Woodard Wednesday: why 2015 was a splenectomy

My last post here was December of 2014.  This might be a time to tell you I needed a little break?

Ok, let's call a duck what it is:
...delicious.

I was burnt out.  And not just on writing a blog, I was burnt out on a lot of things.  I've been in hiding, and for that, I do not apologize.  But I will admit to missing you, quite terribly...

me hiding, or just a stupid reason to put an elephant pic in my blog

So where have I been?  Let me explain.
No, there is too much.  Let me sum up.

Last you heard, I had just completed another Ironman and damn near died.  While Cozumel is a beautiful place, I'm happy that it didn't become my final resting place.  At least not yet.  I barely trained on the bike, and surprisingly had a tough day.  Funny how that works, eh?

What you didn't read was that during the summer of 2015, I had yet another disastrous performance at Ironman Mont Tremblant.  Don't get me wrong, I finished the beast.  But it was ugly.  Kardashian ugly.

Why?  I didn't train.  I wonder how many times I need to show up on race morning being SIGNIFICANTLY undertrained to realize that it is a stupid plan.  More so, I wonder what would happen if I showed up that day well trained.  I'm pretty sure I would win.  Just sayin'

2015 will forever be known to me as a year of transition.  I was the proud co-owner of a PT clinic called F Squared PT, which after eons of thought and deliberation, I decided to leave.  It was quite amicable and I love those I left more than bacon.  Nonetheless, leaving your job of 6 years, especially one that you started from scratch, was tumultuous.

I also worked like a maniac during all of 2015 with my mentor, LJ Lee, out in Vancouver towards a manual therapy certification as a physio.  Academically and emotionally, one of the hardest experiences of my life.  I'm still waiting for the sedatives to wear off to ascertain if it was worth it.

Oh yeah, still "working" on that PhD.  Expected dissertation defense date: who freakin cares anymore.

But the juicy part of 2015 surprised me more than anyone else, dare I presume.  Late October I found out that after 11.5 years, I was getting a divorce.

Have you ever seen your spleen?  I mean, like actually seen it physically?  That would be pretty surprising, right?  Yeah, late October was like seeing my spleen.

I was in a position where I was afforded the opportunity to ask myself some questions.  Not big questions like, "why do my lips look like that," but even bigger ones like, "what am I doing with my life?"  "What makes me happy?  Truly happy?"

The answer, in it's detail and splendor, will be laid out on these pages and posts to follow.  I won't ruin the full surprise now, but here is a teaser:

Personal growth, helping people grow professionally and personally, laughing once a day so much it hurts, being the recipient of slobbery kisses (from dogs and others), fitness, being a triathlete again, doing nice things for people because I like to, remembering that each moment is a treasure.

That, dear friends, is a recipe for some self love and healing.  I plan to detail my progress in the weeks, months, and years to come.

So I wonder, now that I just got all vulnerable and showed you my spleen, what makes you happy?  Truly happy?  What are you living to do?  What is your purpose?  If quite suddenly much of your identity was taken away from you, what would be left?  Who would you be?

I hope you can answer those questions.  But my guess, not to get all professor on you, is that many of us really don't know.  We are just surviving - aimlessly floating through each day, so caught up in the stresses of life and the labels with which we identify, the simplicity of the morning sun shining on our face is a miracle unrecognized.

My eyes are open.  I see that morning sun, and that bitch is bright!  But you know what?  I look damn good in shades...

To 2016, a year of growth and discovery.  An opportunity to do things that scare us, to fail, to learn.  I for one plan to live fully, without reservation or crippling fear.  I look forward to telling you how that unfolds.

Loving you like flowers love the rain,
Dr. Chad

Wedding bells be ringin'

Despite the dreadfully boring nature of my everyday blog entry, this one just might prove to be spicier than usual. I have a story to tell. A story I anticipate having only this one chance to offer.

Before I can get into the juicy details of aforementioned story, a bit of background is needed. Before I can get into that, a disclaimer is necessary. This blog is loosely based on my life as a triathlete. This story has very little, if nothing, to do with that at all.  Read on anyway. It’s adorable.

10 years ago I was fortunate enough to meet the person with whom I plan to spend the remainder of my life. We met in a classy, if not intimate, setting full of intrigue and romantic undertones. That’s right, it was Match.com 

At least it wasn’t Craig’s list (not that there is anything shady about meeting someone there…)

We conversed at great length via email and got through those pesky first date questions.  “Where are you from?  What do you do?  What psychopathic tendencies bubble up during the holidays?” You know, normal stuff.

After a relatively epic match of email tennis, we decided to meet.  This is how an episode of Dateline usually begins. In a dramatic voice-over with haunting music underscoring, the announcer says something like, “stay tuned for how an innocent meeting turned diabolical. How online networking ended in amputation for this tragic couple.”

Sounds exciting, right?

Well luck for us, there has yet to be any amputations.  In fact, things have gone pretty darn well. But I mustn’t get ahead of myself.

We met. We sparked. We brunched. Terrifically When Harry Met Sally.

On the way back from brunch, I got an unexpected surprise. I was the unhappy victim of a pigeon bombing.  Yes indeed, I took a direct hit on the right pectoral muscle by a steamy blob of pigeon poo.  Romance of this magnitude knows no bounds.

We did what we could.  While he rushed off to a hot dog vendor to procure some napkins, I reasonably ran frantically in circles with arms flailing overhead whilst emitting a shockingly high-pitched squeal.  I drew attention.  Tourists took photos.  I am not proud of my performance, but at least I got some good exposure.

After an attempted clean up job street-side, we thought it best to go back to his apartment to properly clean my shirt.  I am still convinced he had this whole thing planned just to get me back to his apartment.  Like he needed a plan…

And that is when it happened.  Forgive the terrible sappiness I’m about to commit to this blog, but while we were cleaning the pigeon poo off of my shirt, we were overwhelmed by the romantic notes of the moment and shared our first kiss. Aside from the poo part, it was really quite romantic. And here is the sappy part: it was in that moment, that shared experience of ironic satire and ridiculous happenstance, that one moment would have the power over me to make time stand still. It was truly in that moment that I first felt the feeling of hope and companionship that I had so often craved. I felt at home; I felt at peace. Pigeon poo be damned, this was who I was meant to be with.

Take that, Nicholas Sparks!

Well, long story short (too late), we started dating immediately. I had moved into his place within 3 months and we had adopted a dog, our sweet lovable pup Mick, a few months after that.

We were the envy of all of our lesbian friends.  They only thought they moved fast.  We had set the bar.

At year 3, we moved to the lovely state of New Jersey that had just recently passed a law allowing Civil Unions to be recognized.  There were no sweeping or romantic gestures on this one.  We knew were committed to each other and so we did it. 

The only trouble was that Paul, mystery man of the story, was not at the time out to his family.  With them not knowing about this part of his life, we were unable to invite them to the civil union. The celebration was fierce and our love was unquestionable, but it was a sad occurrence that his family was unable to attend and share such a special moment with us. We have since met, concerned reader, and we couldn’t get along more merrily than if we were drawn by Walt Disney himself.

Let’s breeze over the next 7 years, shall we?  We adopted another pup, princess Maggie, and are proud to say we are still the boastful Dad’s of an ever-youthful Mick.  I managed to get a doctorate degree and open my own business, and Paul managed to save the world a few times over.  Not bad for 7 years.

Now to the juicy part.  Your patience is appreciated.

With our impending 10^th anniversary looming, we decided to book ourselves a celebratory cruise to commemorate such a milestone.  But not only did we want to celebrate, we also wanted both sides of our families to celebrate at our sides.  At the delight of Celebrity Cruises and American Express, we booked a 7-night cruise for the 2 of us, along with both sides of our family.  Let’s not forget the 4 friends who also were able to join bringing the total to 14 folks.

The plans were made.  The flights were booked.  We were finally getting the opportunity to include Paul’s family in the beautiful celebration that is our life together.

And then, as fate would have it, a dramatic event took place that would change the course of this story quite significantly.

Paying heed to the ever-changing sentiment of our country, New Jersey made into law that unions between two people of the same gender would be recognized as a legal marriage. This news came on the heels of the US Supreme Court revolutionizing how the national government would define marriage. 

After 10 years of a committed and loving relationship, we were finally given the opportunity to stand in front of our friends and family and legally declare our union as a married couple.

And that, dear readers, is exactly what we just did!

As of January 5, 2014, I am legally someone’s husband.  On this date, the government of both my state and my country have recognized the loving relationship I have been fortunate enough to help build over the last decade. I wish I had the vocabulary to express what this means to me.  As a substitute, my kick-ass new platinum with diamond accent ring will have to suffice.

But here is the best part: our families didn’t know!  According to them they were flying to Puerto Rico for an anniversary cruise, not a wedding cruise!

To have had the opportunity to share this incredible event with both sides of our family is damn near more that I could have ever hoped for.  So much so that I don’t even care that I ended the previous sentence with a preposition. 

There were tears of joy and photos of the surprised faces upon learning of the true intentions of this trip.  There were moments of jubilation and times of reflection with those who know us best.  But above all, there was love and compassion shared between two people and between a group of family and friends.

I count myself stupidly lucky to have found such a person in my life.  I find myself overwhelmed to have the opportunity to legally and publically make that union recognizable in both the eyes of our government, but also the eyes of our family and friends.  I only hope that the rest of my life will be as enriching, educational, joyful, and fulfilling as the last 10 years have been.  Perhaps a request for such happiness is unreasonable and the notions of a dreamer. 

I’ve always been a dreamer.  I don’t intend to change now.

Totally not our rings.  New pics to be posted when I read the stupid manual to my new camera.