined his day and certainly put him in harms way because I was just being a selfish jerk. It was careless, rude and narcissistic act and I need to make up for it.

In fact, The Lake Geneva Triathlon is my target race this season. It's about vindicating a bad experience, for me and evryone else. Trust me, this time I'll be a good sportsman and co-competitor because, as a collection of age-groupers, we're all in this sport together and it is the responsibility of each of us to make race day the best day imaginable for each of us.

Race 2: Madison, WI

2010-06-02T12:07:00.000-07:00

From first to worst. This race was a logistical nightmare from inception. I'll admit I'm not a world traveller, but how hard can it be to book a hotel room in Wisconsin for one night?

Granted, I thought I was a veteran after only one race, a race I didn't travel for, but I quickly found out making reservations and travelling is the hidden leg of triathlon. I spent two weeks making phone calls trying to find a hotel room on campus until I found a room in a dorm that would be vacated by a band camp that morning. After a boob-headed goof lost my reservation, I unpacked in the room and blocked the door with a dresser, a trick learned from brother John while he was working for the railroad.

At 11:00 p.m. I was awoken by some goof trying to get in, claiming it was his room. We exchanged unpleasantries through the barricaded door as I explained that their was only one bed in this room and I was sleeping in it.

At 2:00 a.m. I packed my equipment and drove twenty minutes to an all night diner for my prerace meal. What a rookie mistake. Loaded up on pancakes with syrup, sausage, bacon, hash browns and two gigantic glasses of milk.

The swim was great and I still have a most excellent photo of me sprinting out of the water. The bike course was better than Chicago, thanks to my upgrade to a Nishiki road bike, but on the run the milk from breakfast curdled in my stomach and I got Montezuma's revenge. That was fun, trying to race all cramped up and trying to keep my breakfast down.

My stomach was so sick after the race I couldn't chance sitting in the car for the drive home until it had safely passed, which took about three hours. No hotel room to return to and afraid to eat anything, I sat in the student union playing video games like a vagabond idiot. Finally, I chanced the drive home and thankfully made it in one piece. This was the beginning of a bad series of Wisconsin races for me.

Race 1: Chicago, 1998

2010-06-02T11:01:00.000-07:00

The first time is always the best. Funny, I never planned on competing, all I wanted was a tan. Had some crazy belief that swimming outdoors would lead to a better tan and never had the patience to just lay on the beach doing nothing except catching rays.

Working for the University had its advantages, as it was near the lake. At lunch, I drove downtown and fought for parking before doing a 1/2 mile swim. The first swims weren't even that long, ten minutes at the most, but it was the infinite expanse of the lake that seduced me.

This was prior to diagnosis and I was merely feeling good, better than usual but nothing to be concerned about. I taught myself to swim at age 26 after years of floundering through lessons and living with a constant, shameful secret. A deficiency and abnormality, if you will.

I was now proud to call myself a swimmer and relished my time in the pool, but the first time I saw people swimming in the lake I was hooked and would do or give anything to be one of them, to experience the infinite pool that only the brave and resilient knew. Loooking back, this calling to a life without limits or barriers was the first overt behavior demonstrating my tendencies towards manic behavior.

So off I went into the great blue void four times a week, thinking of nothing but catching the magical rays of the sun to paint me a golden bronze and allow me to show my love of summer.

Soon, parking became an overwhelming burden, both in time and cost, so I started biking to the lakefront at lunch. Each time I pulled up at Ohio St. beach and got ready for the swim, onlookers would ask "are you training for the triathlon?". No, just taking a swim and enjoying the summer days. The questioning persisted and grew with each day until I finally conceded "Yes, yes I'm training for the triathlon." Back at the office, I signed up for the event with three weeks until race day.

My swim conditioning was good, biking fair, but the run was terribly weak and I had no experience whatsoever in transitions. I focused on running, but looking back, the extent of my training sessions were one mile to Freddie's for a slice of pizza and a coke.

Race weekend arrived and I was flying high. This was prediagnosis mind you and I was certainly in a hypomanic state. Packet pickup and course talk were Friday night at the Conrad Hilton hotel on Michigan Ave. Nothing unusual, but exciting to be part of something so new and different. Saturday night prior to the race, I had insomnia. I tried everything to tire myself out. Must say, my house was never cleaner. Finally fell asleep at 1:00 a.m. with the alarm set for 2:30 a.m. My brother picked me up and we went out for breakfast at a nasty 24 hour joint very far on the wrong side of the tracks.

Finally, it was time to race. Great swim, fair bike. By fair bike I mean I found out quickly my bike was poorly suited for racing. It was my brothers mountain bike from college and I quickly rode out of the top gear. The run was punishing and grueling, but quite fun. My brother and sister were there to meet me at the finish. Sitting down with a cup of Gatorade and a banana I announced my intention to compete in Ironman. Tom asked if he should make his reservations for Hawaii now, that's how impressed he was with the achievement.

Funny thing, it seemed effortless to me. Just something I would be doing on a day off anyway. That's when I knew I was hooked.

Is it worth it?

2010-06-02T05:37:00.000-07:00

OK, training for the Lake Zurich triathlon has been progressing, but I'm starting to wonder how well suited I am to this activity. The two a day workouts have been challenging and, frankly, led to bittersweet results.

On the positive side, my dog Jack and I have grown closer thanks to the run workouts and he has helped me overcome my phobia of running. Something about being responsible for something more than yourself helps me "get out of my own way" as so many of my prior employers have recommended. The nice thing about running with the dog is that there is noone there to tell me I'm doing it wrong.

Alas, I've had time to pontificate my history as an endurance athlete. Realistically, the results are not as encouraging as I remember. As an exercise in reality, I've decided to post my reflections on each race I've competed in to determine where I can improve mentally and build motivation and confidence for the Lake Zurich race. How do you like that, just as I wrote that, the sun came out. :)

Swimming in it...

2010-04-30T03:15:00.000-07:00

Here's one for all the comeback triathletes.

I haven't trained seriously for a race since 2002 when I competed in Ironman Florida. The last eight years have been workouts for fun and maintenance, mostly social or to escape from work pressures and get out to enjoy the weather when Chicago allows.

Given that the Lake Zurich Triathlon is July 11, I've begun training, but in a smarter fashion than in the good old days when I got by on sweat and testosterone. Step 1: I went to LifeTime Fitness for a cardiopoint assessment. The results are not alarming, but slightly concerning.

My heart rate zones are only a few beats off the results predicted by the book "The Heart Rate Monitor Guide for Cyclists" by Sally Edwards and Sally Reed, but my VO2 max and recovery rates are dismal. That's what I get for 18 years of smoking. OK, I'm also eight years older and at 42, I'm encouraged. Also, I'm wondering what effects all this medicine have on my cardio abilities, if any.

So workout 1 was a swim on Tuesday, April 27 @ 4:25 am. There is a crowd of regulars at the pool between 4:30 and 5:30, all shapes, sizes and ages of swimmers, all of whom I admire for their tenacity, resilience and dedication to training. I've been there long enough now that I'm one of them and it feels quite natural. For me, living with bipolar disorder, socialization and interpersonal harmony are hard to come by, but this feels right, as swimming always has.

Swimming with a heart rate monitor forced me to realize why I'm always the slowest guy in the pool. Seriously, I haven't passed anybody in eight years, yet I call myself a triathlete. Regardless, I did two 5 lap warmups and realized that my average swim rate is at a heart rate of 122 BPM, below the Zone 1 threshold.

Swimming along, I daydreamed about the day I would finally pass someone and realized that it might take six months and lots of coaching, which gets really expensive. Nevertheless, It's a goal and will only happen if I stay at it. Then I saw my heart rate. Switching into zone 2 for several laps, then shifting up to zone 3 for one, I actually passed the person next to me.

Imagine that, what seemed like an expensive, long-term, day-dreaming goal, I achieved in less than ten minutes for free. To be honest, the person I passed was a 240 pound woman doing the backstroke, but it counts. So the day was a victory.

In addition to practicing smart, meeting a goal and beginning a routine, this day is memorable because it was the day I met Ms. J.

Today's Bipolar Disorder News

2010-04-22T08:27:00.000-07:00

http://health.usnews.com/health-news/managing-your-healthcare/articles/2010/04/21/health-highlights-april-21-2010.html

Geodon is approved to treat adults with schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. ... A growing number of anti-smoking advocates are lobbying the Grammy-winning ...

http://www.jewishvoicesnj.org/news/2010-04-21/Local_News/Busy_professional_has_become_leading_Aspergers_adv.html

When Steven was in third grade, we were told he had Bipolar disorder, which was thankfully incorrect,” recalled his mom. “It was actually when I went to ...