The Chief – We Can’t All Be….

Chief Master Sergeant Damian Orslene, or the “Chief” as his friends know him, is a board member of Team R4V, an avid competitor and wounded veteran. Click here to learn more about the Chief.

Heroes come in many shapes and sizes. They were many different uniforms, or no uniform at all and most of the time, they come in that instant, when you would least expect them. There are a million differences between heroes: short, tall, hairy, bald, military, or not; but every hero has one common likeness – no matter what else, it is the one thing that usually makes that person in our eyes worthy of the title in the first place: Selflessness. That totally uncommon trait that allows you to place the needs of others above your own, even if it means a tremendous sacrifice.

As I write this, it is the first evening of the Opening of the 2013 Warrior Games. In a few minutes I will head down and walk into a very familiar room, filled with new and old faces and I will look for one in particular that I know for a fact will not be there. He won’t be coming, not because he wasn’t invited, not because he is sick or injured…but for another reason that is so totally mind blowing in this day and age that it almost sounds foreign as I say it. He’s not coming, because after March’s camp he felt his performance was not up to par with the level of performance that is indicative of this year’s Air Force Team. Instead of just continuing on in a spot that was his for the Games, he voluntarily approached the Coaches and asked that one of our hot shot alternates to take his place. He VOLUNTARILY GAVE UP HIS SPOT in the WARRIOR GAMES, so his TEAM could have a better shot at winning. Have you ever heard of such a crazy, insane, and totally, utterly…selfless thing? Do you know how strong a person you must be to willingly give up your slot to someone else? How many others are that strong? How many others would just ride it out, chance at a medal or not; just stay for the experience, for the chance to say “I was on the Team”? An all-expense paid trip for you and the family to Colorado Springs for a week. Would you give that up? Would I?

Selflessness…Last week, as I was waiting for the Team to come out to Colorado Springs, My Bride and I were dealing with the usual things you deal with when having just moved into a new house and are trying to sell your old house. We are finding ourselves surrounded by people with short memories and even shorter supplies of integrity when it comes to our business dealings. In the height of all this, my Bride said to me, “Well Honey, what do you expect, they all can’t be Ricky Tackett.”

That heavyset, loud, sometimes abrasive, huge hearted, Ricky Tackett, who is sitting at home watching his TV in hopes for a glimpse of this on Sports Center.

No, she’s right I guess. We can’t all be Ricky Tackett. Tonight when I go in that room, when I check into for the 2013 Air Force Team, I’m going keep the chair next to me empty. Just for tonight. I’m going to keep it empty for my new Hero. No Sweetie, you’re right, we all can’t be Ricky Tackett, but we should try a little harder to be. This one’s for you Ricky.

The Chief – Katelyn

Chief Master Sergeant Damian Orslene, or the “Chief” as his friends know him, is a board member of Team R4V, an avid competitor and wounded veteran. Click here to learn more about the Chief.

I love to give speeches, motivational talks. I tell the stories of my life and use them to teach others life’s lessons. Often I get asked if or when I will ever write a book about all that has happened to me and my beautiful Bride; that I have such wonderful stories to tell, that others should hear them too. I always tell them three things: 1. You don’t have to go looking for adventure; it is happening all around you right now. Just be the person who runs towards the house on fire instead of away from it in life and you will have plenty of stories to tell too. Remember we are military; we head to the sound of the guns.  2. Pay attention. Life changing moments happen in an instant and usually when you least expect them.  3. I am going to write a book someday. But nobody is ever gonna believe it. Nobody.

We drove from Pensacola, FL to MS to check on our house; with the plan of getting up Saturday morning; meeting Lori’s friend Carla who would be doing the Half Marathon Relay with her, and then head to New Orleans. Friday night we were standing in our driveway, enjoying a beautiful Gulf Coast evening, when we heard the screech of truck tires, the sickening crunch of a vehicle impacting a human being and the nightmare-inducing scream that can only be produced when one has been the eye witness to a horrific accident.

A blue pickup truck swerved into view and stopped directly in front of our subdivision and the screaming intensified. We immediately moved towards the road less than 100 yards away. When I arrived, I found a man and young girl standing at the edge of the road. “I never even saw them,” he said. I followed his gaze from the jumbled mess of broken glass in the road 30 feet away and back to his feet, and down into a ditch. A dark mass lay in the ditch. “Don’t worry I’ve called 911” he said.  “911” I said and the young girl ran down the road screaming.

I jumped into the ditch. I found her lying face down in a puddle of water, not breathing, blood pouring from her mouth, ear and nose. A gash above her eye warns me to move cautiously as I used the light from my cell phone to proceed. Time is everything now; I know this. I dig around her face and get the water and grass away and still get no breathing sounds. We live many minutes away from any immediate rescue, I know this first hand, so getting her to breathe becomes my priority.

I hear the hundreds of hours of Combat Life Saver and Self-Aid and Buddy Care go through my head in an instant. What if she has a neck injury, back injury, head injury? Rule #1: Nothing matters if they are unconscious and not breathing, which she was. I ease my hand under her right shoulder and gently start to lift while supporting her neck and miraculously she gasps. Oh dear God she gasped, and wheezed, and breathed. I immediately put her shoulder back down and a mouthful of blood comes out and a horrible rattling sounds deep in her chest and she quits breathing. Oh $&%$#!  I lift her back up. On my hands and knees, alone in a ditch on the side of the road waiting for help, I whispered in her ear. “Just breathe sweetheart, just breathe.” And she does! A horrible raspy terrible breath, one after the other. I have never heard a more beautiful sound in all my life than that little girl breathing when I thought she would not.

My legs went numb, my arm ached from holding her weight, but it didn’t matter. A man jumped into the ditch next to me and grabbed her shoulder and started to turn her over. I pushed him away. “What the #$%* are you doing?” I asked. “She’s my daughter!” he said, “I don’t give a *#$!” I said. “She’s hurt bad, she’s unconscious, and wasn’t breathing when I got here, I just now got her breathing, her lungs are full of blood, rolling her over is the last thing we want to do without paramedics here. Don’t touch her again.”  “What should I do?” he said. “Come here and hold her hand, talk to her, and pray. That is what a Father does.” I say. He nods and moves to the front of her and brushes the hairs back from her face, “Her name is Katelyn” he says, “She’s 16.” I nod, my muscles screaming for relief from the odd position they have been in for what seems like an hour but has only been 10 minutes or so. “Breathe Katelyn,” I say…”Just Breathe.”

A third body joins us and I am surprised and pleased to find it is a Domino’s Pizza Delivery Man. In any situation, even Life and Death, there is some room for pizza. I smile at him, “About time” I say, “You’re late.” He laughs. “I’m a paramedic in my other job,” he says. “Oh thank you Jesus!” I say. I tell him exactly what I knew and what I had done. “You know you can’t move until the board gets here right?” and I nod. “You sure you’re ok?” I nod. He smiles. “OK”…breathe Katelyn, just breathe.

The ambulance and Fire Dept arrive almost together, and it takes only a moment for them to work out a plan. I help get the collar around Katelyn’s neck, and they cut the shirt from her back. A quick listen confirms what I had thought: her lungs were full. The board is brought, but the paramedics pause. We are all kneeling in a ditch, not the best place to work on her. They talk through a plan of action. I remember thinking how level headed everyone was and impressed I was. No one was running around halfcocked. Everything was talked through before anything was done. Everyone knew what everyone else was going to do before anyone did it. As I knelt there, holding a rasping girl with my blood stained hands, I thought…These guys are good. Then we did it, 1-2-3, we rolled her over, and they lifted her up and rushed for the ambulance, which everyone agreed was the best environment to work on her.

No longer holding her, I fell to the side and tried to unfold my long ago dead legs…but could not. A very kind gentleman, helped stretch me out and eventually helped me stand up and got me to the back of the Ambulance. There I watched them work on Katelyn for quite a while before they were ready to move. Then the doors were slammed and they, in a flash of light and sound were gone. The cops said they didn’t need a statement from me. So I slowly walked the hundred yards back to my house. Where my Bride was waiting for me.

It took a long time to wash her blood from my hands. The last two nights I have woken up with the scream in ears, her face in my mind…Breathe, Katelyn…Breathe.

Then it was Saturday morning and we were heading for New Orleans and all the craziness of doing our first Marathon. Saturday’s News coverage said she was listed in critical condition. Breathe Katelyn Breathe.

Then it was Sunday and if you had read my earlier blog you know that my Sunday morning didn’t turn out as expected. My quest to start and finish a marathon not yet attained. Breathe Katelyn…Breathe.

It was a frustrating morning, but by afternoon I had slipped into spectator mode and enjoyed myself. It was a good race and I always love seeing my Bride run. Afterwards we headed back to our hotel room to shower, change and then start our four-hour trip back to Florida. With our bags packed and everything ready to go My Bride sat down and asked me how I was doing. “Ok” I said. “Very disappointed, frustrated but, nothing we can do about it.  Need to fix the bike and get ready for our 450-mile bike ride this coming weekend. We have a busy week at the house, so…life moves on.” And she started to cry.

Now I’ve known my Beautiful Bride 16 years. She is not a crier. She doesn’t cry at movies, not at cute puppies, in fact I can count on probably one if not two hands how many times in 16 years I’ve seen her cry, and usually it involved somebody dying.

“What?” I asked. “She didn’t make it” she said. “Katelyn didn’t make it.” I sat shocked. “When?” “I got a call yesterday” she said. “And you’re just telling me now?” I asked, and then paused and said, “Of course you’re just telling me now. She nods…“ You were so happy, so excited to race, I didn’t want to ruin that moment for you. I figured it could wait.” Of course. “You’ve been carrying that inside for two days for me” I said. And we cried together. Oh Katelyn, why couldn’t you have just kept breathing?

Suddenly, worrying about the bike and a million other things we had to do seemed trivial. We loaded up and left New Orleans and drove to Ocean Springs in time to make Mass at our church and prayed hard for understanding, wisdom, and strength. Then we got back in the truck and drove two more hours, mostly in silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. How lucky we were, blessed, grateful and how quickly in an instant it could all change. We both sighed deeply, as almost relieved, as we pulled up our driveway to home.

A huge thunderstorm brought with it a huge headache that night so sleep evaded me. Not so sure I would have slept anyways. Her beautiful face, blood and mud covered, was ever present in my mind. Around 0230 I found myself standing in the garage next to my other Recumbent Bike, that up to this point had not been named. It is an Ice, foldable Trike. It’s an amazing bike in its own right, but more of a mountain bike versus a race bike when compared to Ms. Kitty. My Bride always sensitive to my whereabouts came out to find me to make sure I was okay. “What you doing?” she asked. I didn’t respond as much as I just pointed to the Ice, “Miss Kate” I said.  “Miss Kate? As in short for Katelyn?” she inquired. And I shrugged. “Ms. Kitty and Ms. Kate…has a nice ring to it.” she said. I thought so too.

The Chief – New Orleans Marathon

Chief Master Sergeant Damian Orslene, or the “Chief” as his friends know him, is a board member of Team R4V, an avid competitor and wounded veteran. Click here to learn more about the Chief.

I have always said that there are defining moments in a person’s life. And a smart person recognizes these moments and stops to think… Always think. So, as I stood there underneath the New Orleans Rock-N-Roll Marathon banner, in front of Chute One, just seconds away from the start, holding the twisted ends of my bike chain in my hand, the floodgates of the entire spectrum of my emotions roared to the surface in an instant. A very nice young man was helping me and he said, “Sorry, dude but your day is over.” I wanted to scream and yell and swear and stomp my feet! Over! Over! ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME???? Over!!!

I had told everyone I was going to be in this Marathon, I had written about it, talked about it, bragged about it. I was going to be the first Recumbent ever allowed into a Rock-n-Roll Marathon! But I wasn’t.

That morning as I was waiting at the line another recumbent rider on a heavy touring trike rolled up beside me. Of course I was surprised. Jennifer walked up with him. Her eyes quite large. “Another recumbent?” I inquired. Because all along the story had been I was the first and only etc. Jennifer said, “I didn’t even know he was coming, he just showed up! We figured you were here already so what the heck! Don’t worry about him, he’s an 11 mile an hour guy, you’re 15. You’re the story.” But I wasn’t and he is.

God works amazing miracles in my life. I can tell you story, after story, after story. But he also sometimes sends me reminders. Reminders that I have started to focus too much on myself and not enough on Him and others. At the Expo yesterday, I bought a 26.2 magnet in anticipation of completing the race. My bride was going to draw  a little recumbent dude on it for me. We had it all figured out. And life decides to humble you.

I stood next to Ms. Kitty, my now broken recumbent, and watched Heavy Touring Guy leave, then wave after wave of runners go by. My Bride, who had taken off for the Relay runner’s corral, turned and came back at my explicitly graphic text explaining my situation. We took Ms. Kitty to the UPS trucks, which earlier had taken our gear bags and upon explaining our situation, were more than happy to take her, so I could join Lori in the Relay Corral.

I was caught up in my own whirlwind of self-pity for the first 30 minutes or so of standing next to my Bride in the Relay Corral, but the constant cheering and laughter around me soon started testing at the edges of my mood’s black cloud. A man ran by with a rubber alligator on his head; I turned to Lori and as I started to ask she just laughed and said, “You haven’t seen anything yet”.

Inside the chute where racers hand off their drum stick, that served as their relay baton, was a woman in a full Kimono and the Team Geisha Girls, even paused a second, for pictures, before Girl # 2 ran off to do her part of the race. A tall good looking young man was standing next to me anxiously awaiting the arrival of his Relay teammate.  A quick glance at his watch and at me, “Any time now” he said. A roar from the crowd and a huge smile on his face announced the arrival of his running mate. He whipped off his sweat pants and sweat Shirt to reveal Batman Speedos and Black cape. He turned to me and winked before placing a Batman mask on his face and stepping out in front of the crowd to meet Captain America, complete with Shield, who was running towards him. The crowd went nuts, all except my bride who had picked this exact moment to visit the port-a-johns. Poor girl. The two super Heroes stopped side-by-side for a second; puffed out their chests; struck classic super hero poses, before Batman dashed off into the never-ending stream of flashing shoes.

Then it was my Bride’s turn. Here came Carla. A quick kiss, a pass of the baton and suddenly Carla was there and My Bride was gone. It was many many blocks of walking to the waiting buses that took us to the finish line. We got off the buses and had so much walking from the drop off point to get to the actual Finish that it was no surprise when my cell phone rang and it was Lori saying she was at mile 12 and where were we so she could look for us. Funny, we were still walking. “You better hurry” she said, ”I’m running hard.” And she was. We just got to the fence when she came blazing around the corner, her head up, a big smile, waving and then a mad dash to the line. Oh how I love to see her run.

They stood there side by side with their finishers’ medals and gone was the picture of the three of us, with Medals and for an instant it hurt again. And when we picked Ms. Kitty up and walked her to the truck, it hurt again…and as I type this…it hurts. I really wanted that. But I wouldn’t be an athlete if I didn’t.

But in truth, a wise person must always think. We accomplished exactly what we set out to do. We broke Glass. We introduced Recumbent Racing to the New Orleans Rock-N-Roll Marathon. We paved the way for future races. We handled our situation at the timing mat with, well in a manner fitting enough to get invited to the Washington D.C. Rock-N-Roll Marathon to Race. We are in the door. That was our goal. Somebody else crossed the finish line, but we helped win the day. That’s all that really matters. Ok…Not really…it sounds good on paper…it’s not all that matters…but I’ll take it for now. Countdown has begun until the next race! First I need to fix a chain! Remember, when in doubt…Throw Far!

The Chief – Have Fun

Chief Master Sergeant Damian Orslene, or the “Chief” as his friends know him, is a board member of Team R4V, an avid competitor and wounded veteran. Click here to learn more about the Chief.

“Remember to Have Fun” she said… And I rolled my eyes. Have fun. I was two days away and was so nervous I was already eating Tums like Tic Tacs. Which, in the big picture, was silly of course. I have been racing my entire life. I have been struggling, fighting…for six long years … since my injuries in Iraq, to get back on that starting line on a Sunday Morning; to be once again in Chute One. But I can’t run yet! Nor can I walk a race without being in excruciating pain for days after. That is why I ride a Recumbent Bike. That is why Race Directors of marathons need to recognize the need for allowing recumbents into races! This is what I’ve been dreaming about, and working tirelessly towards; sending emails and letters, hounding Race Directors, educating them as to why the time is right for Recumbents. And then, it happened! The good people at the New Orleans Rock-n-Roll Marathon answered my many emails and after a dozen questions said “Yes” and suddenly I was in in unchartered waters. Their Race Coordinator who I only know as “Jennifer” said, “You are the First Recumbent allowed into a Rock-n-Roll Race and the only one we are allowing. Consider this a test.” And suddenly I was nervous.

My Bride, whose life has been consumed by our moving into our Florida house, has not been able to keep up a very consistent running schedule, so instead of doing the full Rock ‘N’ Roll Marathon, she is doing the 1/2 relay.

Friday morning took on a very familiar and very much missed routine as our bed became covered in her gear and the garage floor being covered in mine. I wiped down my Recumbent Catrike 700, Ms Kitty, lubed and cleaned her chain, all the while talking to her. I felt a presence in the garage and found my Bride standing on the landing, smiling at me. “What?” I asked. “Something comforting about a man who’s second love of his life is his bike.” She said. Then she paused, cocked her head to one side, and asked, “She is the second love right?”

And I smiled back.

Man am I nervous. But I am going to have fun!

Garmin vs. au Natural

 Guest post by Team R4V’s Director, Meghan (a.k.a. “Megs”) Lederer. 

A few declaimers before you read this post:

1. I have never been a techie. Yes, I own an iPhone, a Mac computer, and recently acquired a Kindle. But, I only have one app on my iPhone (The Weather Channel), love my Mac, but don’t know how to use most of the features (what is this iChat stuff?), and I am still reading books from the library while my kindle remains on my book shelf.
2. Furthermore, at the very heart of the matter, I am a trail runner. Trail runners don’t need to know if we hit a certain mileage, do we? We are in the woods to be one with nature, to get lost in time, to enjoy not calculating numbers….

Alas, I was gifted a Garmin (a watch that keeps track of your pace, mileage, and heart rate) for my birthday last year, and my world was rocked. I have been talking about owning one for over a year, as I have been dabbling in road running and have been curious about my training splits. I ran the Marine Corps Marathon over 20 minutes faster than last year, but had no idea how fast I was training, just that on hard days I ran as hard as I could  and on easy days I chatted with my husband about anything and everything (as he pretended to listen).

The Discovery – When I run with my Garmin every training run, I constantly look at my pace and end up obsessing over every split. I then proceed to glance at it every half mile or so throughout the ENTIRE run. Being fast is NOT why I love to run, so why get caught up in how fast I am running every mile of the week?

So, I put the Garmin on the shelf except for speed days and have discovered that I enjoy running much more when I focus on my breathing, thoughts, sounds, chatting with whomever I am running with, and the joy that comes with putting one foot in front of the other for long periods of time. It is the peace that running brings to my heart that I will always love (and chase – literally). I still use the Garmin on tempo runs and think it has added a lot to my overall fitness, but it no longer comes to the mountains.

Running in the mountains of East TN sans Garmin

My husband and I now go into the woods for hours at a time and have no idea how far we have gone (although we like to pretend that it is super far!) and we don’t worry for a second what are splits are. It has brought the sense of peace back to trail running and it also gives me an excuse to talk to my husband throughout the entire run (he totally loves it! )!

So, my question to you advanced, intermediate, and beginner runners – do you own a Garmin? If so, do you wear it on every run? Do you ever run by feel? Would love to hear your thoughts!

Happy Running TEAM!

Megs

Coach Cami – The Journey Begins Again

Guest Post by Coach Cami Stock!!  If you don’t already know about R4V’s Head Coach, it’s definitely time! Click here to read a little about her awesome skills and then come back and read about her first week as the Assistant Coach of the Air Force Warrior Team. The Warrior Games are the Olympics for wounded, ill and injured service members and Selection Camp occurs to figure out which service members will be chosen to represent their military branch in the Games! 

As I watched the sun rise over the Rockies this morning, I tried to put my arms around all the thoughts racing through my head. The first day of Air Force Warrior Team Selection Camp commenced today. Over 50 wounded, ill, and injured airmen descended on Colorado Springs to throw, run, swim, play, and shoot their hearts out. There are a lot of old faces and friendships, but a ton of new, hungry athletes excited about the opportunity. It feels like the news on this program is spreading like crazy, and the energy is equally crazy. Today, I just felt so incredibly lucky to be a part of it and amazed to watch athletes try new things and change their lives in the process.

A lot of people ask me what it’s like to work with these athletes–in particular, how it differs from working with my able-bodied athletes. To me, it is much of the same…as coaches, we are always looking at what we can do differently to make an athlete faster and more efficient. That “something” isn’t a magic bullet, as it takes a lot of time and muscle memory, and more important, it isn’t the same “something” for everyone. Coaching isn’t a generalized thing, as every athlete responds to different stimulus. With these athletes, perhaps more unique modifications are needed, but the effort is the same…if the athlete is willing, then we’ll try an arsenal of things until something sticks. And as long as you care, and he/she cares, it’s a successful process.

These athletes come from different stages in their injuries–some are further in the healing process than others–but they are still ATHLETES. They are hungry to learn a new craft, and humble enough to try something out for the first time, even if it isn’t pretty. They fall, they laugh, they get back up, and they help each other do the same. They pay it forward. Long after camp is over, they check on each other. They develop friendships. They bring more people into the fold. They rehab harder–because they have an athletic goal and a team that is counting on them.

I cannot tell you how many lives sport has changed, but I’ve seen a lot of them…and these athletes, in turn, have changed my life and the lives of all who are a part of this experience. I walk away full of respect and admiration (and memories laden with laughter with this crew), and NO EXCUSES to get off my butt and get uncomfortable.

Thank you for all your doing in your support of R4V–I see its mission and its effects firsthand, and I am grateful.

R4V’s 2013 Racing Series

It’s that time of year again: Time to build out your 2013 race calendar!! Team R4V has tons of options: 5K’s, 10K’s, half-marathons, marathons, and even a triathlon on our 2013 race calendar!

Check out our Signature Events:

• March 16 - Rock ‘N’ Roll USA Half & Full Marathon; Washington, D.C.
• September 21 – United States Air Force 5K, 10K, Half & Full Marathon; Dayton, Ohio
• October 27 – Marine Corps Marathon; Washington, D.C.

In all road races, you will receive top-notch training from R4V’s head coach, Cami Stock, a personalized fundraising webpage, a pre-race dinner and post-race party with your teammates*, and support from your entire TEAM along your journey to the finish line.

Most important, however, is by joining Team R4V you will INSPIRE HOPE in our wounded heroes when they need it most!

Click here to sign-up today! OR if you are racing in another race and want to represent R4V, send us an email (MeghanLederer@teamr4v.org) and we will hook you up with a R4V technical racing shirt and a personalized fundraising webpage!

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Team R4V at the Air Force 5K, 10K, Half & Full Marathon

*Must have a minimum of 20 athletes register per race for R4V to host a pre-race dinner and post-race party.

The Chief – Two Tragedies

Chief Master Sergeant Damian Orslene, or the “Chief” as his friends know him, is a member of Team R4V who competed in the 2012 Warrior Games. Click here to learn more about the Chief.

There were two marked tragedies last week involving Wounded Warriors. Both were horrific in nature. Both could have and should have been prevented. Only one was reported on CNN. A train hit a parade float carrying several Wounded Warriors and their families en route to a banquet being held in their honor. Why the float was on the tracks at that exact time of the train’s crossing has yet to be answered. You, like me, probably looked to heaven at the announcement of four deaths and many seriously hurt and thought what more do these brave souls have to give? The media’s bright light will continue to burn over that small Texas town until every answer has been found and every last inquiry satisfied. And in that, is where the true tragedy lays.

We lost another Wounded Warrior this week as well. His passing was just as horrific, though it was never mentioned on CNN, in fact it never made the local news. His death involved a bitter battle, but because it was fought in the darkness of his room; in the confines of his own mind and tortured soul, we may never find answers to all of our unanswered questions. USMC Sgt Chris Sawyers lost his battle with PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and took his own life last week. A horrible tragedy. A Facebook Post stated that his unit has now lost more men to suicide then it did in combat. Another unacceptable, mind-blowing tragedy. But to many, this was just another statistic.

But my friends, not to US! This is why we do what we do. If we could have just reached him a moment sooner! If we could have shined our light his way.  I know, I hear you already, “Chief, while admirable, it is unrealistic. You can’t save them all. They bear some of the responsibility too.”  Oh yes, but dang it, we have to try! That is what Racing For Veterans is all about. We are the bright light that must reach into the darkness; reach each and every hurting individual and help them fight their way from the darkness.

I recognize that my reader’s fall into two categories, those of you already involved in the Non-profit business and those that aren’t. For those that are already in the business and are trying to help… keep trying and try harder. Try new things. We at R4V are offering grants in the form of gym memberships, along with personal trainers, coaching, and a host of other opportunites for those veterans who want to get off the couch and back into the game of life.

For those of you not in the non-profit business, you’re thinking besides giving money what can I do? The most important thing you can do is help shine our light into the desperate, darkened corner only you as a family member and friend can see. You know someone right now who used to be an athlete but was injured either visibly or invisibly in the war and is suffering and really could use a Crossfit membership, or pool membership, or a Gun Club membership. And this would give them a reason to get out and socialize and see that they are not alone in their struggles.

Ok, I hear you again, “But Chief, not everyone is an athlete. Some guys aren’t into that. But they hunt and fish, can you help there?” Yes, we can! One of our Partners in the War on PTSD is another awesome Non-Profit called Wounded War Heroes.  WWH is based in Louisiana and is focused on getting Wounded Warriors off the couch and back out into the great outdoors. I cannot tell you how beneficial these weekends with these great guys have been for my own personal healing. You cannot find a bigger bunch of flag waiving, military loving Americans than these guys. They want to partner with us and shine their considerable light on the WAR on PTSD.  Which is awesome! BUT…we cannot do it alone

Here is the bottom-line. There were two horrible tragedies this week: the dying has stopped in Texas. It needs to stop with our troops at home now too. Not one more suicide, enough already! And you can help us. I wish I could fund all this myself and care less about the Bottom-line, and then we would focus all of our resources into a huge standing beacon of light that in the darkest of hours could save lives; but in truth, only you know who the hurting people are. Only you can help us funds these grants, and hunts. If you can help us, PLEASE donate. If you know someone who needs us, PLEASE let us know. Together, we CAN and WILL save lives.

Throw Far!

TeamR4V.org

WWHfr.com

Team R4V’s Leadership

Have you ever wondered who dreams up a non-profit, then dedicates countless hours and funds in order to help others? Well, wonder no longer! Over the next several months, I have the pleasure of interviewing Team R4V’s Board of Directors and Leadership. Team R4V’s board is composed of six individuals who are on a journey of giving back, and using sports as the avenue to touch countless veterans who have made incredible sacrifices for their country. 

This week, I have the honor of introducing Team R4V’s Chairman, Jeff Haugh.

How can you relate to the veteran athletes you serve?

I suffered combat injuries in Iraq and was subsequently medically retired.  I am a white male officer from a military academy who was transitioning to Washington, DC – yet the challenges I was grappling with were unbearable.  I remember thinking that if I was younger and single, with fewer resources, an enlisted woman or minority, returning to an inner city or small town – I would have been a statistic.

I know the horror of feeling like a different person after you come home – avoiding driving, scaring my wife with nightmares.  Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) is tricky.  You can’t rely on your memory and “trying” to focus and concentrate usually leads to more frustration.  The endless medical appointments and awkward conversations can easily lead you to the bar and inward, away from people who can help.

I relate to our veterans as a brother, a father, a coach, and a fellow athlete.

There are other service organizations out there to support disabled veterans, why R4V? 

Racing for Veterans is an opportunity to serve again.  It was an honor to serve my country in uniform and R4V offers an amazing mission to serve in something bigger than myself.  I cannot think of a more meaningful endeavor.

Why is Team R4V meaningful to you?

The meaning of R4V is compelling – the opportunity to win and not just recover. I will never submit to the notion that rehabilitation from the physical and psychological scars from post 9-11 service is about simply getting back to where you were before a trauma.  The fact is that we are different. Let’s accept that.  Moreover, this is what makes our returning veteran population a generation that has given more and longer than any before us.

I come from a military family.  My grandfather served in WWII, Korea, and Vietnam and met my grandmother, an Army nurse in WWII.  The founders of my company were SilverStar recipients from WWII and Vietnam.  So my respect for “The Greatest Generation” is fundamental.  I know what I have seen in young men and women volunteering to go into harm’s way over and over and I have lost friends.  Our recent returning veterans are in a class that we won’t appreciate for quite some time.  R4V is for them and my grandparents would be proud.

Jeff’s Grandparents during WWII

 What do you want your veteran athletes to get out of R4V programs?

 I firmly stand by my belief that we owe it to our fallen brothers and sisters to help them be better than we ever were before service.  This is a fundamental to R4V.  Our belief is that athletic endeavors provide an amazing opportunity to showcase this.

We don’t participate in marathons or Cross Fit competitions so our veterans can simply cross the finish line.  We do it because we want to be a part of their transformation.  R4V is about showcasing the character, tenacity, and personal transformation of America’s finest through athletics.

 Were you an athlete before R4V?

I played college football and have completed some triathlons and summited a couple mountains.  Athletics have always been a part of my life… now it just means far more.

Jeff after the 2012 Marine Corps Marathon

 

The Chief – Being a Spectator is Hard

Chief Master Sergeant Damian Orslene, or the “Chief” as his friends know him, is a member of Team R4V who competed in the 2012 Warrior Games. Click here to learn more about the Chief.

Being a spectator is hard.  This is not something I have had a ton of experience at, for My Bride (Lori) and I have always competed together. We helped each other get ready, and once I finished I ran back for her and stayed with her until we crossed the line…together.  But suddenly our competitive lives are not together.  I was using the Southern Magnolia 26 Mile as my first Marathon Length Time Trail and Lori was doing the Gulf Coast Half Marathon Series Mandeville Race on Sunday. So Friday night saw her laying all of her things out on the bed while I went over my stuff next to Ms Kitty, my recumbent, in the garage.  My goal is to get us back together at the same event by breaking into the Marathon Race Circuit, which currently doesn’t allow Recumbent Bikes.  But, and a very big BUT here, we have found two Race Director’s who are receptive to the idea for next year’s races so I was using Saturday as my benchmark. My Bride and I crisscrossed each other through the house handing each other packets of Shot Blocks and water bottles, as she reminded me about extra socks and I reminded her about the race belts that I am normally in charge of.  We had just gotten Ms Kitty back from Cycles Plus our Local Bike shop where the Owner Neil and Co. personally handles her with kid gloves.  So with new tubes and pedals I was all set.  I was excited to have the chance to compete against myself, in preparation for what might happen in the future, but somehow it just wasn’t the same. Inside I wasn’t settled and I wasn’t sure why.

Saturday was a perfect day for a bike ride. Not too hot, not too cool, just a slight wind. The 26 Mile group had 20 riders, (I was the only recumbent), and an on time start.  The Map they showed us looked pretty simple, few if any turns 13 miles out and back.  Nothing to worry about.  That was wrong.  It had a total of 14 turns, which if you are in a group, it is no big deal, but this was a VERY HILLY course and after the second hill, not 10 minutes into the ride, as I bombed down it at 28MPH I realized I was very alone.  If you think my navigation skills are bad in a car, try doing them in a Trike.  There were no upright turn signs, just painted arrows on the street which you can see from some way off when you are on an upright bike, but you can’t see them until you are right on top of them in Ms Kitty…which is how after a power slide, a cuss word and a yell, having missed the turn, we ended up in a ditch.  Luckily I learned many valuable lessons in Colorado about power slides and released my brakes and just went with it before my tires blew.  So I pulled myself out, checked for broken anything’s on me and Ms Kitty and started off again.  It was a tough, going down one, climbing up another hill kind of ride that was over before you knew it.  1:46 minutes.  A very good free massage offered at the finish and a plate of spaghetti that my carb loading Bride sucked off my plate and we were in the car and headed for home.

We hit the house, drug Ms Kitty into the garage, showered grabbed our bags, jumped back in the car and headed 90 minutes to Mandeville, LA to get Lori’s race packet before 5PM.  At packet pick up I resumed a conversation I had started last year with the Louisiana Marathon Race Director about allowing Recumbents into his race and my Bride skipped merrily from booth to booth and I watched…unsettled.

When she was done we went and got her all carb loaded up for her prerace meal then off to the hotel to get settled in.  My legs were screaming from the race that morning, so I needed an Ice bath and she wanted to lay everything out so our 4AM start would be an easy transition.  So back at the room, with my lower body a frozen block of ice from a 20-minute ice bath and her clothes laid out, checked and double-checked we headed to bed, 4AM comes awful early.  And it did.

I ate as soon as my eyes opened, showered and dressed, my usual routine, then sat on the end of the bed and watched her twist herself in knots in her head about what the right shirt to wear based on the current weather conditions. This is her usual super computer brain routine, I know better than to intervene. The race starts at 7AM. We are 10 minutes from the park. It is 4:30AM.  We are good.  There was a huge traffic jam last year and the race started with many runners still outside the park in their cars. This year they want all runners in the park by 6AM.  At 4:45 she holds up two shirts, recaps the entire weather situation and says what do you think?  “Babes, I say, “your first choice was the right choice, go with the yellow. I want to be able to pick you out of the crowd” And she smiles.

5AM we are in the car.  5:25, having missed a turn, we are sitting in the parking lot of the park with about 20 other cars and 50 parking attendants.  “Where is everyone?” I ask.  “Oh, they’re coming” a small redheaded young lady says with a two-way radio pressed to her ear. “You know runners”, she continues “They don’t ever listen and they hate to lose sleep. They will be here at 6:45 just like last year.” And she runs off as her radio crackles with a crisis at the front gate.  I look at my watch and then at my Bride with raised eye brows…”You got something to say there Mister?” she says to me, her eyes hardening, “No Dear” I whimper and She says “Damn Right!” as she heads for the Port-a-Johns to “beat the rush”.

The “Rush” does come, at 6:30AM at least instead of 6:45AM, and it just keeps coming right up when they call the runners to get in line behind their respective estimated running times. There are these huge cardboard sign, mini-billboards, with 7:00, 8:00, each representing how many minutes you will take to run one mile.  We walked past those to 10:00 and here we started to slow down. There was no 11:00 and the next Sign said 12:00, I’m I here somewhere, My Bride said almost sheepishly as if to walk past all those faster people was something to be ashamed of.  “Babes…just celebrate running” I say and she smiles for she understands I would give anything to be there beside her, to be able to run again.

I take a few pictures before the crowd swallows her up and suddenly I am on the outside looking in again…unsettled.  The gun goes off and I start the video camera rolling to capture her as she goes by and in a flash of Yellow and a wave she is gone. And now there is nothing to do but wait.  This is very unsettling.

Being a spectator is hard.  Something you have to work at.  I have always been on the field in one way or another, but suddenly there I was surrounded by many other people like me. People waiting. So I turned my attention from what was going on inside me, to what was going on around me.  Across from me on a camp stool sat an older woman in purple, a color I had seen often that day and knew as the Team in Training, The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s endurance sports training program. She had six pieces of purple ribbon pinned to her shirt. I crossed over to her, opened my cane chair that My Bride had bought me and asked her what the ribbons meant. She looked at me a moment, and touched each one.  “We have this terrible disease in my family” she said.  These are my family that I have lost”.  One was her daughter, both of her sisters, an Aunt, and both of her parents.  “I’m 62 years old, I haven’t got any money, so I didn’t pledge any amount this year, instead I pledged to recruit one runner for each of my ribbons, and I asked them to recruit one runner too. Before you know it I talked 9 people into joining Team in Training this year, and wouldn’t you know they all raised more money than they had to. Every single one,” she said, as a tear, rolled down her cheek, “I’m real proud of that don’t you know. Maybe that money can help somebody else’s family. I sure wish it could have helped mine.” And she squeezed my hand, and I hugged her and walked further down the race route.

There were four very pretty young ladies sitting amongst a plethora of “We love you Donny” signs that peaked my interest.  “He must be quite the stud to have four pretty girls like you fighting over him” I said and smiled…but they don’t smile back…and that little voice goes off inside my head that tells me I just messed up big time.  But a skinny blonde steps forward and says “I guess he is, but he’ll never know it, and we do love him, but we’re not sure if he knows that either.  See Donny’s not running the race, his 55 year Mother Pat is. Donny has severe Cerebral Palsy and is being pushed in a specially designed race chair.  We are his sisters and Step-sisters. But Mom insists that it’s not her Race but Donny’s and she won’t accept the medal at the end, but insists they put it around his neck.  She’s our hero, and Donny’s hers”. I look at their eyes, so full of hope, and love as she talks to me, and tears.  I can think of nothing to say. They seem to understand, and I hold out my hands to them and they squeeze them.  And hug me, a complete stranger; suddenly bonded as if by telling their reason for holding their signs will make Donny better.  We stand together for a second, when someone else they know comes by and I say my goodbyes, and take my Cane chair and move on. My heart is so full it feels like it will burst.

Fifty yards farther down the race route I spot a family wearing the white T-shirts with a digitized print of a young man’s face on it. How nice I thought to myself.  So I stop, “That’s a great idea.” I say, “He will surely be able to pick you guys out from a crowd.” And I smile.  But once again, the smiles I get back are strained.  A woman my age holds out her hand, so I take it. “This is Brian” she says to me. “He’s not running today, his Dad is. We lost him this May in Afghanistan. So Bill is running for all those families that lost loved ones”.  I am wearing my Wounded War Heroes hat and she asks me about it, and soon I am sitting with them as if I was part of their family, a temporary Band-Aid over the hemorrhage of a lost son, a fellow wounded soul.  My heart was leaking, as were my eyes, and she told me it was ok.

It wasn’t much longer that it was time for my bride to return and I wanted to get to a good spot to take pictures so I said goodbye to Brian’s family and moved forward once more. Ahead of me was a young dad with his hands full with two young kids in a perfect spot in the road for pictures. I asked if I could join him. He said he would love the company and soon his 4 year old daughter Olivia was sitting on my knee waiting for her mother Michelle while I waited for my Bride. Two wayward souls, staring down a piece of blacktop sharing our knowledge of what our runners were wearing and what they had eaten for breakfast that morning, both apparently, were very important subjects to Olivia, and I was happy to oblige her, while I digested the things I had just witnessed.  My bride arrived in a whirlwind, looking stronger than ever before and crossed the finish for the first time ever with a smile on her face, with Olivia’s Mom Michelle right behind her.  So a quick goodbye and I was off to take more pictures.  My thoughts suddenly only on finding Lori and making sure she was okay after the run.

As I got near the back of the runners shoot I heard a tremendous roar and yelling so I turned and ran back to the fence just as four pretty girls came running down the lane behind an exhausted woman pushing a race chair.  They were screaming and yelling and jumping around hugging her and squeezing Donny and the crowd cheered as they put the medal around his neck…and I cried, along with the crowd.

So much was going on that I missed the man in the white T-shirt, but saw Brian’s family all together hugging Bill off to the side who had already come in.  They saw me and waived.  I still hadn’t found my Bride so I started up the route thinking she might have started back to where she saw me, when coming down the course was a huge wave of runners in purple and standing on the sidelines yelling and waiving her arms was the Purple Ribbon Lady, the unofficial Team in Training recruiter.  Not far from her was Lori.  I hurried to her, pausing for just a moment to squeeze the hand of Purple Ribbon Lady, whose face was streaked with tears. She just smiled at us, and nodded her head. Nothing more needed to be said.

My bride asked me who the Purple Ribbon Lady was, and why a 4 year old was hugging my leg, and who the four really cute girls that were waving to me were? And I could not explain. I told her I would tell her later.  I still haven’t. I’ve had to write it here in order to make sense of it all.  Why it was so unsettling to me? I had no idea of what went on while I ran down that road. Lori used to ask me, “did you see the Green house, or the guy running dressed as Big Bird?” and I’d say, “No, I saw 3 feet in front of me. Period” I was a focused athlete. I was so focused that I cut out a whole world of people around me.  I don’t want to be a spectator.  I don’t want to fit in that world. That’s what was so unsettling to me.  I want to run again damn it!  Or at least walk a race again! It’s like, by standing on the sideline waiting for My Bride, I was finally admitting to myself that I would never run or walk a race again, and I didn’t want to do that.

I was resisting, as if you wear some stupid spectator sign or something, or once you’re a spectator you can’t ever be anything else. Silly I know, but in this PTSD brain, I was afraid.  The thought of sitting for 2 ½ hours with strangers, without my Bride, and have them ask me questions was also very unsettling to me.  So, instead, I talked to them and asked them questions.  AND IT OPENED MY EYES, and made me ashamed.  Ashamed because I had been thinking only about myself.  I was pissed because I was reminded about my loss of ability to run, and here I was surrounded by people who had lost a loved one, and in some cases, more than one!  How little of me!

That Lady in Purple; the pretty young girls; the family in white, and of course darling Olivia, all taught me what an honor it is to be a spectator. There was an entire crowd of people suffering pain and loss, and in it, they still found Hope and Inspiration. It was a heart wrenching, amazing day.

Being a Spectator isn’t easy. But…Nothing in life worthwhile ever is. And they, those Spectators…are priceless.

AUTHOR’s NOTE: I’m not a professional writer. I’m just an old bald Chief who likes to talk to you from his heart. I didn’t go into to this particular weekend looking to write a blog, so I wasn’t thinking that way until the day after the race when I was wrestling with all this emotion.  Unfortunately, I also have Traumatic Brain Injury and short term memory loss which meant by this time I had forgotten some of the finer details, such as specific names and dialog etc.  So I filled it all in the best I could. I did not obtain the families permission to use names or likeness.  My Blogs all come with some Poetic License, or Rule 14, for those that know me, this one, more than others. I wanted you to get the story without having to know “the story”, to protect the families, and my butt. So…hope you can understand.  Chief O