Chickalooon

After putting all my stuff inside my tiny little cabin a went for a walk down to the river to check out the sights and what a sight it was.Under the shadow of the mighty King Mountain the Matanuska River was flowing fast and fierce, stained grey by the huge amount of soil that was being washed down toward the coastal plain near Palmer where I had come from earlier that day.I thought that a nice dip in the water might do me some good,although with the amount of silt in the water I figured any grime washed off would be replaced ten-fold.The initial bold strides from  the beach soon became timid little shuffles as the frigid temperatures of the flow soon took hold of all motor control in my lower body.It was bloody freezing!!Not surprising really when you consider that there the massive Matanuska Glacier shedding iced water a days ride further up the valley.Instead of a long swim I was relegated to doing some rehab for my legs and knee and just sat in the shallows freezing my bits off.

 Refreshed and renewed I thought I'd have a look around and then do some of the dry land swim work that I would have to do on a daily basis so my Ultraman swim in a month wouldn't suck completely.I did about 40 minutes of resistance band work before heading off to the bar to do plug in my laptop and re-connect with the world.It didn't take long before I was talked into having a beer by the barman,who incidentally was my cabin neighbour.Allen told me that they were trying a new beer and gave me a sample of some dark,coconut ales that actually wasn't too bad.As this is a very small community who seem to know everything about everyone,the chance to get into the

business of some new blood was just too much to resist and I was soon fielding questions all about where I was from and what I was doing.It was a load of fun and before too long there I was caught in the serious business of pool table domination with half a dozen locals.I hadn't hung out in an old school bar like this for years and it was just hilarious watching the social dynamics between the real locals,the locals who had only moved here recently to build a rafting business and the drop in tourists like myself.

   I had a great time and got to meet some quality folk who were living many and varied lives in the local community.One girl was working with her full blood Indian husband at bettering the local tribes access to pretty much eveything from schooling to transport to medical care,another was a busy trying to organise the best way to get gravel to the new house she was building and was inundated with information overload from the dozen or so self-proclaimed experts at everthying.There were rafters bragging about rivers conquered,campers talking up wildlife encounters, myself soaking it all in and the local bar staff who were just watching the world drive by each day,happy with their little slice of heaven.It was one of those moments when you have to make a choice,does one go to bed early and alone and miss meeting these people because I have to be up at the crack of dawn or do I take the opportunity to sit down,have a beer or three and maybe meet some really nice, simple people.It was a great night and I'm very glad I stayed and it just showed that sometimes you have to let go the plans and just let things happen.Those have always been the best experiences for me and that night was no different.If the rest of my journey was going to provide experiences like these then it was going to be,as they say, one hell of a ride!

On the road

Hanging around in Ancorage for a few more days was a bit painfull to say the least.I really wanted to get on the road so that I wouldn't feel pressed for time later on but I had to be smart and look after my injured knee.I had already done a lot of sightseeing around town and to be honest found Anchorage City itself to be pretty dull.It was obvious that this place closes down in winter as there were very few storefronts,restaurants or cafes that actually opened up onto the street.No open air cafes or noisy beer gardens full of tourists that I could see.Even the downtown malls seemed a bit bleak.Fourth Street provided some entertainment with all it's quaint little stores that focussed on all things Alaskan like the fur trade,mining,outdoor activities and dog sled racing.I enjoyed walking along from store to store checking out all the displays and while loading up on strong coffee and reindeer hot dogs.

   It is a pretty easy place to get around though and for me it was always a nice twenty minute ride into town along the Tony Knowles Coastal Trail which follows the coastline from the airport into the city center.It is part of a fantastic network of greenbelt trails that wind all over the city and is the pride of the greenies here in Anchorage.For me it proved to be a highlight as I tested my knee by following random paths not knowing where I was going but all the time never really in any danger of getting lost.Unlike many others who told me about there experiences with the trail system,I failed to spot any wildlife at all.While my hostel mates had spotted moose,bear and an assortment of apparently hot looking local girls I failed miserably and spied nothing or interest on either four legs or two.

  The day finally came when I figure it was time to leave and so it was up bright and early to repack my bags for the escape out of Anchorage.While I usually don't like the super early moning thing ( mainly because it tends to be too bloody cold) the days that I ride out of bigger cities are the days that a pre-dawn run is required,not that there was much of to dawn to beat here in the north.It was about 5:30am when I finally get myself organised and on the road through the center of town.

   I was concerned that I would have another one of my,shall we say "interesting", run-ins with the cops as I ignored the "No cyclists or pedestrians" sign and rode straight onto the main highway that leads out of town to Palmer some 60k's to the north.These highways are always the best roads and probrably the safest but it never surprised me just how anal the officials can be about cyclists riding them and I had quite the history of police induced detours associated with my bike trips.This time though the two cop cars that did show interest mearly asked me where I was going and wished me luck before driving on to hopefully do some more important police work. The day I picked to leave town turned out to be a great one,blue skies,sunshine and to cap it off a mid morning tailwind all added to an auspisious begining to what I was hoping would be a memorable ride back to Penticton.

  One thing that I had started to notice and something that I has plagued me at the start of previous long trips was a huge sense of lonliness I felt after an hour or so by myself.After all the countless conversations and social interaction with my hostel mates over the previous week,to be out alone on the road agin hit me hard.It is difficult to explain just how it feels and just how quickly the feeling envelops me but it is like a shroud of sadness is cast over me,suffocating all the positives and magnifying every possible weakness.It is not unlike the sudden onset of those very sad times in my normal life,when for no apparent reason,I become very,very sad.Usually it is pretty easy for me to deal with as my treatment of choice over the years has been just to go to sleep and dream happy dreams but out here on the road that luxury really isn't an option.If I wanted to get this ride done I'd have to fight through and wait until the clouds in my head lifted and then it would all be good.They was the same thoughts that haunted me during the Challenge Cairns event at the start of the month and the same thoughts that had me sitting next to my bike,sobbing on the side of the road instead of training for most of May after my relationship ended.A complete sense of loss!It is remarkable just how quickly the sadness hits and the depth of that sadness seems infinit and incurable but most often it vanishes as quickly as it arrived and the world becomes all good again.

   My moment came when I crossed a long bridge about 10 kilometers short of Palmer.I looked over to my right as I was trying to figure out which of the two valleys I could see in the distance would be the one I would follow for the next couple of days.It was then, while staring at the  Alaskan landscape in all her beauty,did I truly realisese where I was and how lucky I am  to be able to have such a grand experience.My mood changed immediately and I was back on track.

   After a stop for a coffee and yoghurt at a gas station on the outskirts of Palmer I continued on and found myself in an ever-narrowing valley where the road started to pitch and roll as it followed the crazy contours of the northen bank of the Manatuska River.It was a beautiful ride and I felt like I was back in the Canadian Rockies where I had also spent more than one trip peddling in awe of my surroundings.This scenery was no different and it made for a slow day for this snap-happy cyclist.I stopped at nearly every pullout to check out the view and have the inevitable chat with each motorist,caravaner and motorcyclist who all seemed to have missed out on the one geography class in school where the differences between the Australian and New Zealand flags were expained.It was all good though and I got to meet some great folks and share in a nice

assortment of home-made snacks and treats offered by a couple of ladies who clearly thought that I was in need of some mothering.I love the reactions that people have when they find me on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere and in all my cyclistic wanderings on four continents I have never had a bad experience.I still find that fact remarkable and wonderful.

  As the day wore on and I struggled to get used to how my light road bike was dealing with the weight of my trailer in tow.I had,in my previous trips,used two mountain bikes and a hybrid with almost every combination of pannier and trailer set-up imaginable and found them to be great but this set up required a degree of finess that I was now learning on the fly.With so much weight pulling on the rear axle the front wheel seemed,on most occaisions,to have a mind of it's own.I was going to have to really concentrate more than usual as the narrow tyres would not be able to roll over the cracks and lumps of the weather worn roads the way that  fatter tyres were able.On normal training days this wouldn't be a concern as I'd just be able to bunny hop or skip over debris but with 30 kilos of trailer attached, that wasn't an option.

  The rest of the day wore on without incident except for the re-occurance of some knee pain around 1pm.This concerned me as I knew I was in store for some serious climbing as I began my approach to the Manatuska Glacier.I had rolled into a tiny roadside hamlet to find  something to snack on and

have a toilet stop and as I was sitting having coffee inside the very rustic,old world diner I got to chatting with the staff about places to camp in the area.They told me that there was free camping down by the river behind the diner/bar but that it was very basic and without facilities but that the cyclist who left earlier that day had stayed in one of the little cabins that I had spied off to the side of the main buildings as I rode in.What,there was another

 cyclist?My competative insticts kicked in for about a minute

which was all the time needed to be told that if I came back and had dinner in the bar that night they would give me the cabin for $15.Competition over,I was staying the night,seemingly going back in time,in Chickaloon,Alaska

Anchorage (part two)

My trip to Anchorage also included something that I rarely participate in and that is a pure running event.In many ways I hate running but I guess that is because most recently I had put on that much weight that it was just so hard.Not only was it hard to physically go through the motions of running but it was hard to get out in public and deal with the thought that I had become fat and useless.I know,by comparison to others, I wasn't huge but to know where I used to be had me looking at my reflection with shame.Pretty much the only time I have enjoyed running over the last year or so was during our Sunday Hash runs in Penticton.For those who don't know what "Hashing" is,well as the saying goes we are a drinking club with a running problem.Generally we play fox and the hound but an adult version with stupid songs,practical jokes and copious amounts of alcohol consumed along the way,all caught for posterity by one or more photo crazy members.It is an absolute hoot and has become one of the true highlights of my life in Penticton.(You can check us out here  http://www.shiggydusters.com/)

 This run was a little more serious in that there was a start line,a finish line somewhere in the distance and the fact that I was wearing a "race number".It was the Mayors Midnight Sun Marathon and for me it was a not much more than a chance to get in a long training run in a place that I'd never been before.I really didn't have any goal time in mind,I just wanted to go for a run and test out the new,slimmer me that had somehow turned up after three months of a monk-like exsistance in Australia's Gold Coast.One thing that I didn't want was a repeat of the mental meltown that I had experienced during the Challenge Cairns Iron-distance triathlon two weekends previous.During the 180k ride portion of that event my head clouded over very badly as my thoughts drifted to the sad realities of a wonderful relationship that had just ended.Four times my wheels came to a stop on that beautiful course and four times I made myself roll on again when all I wanted to do was lay down and stop the pain.Not the pain in my legs but the pain in my heart and my head.I had never before cried during an event but I cried a lot that day.

 The marathon in Anchorage though ended up being a great experience for me as I found myself ticking off the miles quite easily at a pace that would have taken me to a finish time of just under three and a half hours.That isn't fast by any means and I've done that marathon time as part of an Ironman on more than one occaision but given that three months before I coulnd't run for thirty minutes at one time it was looking to be quite an achievement.I ran through the halfway point in around 1:44 and was pretty happy considering I'd been walking through the aid stations and stopping to take photo's along the way.The second half of the race was pretty much all downhill.I figured I'd hit 3:30ish no worries that was until while, taking another photo-op just after mile 15, I slipped on the wet trail and twisted my knee.Oh crap!!!I treid to run but the downhills started to really beat my knee up and by mile 17 I was walking.By the time I hit the mile 18.5 aid station my day was done and with so much ahead of me I decided to save my knee and call it a day.Funnily enough,even though the day didn't work out,I was pretty happy with what I'd done.How much damage I'd done to my knee still remained to be seen.

Back at the hostel the residents had changed from wanna-be fishermen to a building full of mountaineers and that was pretty cool to a non-climbing guy like me.I sat down with a group of Croatian guys who had just returned from climbing Denali with all their fingers and toes still attached.I learned that seven people had already died on the mountain this season and these guys were the last ones to see the last of the fatalities alive.It was weird to think that while I was worried about twisting my knee in a marathon,these guys were witnessing someone die almost twenty thousand feet above me.Perspective!!

I had good reason to be thankful for these Croatian dudes because it wasn't long before I pressed one of them,a doctor,into service.I had started chatting to a young girl in the hostel who I saw was staring at a map of the Inca trail and I casually mentioned that it would be one heel of a hike from Anchorage to Machu Picchu and that maybe she should check out some local maps.She told me that she had been to Mach Picchu last year and that is what got her interested in trekking.She was in Anchorage to participate in a month long outdoor guiding program which would teach outdoor survival and basic mountaineering.I was pretty impressed with her enthusiasm for what she was doing and her attitude in general.What really blew me away was when she told me that she was just sixteen years old!Man oh man what an impressive young lady she turned out to be,strong,smart and full of life.It was durinng our time chatting hat I had my secnd accident we went into the kitchen to put the kettle on and continued to chat while the water heated up.As the kettle started to boil she dropped the tea bag that she was carrying and instictively bent down to pick it up.What she didn't see  was that her long flowing hair had fallen over the spout of the kettle and become tangled,dragging the kettle off the hotplate toward the edge of the stove-top.I saw it and reached out to grab the handle.As I did the lid loosened and a rush of steam shot out burning my fingers.The thing was I couldn't let it go as her hair was still stuck so with one had still getting steamed I had to untangle her hair while trying to convince her to stay still.It all worked out and while I did sustain burns to all the fingers of my left hand at least her young face was spared the prospect of major burns.It was a good karma day for me.Thankfully the good doctor from the Croatian climbing party wasn't far away and he was able too treat my hand with all kinds of stuff that he had in his kit.he even had a look at my leg and then gave me a small bag full of assorted drugs which he told me would help with pain and infection.I'll have to take his word for it as it is all written in Croatian but I'll tell you,the drugs worked!!

  The injury to my knee forced a delay of a few days to my original plan but I'd rather rest up and have everything in working order in a few weeks for Ultraman than let the injury worsen and have me fail yet again So stuck I am in Achorage until I'm able to ride without my knee swelling and able to do stuff pain free.It isn't all bad as I have the continued opportunity to meet more people and obviously the chance to get this blog started.Hopefully though I won't have to wait too long.

Anchorage ( part one)

  Landing in Anchorage was a weird experience for me. I should have been very excited about the prospect of exploring a new destination and thrilled that I have the opportunity to do so but my joy was tempered by the fact that,in many ways, I didn't want to be here at all,I wanted to be somewhere else.I wanted to be somewhere warm,familiar and surrounded by the life I had grown to love.Sadly,part of that life had ended and the rest had to be put on hold until my head and heart had caught up with reality.Where better though to go through the process than to escape to the one place where it seems nearly everyone is escaping from something-ALASKA!!

The long trip from Australia had taken it's toll and I realised that I had spent far too much time on my own thinking about the things that might have been.It was time to start to look at the big wide world and figure out what was going to happen next.It was with this in mind that I came up with the silly plan of riding my bike from Anchorage some 3,600 kilometers to Penticton in southern British Columbia to compete in the 2011 running of the Ultraman Canada Championships.It is an event that I have competed in six times and crewed for other athletes three times.Not a bad record considering that the event has only been held on ten occaisions.I also have the honour of being the only male who has won the silly thing twice and perhaps of greater note,the dubious distinction of  having the biggest fall from grace of any Ultraman Canada participant.My stellar introduction to the sport began with two first placings and a second before my current hogging of positions at the bottom of the table with  three consecutive DNF's (did not finish).Not very grand indeed but instead,something fitting the  "hero to zero" tag quite well.Now after reading my previous posts you may have some idea of what has happened to contribute to my athetic demise but that is the reason and not an excuse.There really should be no excuse because life is what it is and we all do things for our own reasons.People who believe that I failed in those last events are looking at the shallower side of what is important, the real story is that I was alive and well enough to start.I know that sounds lame to some but sometimes just to feel part of something is victory enough to someone who sometimes had trouble just getting out of bed to face each day.

  One thing I was looking forward to was the chance to hang out in the laid back environment of the good old Youth Hostel.I have spent many a night in various hostels around the world,Too many to even try to count and with the rare excepion they were always great experiences.You know,sometimes you need to get away and be with people who do not know you at all,that way you will be acccepted for who you are right then and there with no preconceptions and very little expectations.It is very refeshing and for a people person like myself they are havens of knowlegde.Not the kind of knowlegde that you glean from books but the kind you absorb from the life experiences of your fellow travellers.In this kind of company it is all about communication and for the most part a genuine interest in who you are and what your story is.Rarely am I asked the kind of honest,open questions in my "normal" life that I am asked immediately upon meeting a group of strangers in a hostel.I find it very refreshing.
 
  The Spenard Youth Hostel in Anchorage is no exception and its location in what is apparently the dodgy end of town only lends to the ambiance of the place.It is a huge house which sleeps about forty and unusually for a hostel ,is run with an iron fist by the "house-parents".That was a surprise but at my post partying age,quite a pleasant one I must say.No booze,no smoking,no local guests allowed,only bona-fide travellers,great stuff!What I didn't expect were the huge number of eastern European travellers I met.

   Appartently,I had landed right at the start of the fish processing season and cheap labour from all over the world was flying into Alaska to work the numerous processing plants dotted about the coastal communities.The first group I met were  nine Albanians who introduced me to stupidly strong coffee and even more stupidly strong Albanian rap music,which they seemed to treat with a  sort of national pride that was lost on me.There were also Turks,Serbs,Phillipino's and Mexicans all waiting to be called up to work for a few months processing the catch of the day for minimun wage.The folks from the U.S however were there for the plum jobs on the boats.That is where the real money is to be found,if you believe those who were all but press-ganging the wide eyed greenhorns into service.I was dubious as to the claims of untold wealth at sea but it was of no concern to my plans so I played along with enthusiasm.It is amazing what a few episodes of the "Deadliest Catch" can do to bolster the dreams of a fat wallet for just a few tough weeks at sea.Good luck to them I say,I don't do boats!!

  As usual places like this are full of charcters and the Spenard Hostel did not disappoint,providing a wide a range of personalities as one could wish for.I fell in with a couple of guys while sitting in the garden enjoying the afternoon sun.They had come out for a cigarette and it seemed I was sitting in the smoking lounge.No matter,they sat downwind and the company was worth the mild inconvenience of the occaisional lungfull of smoke.Doug Browne was a half Scot, half Inuit fisherman from North Pole ,Alaska who was trying to round up crew to man his salmon fishning boat which was based in Kenai and was a few days away from sailing.He was quite the storyteller and seemed to know about everything and everyone in the state.His claim to fame was that he had featured in season one of "Deadliest Catch" as deck boss of the Maverick.It sounded great and he told as good a story about making huge money on the high seas as a rich man who is staying in a hostel can.As they say,never let the truth get in the way of a good story.He was fun though and did provide all kinds of local knowledge,including the indentity of and costs associated with, the two street hookers down the road.No thank's mate,not even on my worst day!!

The other guy,who I ended up spending quite a bit of time with over the next two days was an ex Army Ranger,Chris Chase.He was one of those guys who you just knew was escaping the real world in search of a new life somewhere quiet and isolated.He is about eight years younger than me but looks much older with wild,unkempt long grey hair and a face obscured by a full beard and moustache.His yellow,coffee and cigarette stained teeth were a match to his tar stained fingers in which there was nearly always a cigarette clamped hard and smouldering away. I pegged him for a guy in trouble and I was right.We talked a lot about life and travelling and such but it wasn't until I told him of my plans to document my trip and the reasons behind it that he becames very animated,he was all over it saying that I should include the military guys and the hell they are going through with PTSD and how the government is letting them down and on and on and on.I let him rant for a bit and then calmly told him that,in my opinion, his  frustration and energy would best be served in starting the new life he wanted and not spent focussing on his obvious anger toward the US military who,by  his own admission ,didn't care about him.He was speechless!I went on to say that what he had gone through had defined where he had come from and not where he was going.It was up to him to decide his future and not anyone else.Well that was it for him he sat down and said that nobody had ever spoken to him like that before and then he spent the next few hours telling me all about the horrors he had seen in his time in Iraq,Panama and Somalia which caused the nightmares he had to this day.He seemed amazed that anyone would care at all about his problems but after a few of the young Serbs swapped horror stories of their parents fight during the breakup of Yugoslavia and a new realisation that there were others who continued to suffer the injustices of war he seemed to realise that his was not  such a unique story and he seemed to find lot of comfort in that.He changed a little that day I believe and I think that change was for the better.I think he took a couple of small steps in the direction that he had hoped to go.Although he lives with a soul tourtured by memories of a past life I saw in his eyes the spark of someone excited to be alive and it was my pleasure to have met him.

Chris did find work on a boat and set out a couple of days later to start his new life.I really hope he makes it.

Association and Validation

  I wasn't supposed to be up here in Alaska on this current adventure and a few short weeks ago the thought had never crossed my mind.I was supposed to be somewhere else, starting a new life with the woman I love surrounded by friends, in a place I wanted to call home.How things can change in such a short period of time.My relationship was ended,I was rejected and my world collapsed around me.I was left stunned and my dreams shattered sending me reeling toward a place I had not visited for a very long time,the darkest corners of my mind.

 Firstly though,because many reading this know who she is, let me be very clear,you will never read nor hear a single word spoken in anger or disrespect for that one woman whom I still love an adore.She is a most wonderful person who made a decision which was best for her and regardless of how it has affected me what happened is and shall remain, between us.We are still friends and I feel privileged to still be able to play a small part in her life.Enough said!

 The process of grief goes on just the same though and one way I have found to deal with the dark times is to challenge myself physically.Whether it be a long endurance event or,as I have favoured over recent years, a long bike tour where I am able to immerse myself completely in the physical pain and direct the emotional pain of whatever situation in a more positive way.I have no doubt in my mind that I am not alone in doing so but equally I am sure that of the many ultra-athletes (or compulsive workers) I have met in my life many are doing exactly the same,except that they just don't know it.

  How many people do you know who seem obssesive in their own sadistic training programs?How many people do you know who,thanks to the modern social media,make their quest for the next great event more than just another race but their entire indentity?Many of these people find something in the punishment of  training and the validation of that effort by their peers that they lack in regular social interaction.The same scenario could be applied to almost any acivity where an overblown focus or sense of importance is applied to what is really nothing particularly incredible.I have seen it countless times and with the ever shrinking world of global social networking the phemomenon is growing rapidly.I know because I can see in others what I have been through myself.As someone who has spent months in miserable,self imposed isolation where I felt nothing ( and I mean nothing) to put myself through periods of intense pain or discomfort was a chance to feel something again.It doesn't matter that it hurt or I was still miserable in my soul what mattered was that I actually had a physical and emotional reaction to something.This is what people do not understand about those who suffer from depression,there are times when, YOU JUST DON'T FEEL ANYTHING!!!

  The dangerous side effect of pinning your identity to one event or project is that it may actually start to define you.Now that may be great when your world is a happy place but for those who are not so lucky that very definition of who they are may come back to haunt them.All you have to do is look at the tragic suicides of many a sporting legend.One would assume that the adulation of the fans and the associated financial rewards would be enough to fuel a happy exsistance but when the fans are gone and the adulation ceases,what then?Their very identity to which there whole life was pinned is gone and in many instances that person is left trying to explain to the world that there was always more to them than their public persona.The public though is very slow on the uptake generally and will make less of an effort with those on the downslide than those at the top of their  game.The result,well the number of celebrity suicides bears testament!

  In a smaller way,I have found the same thing happen to me in my quest for acceptance with my peers.Many years ago I was thrust into the sporting spotlight when I won an event in Penticton B.C, called Ultraman Canada (http://www.ultramancanada.com/) .It is a three day stage race triathlon which, in the grand scheme of things, is of little consequence.In my peer group however it was quite the big deal and I reveled in the recognition I recieved during those grand days when we were all young and fit.Heck,I even had a three time Ironman Hawaii World Champion tell me how in awe of the race he was and that he couldn't dream of competing in a race like that.Now that is some kind of validation!

  Over the years though I started to get a little sick of the tag of  "Ultraman Champion" because it seemed that my whole identity was associated with that race.Now,don't get me wrong, I absolutely love the event and will always be associated with it but for heavens sake there is more to me than a stupid triathlon.Not many people wanted to see that though.Whether it be seeking some kind of reflected glory or plain apathy on their part,very few people actually asked me about the rest of my life,it was always Ultraman.

  Shortly after my second Ultraman Canada win in 1999 my world started to cloud over as the darkness of depression start to take hold.I know what triggered it and not unlike now it was the loss of a great love and with that a loss of a family and of  purpose.I struggled along and over the years learned to deal with it all in my own way which invovled travelling to many and varied a destination for events and bike tours all the time solidifying my indentity as a world traveller who didn't want to settle down.Nothing could be further from the truth because a home and a family is all I ever wanted,the sport just helped me deal with the void that comes with being alone.I gradually became slower and more unhealthy in body and mind but continued to participate in events all over Asia and Nth America,the difference though was the way I looked,fat and unhealthy.With that change came a change in perception,a change in the way people who had known me before my health took a slide treated me.I'm not talking about casual aquaintances but my close friends.Whether real or imagined I felt like I had become something of a joke,a chariature of what I once was and it hurt!Please read again when I say,real or imagined,because this is what happens inside a muddled mind.Reality can and often will take a back seat so when you do doubt somene when they say that they feel one way or another please do not dismiss them so quickly for what they feel is,to them,reality.My reality,real or imagined, is one where I am about to find that, in the one place in the world where I am most happy,in the one place in the world I really feel is home,is in fact a place where I really don't belong.

  As I now try to come to grips with the twists and turns of my life,such that it is,I have decided to retrace my steps to where it all began seventeen years ago in a little town called Penticton when for a brief moment in time who I was and what I was, were one and the same.I would have dearly loved to have had the dreams of not so long ago come true but I have to move on and to do that I need to go back and reflect on what has happened on the long road I have travelled to get where I am today.

  In five short weeks I will return to compete in Ultraman Canada for the seventh time but this time I am not going to be competing for any great purpose, for any great cause or for the adulation of others.I'm going there to spend time with the only real family I have, my Ultraman family...

Where do I begin..

It is a pretty strange feeling to be sitting here writing a blog about my personal struggle with depression as these situations are generally the kind of things that one doesn't want to share.Firstly there is the social stigma associated with all things related to mental illness and then there is the uncertainty of just how people who thought they knew you will react.The sad fact is, although over recent times, the tag of "depression" has been somewhat accepted and less demonised by the pubic at large it is still a very delicate subject once it involves someone you know.A great many people are still of the old school mentality where the belief is that depression is some new age idea, thought up by the medical profession allowing weak people to stay weak and not "face up" to reality.The "just deal with it" mentality still runs deep in society and that is the very reason so many affected people suffer in silence.

I have decided to to do my bit and speak out and by doing so maybe, just maybe,someone out there might find a common ground and realise that they have the same problems as I and that it is indeed possible to live a "normal" life despite the ongoing struggle with the darkness of their minds.Maybe too, someone will recognise in me, something in someone they love and care about, providing the opportunity to step up and be counted.That is what it is all about folks,it requires an aknowledgement that there is an issue and the willingness of those loved ones around to help deal with it.As they say "It takes a village...."

In this blog I will not be delving into the science of it all nor will I preach that things should be done one way or the other.Instead I will simply let you in on what I have struggled with personally and share some of the experiences I have had with others facing similar realities.Everyone is different and each of us have different triggers and I guess mine,most of all,is finding an identity and by that I mean a place in the world where I am accepted,needed and loved by one special person or indeed one close community for who I am and not for what I may be.There is a difference..

Take heart though all you folks who thought this was going to be a blog about my crazy ride from Anchorage to Penticton,it is all about that and more.You see, part of what I want to explore is how one mans percieved indentity,in this case my Ultraman identity,can in fact be his downfall.How a persons true character is often ovelooked by false perceptions brought about by the nature of his exterior,that being his outward presence and public image.More often than not,those who are in turmoil present a completely different public persona than is in fact their true character.Unfortunately,most fail to take the time nor have the interest to see that there can be way more to a person than is first thought,you just have to want to see it.That is the hard part..and the most rewarding.

I believe that very few people have bothered to truly understand where I have come from,why I have lived the way I have and just who I am.It is easier to form false truths to explain away a life than it is to actually ask about that life.The why's and wherefore's of ones exsitance are often more complicated AND more simple than can be imagined and a troubled mind can usually be traced quite simply to a broken spirit or a tortured heart.

 Wounded by lost love,saddened by broken dreams and fearfull of what the future brings,in all my sad and melancholy glory this is where I stand today..