Thinking of Alex – August, 3 2014, from John Wilson
In my dark place. That’s what he called it. That pain cave when you were deep into anaerobic burn. Alex was a master at this. Managing the dark place.
Alex had a thing with Mary’s peak. It was in his back yard and the perfect place to push yourself beyond your own limits. I rode Mary’s with Alex a couple of times. Or I should say started at the base with Alex. I couldn’t believe it when we finished at the bottom. I totally spent, longing for home, food, rest, and Alex turning around for another climb of the peak. Alex was so amazingly, and beautifully driven. He knew how to push into that dark place.
I met Alex in 2004. Jim Fischer had pulled Alex onto our bike racing team. He was in a transition from graduating College to what was coming next, and decided to give cycling a serious try. Back then he rode a single speed everywhere. I used to tease him to get some gears on that bike. I think it was the only way I could keep up with him. The thing that struck me most about Alex, was how he talked to you. He had this way of making you not just feel, but know you and that conversation was the most important thing in the world at that very moment. He made such a strong connection with people. He was so interested, and cared so much.
Like most athletic endeavors Alex pursued he adapted and excelled immediately. In 2005 he went from Cat 4 to Cat 2. Alex left our tiny little team and joined one of the biggest teams in the North West. We all knew great things were coming.
Alex had become a fantastic climber. One of the best climbers Oregon had ever seen. Alex had his eyes on a state hill climbing championship, but when Jim Fischer decided to promote the Mary’s Peak Hill Climb in 2006 it immediately became a huge target for Alex. His home mountain. His special training ground. His dark place.
I had the amazing luck that day to ride in a follow Car with Buzz to watch & video Alex dance his way to the top of the peak. Doug Ollerenshaw was there. Another local great. An OSU grad and cycling collegiate champion. In 2006 Doug was riding on a professional team. He was the guy to beat. Jim Fischer arranged for Doug to be Alex’s 30 second man. The rabbit up the road tempting Alex all along the way.
What a gift to be an observer when Alex caught Doug. Then to witness that moment where Doug just couldn’t hang on anymore. The elastic snapped. Alex free to fly. Then to be able to shout encouragement out the window. Both Buzz and I. And to see Alex respond with even greater ferocity. Mastering the dark place.
Like everyone else, I was so proud of Alex that day. Doug Ollerenshaw was awesome in his graciousness up at the top.
Alex would go on to win multiple state hill climb championships. As far as we know, consulting all the OBRA historians & data, his time on Mary’s Peak from that day in 2006 is still the official record at 37 min, 31 seconds.
I hadn’t stayed closely in touch with Alex the past few years. I saw him occasionally. Read his blog now and then. I am sad for the missed opportunities to be around him. I am heartbroken that I won’t get to live vicariously through his certain ultra-marathon accomplishments to come. And most of all, I am terribly sorry for Buzz, Pat, Adam, McHale, and the huge void left behind.
Like all of you Alex has been wandering through my mind these past several days. Pushing his way in with a pang of deep sadness, but also with appreciation and joy for the amazing individual he was. Alex is reminding me how to live and appreciate what I have. He is reminding me to remember him for the great example he set, and how he so positively influenced and touched so many people; reminding me to make NOW the most important time.
John Wilson, August, 3 2014,
A Note from Alex’s Brother, Adam
During my first days of grieving for Alex, I was panicked to remember every memory I ever had of my brother. Searching for those images and stories was like trying to catch leaves falling from a giant Oak tree. The leaves were beautiful and of many colors, but I knew that if I did not catch them, they would decompose into the soil, to disappear forever.
I feverishly wrote down every recollection I could uncover, searching for that singular anecdote that would sum up my relationship with Alex, desperate to find that shining example of who and what Alex “was” to me. Nothing perfect came, my anxious mind and broken spirit lacked clarity.
As time passes, I discover that yes, my memories of Alex are like thousands of falling leaves, all unique and beautiful. I run myself dizzy and ragged trying to catch them before they hit the Earth, terrified I’ll lose them forever. But these leaves, I’m realizing, feel so small in my hand when caught. They are only pieces of something much larger.
I stop grabbing for the falling leaves, and allow myself to find breath.
I feel stillness.
I feel light.
I open myself, and I lift my eyes from the ground.
What I am left looking at is the tree itself, standing strong in front of me.
This tree isn’t the memory of Alex; it is Alex.
This tree is everything my brother stands for, everything he has ever taught me with his words or actions, everything I’ve ever learned by being his brother. His roots, I find, are deeper and more entwined with mine than I expected. The limbs are long and crooked, and while not always sure of their final resting place, grown with courage and intent over time.
It has been a privilege to stand in awe of this tree, to bear witness to Alex’s continual growth. I’ve stopped searching for the man Alex was, and I’ve begun seeing the infinite manifestations of what Alex has been, is, and will always be. A brother, a friend, a teacher, and a reflection of my own tree of life.
When I allow myself to listen to him, Alex tells me to go to nature. He tells me to use my body, and to respect it. In the wilderness I can open myself, and I see him. Sometimes he’s a buck, roaming the wilderness while deftly plucking wildflower blossoms from their stems. Other times he’s a fat, furry, whistling marmot. Many mornings he’s a beam of sunlight, sifting through the forest canopy to find my face. As I return from nature, Alex tells me to care for and protect my family. He tells me to be honest with myself, and to look, without fear, into the shadows my own branches cast.
I have many memories of Alex, and if you’d ever like to sit down with me, I’d love to share one with you. But no singular story could possibly represent my brother. Alex’s spirit is so much more complicatedly simple than that.
Alex is a silent walk in the woods. Ales is a naked dive into an ice cold creek. As you push past your body’s limits, Alex is a sparkling, salty bead of sweat on your nose, cheering you on. Alex is the dreamiest nap on a green patch of grass. Alex is the loudest, most outrageous giggle from my beautiful niece. Alex is the sweetest bite of the ripest fig, surreptitiously picked from a neighborhood tree.
If we allow ourselves to listen, Alex will continue to tell us his story. He is infinite.
I am beginning to find clarity, and I am discovering new ways to face the day. When autumn comes, Alex’s leaves will descend toward me. I will watch them pass by me, and I will witness them with gratitude. I will not panic and grab at them. I know they belong to the soil. They will nourish the growth of this forest, and in turn, nurture this tree as it continues to grow. I remind myself that the leaves will return come spring, and the tree will still be standing strong and wild.
I’d like to revisit one of Alex’s poems. I rediscovered this last night, and not until after writing what I have just read to you now. I hadn’t read this poem in years.
what it means to be happy with today
I wake from a nap on a park bench,
winter sun skimming the horizon sinks subtle
twenty, thirty, maybe forty slow breaths I took, asleep,
while the sunshine poured radiant, warming my body
blue sky, empty, flaccid
like the naked birch tree standing over me
its leaves let go, leaving the tree to endure the cold winter, alone.
they flutter and flip below me, as a north wind runs across the ground
the trunk, its thick body, feeding a linear pattern of branches.
predictable tangents, ending with summer’s supple growth,
naïvely thrust forth to experience the reality of its first winter
The entire life, span, height, of the birch,
meditation, repetition, on a whole of similar parts.
like my own twenty six years broken into months, weeks, days,
inhales and exhales entire.
as a human animal, simple flesh and bone born of natural causes,
I am prone to patterns, cycles
In spring, I grow my leaves,
a vibrant green to hide the safe comfort of my familiarity.
but even in the veins of my leaves repetition persists.
green turning to a fiery fade before they fall to the ground
where crows push them aside with the same beaks used to sort through garbage
My biggest fear is to be old, look back,
and be fooled by the illusion of a life entire and unique.
but on the air of my last breath look closer
and realize that when I was younger,
if I wanted to know what the rest of my life would be like,
I needed to only look at this one day, a small branch on my tree.
The sun’s warmth makes my roots eager
I will keep growing, a life each day my own, and when I die,
my tree will be the most gnarled, asymmetrical, goddamned unrecognizable, in the forest.
A Letter from Jessica Lamanna to Alex’s Parents
Buzz and Pat,
My husband Ryan and I have only known Alex for a year or so, but it was not enough. We can’t even begin to imagine what you are going through as his parents. We were initially neighbors when we both lived on B street, however our lives didn’t cross for a year until Alex took a shared interest in Ryan’s wheatgrass. Alex was very special to us and we miss him dearly. As Ryan put it, “he is a friend that we will never be able to replace. We will never meet someone like him again.” He was such an incredible person and I know you two were an integral part in him becoming the man he was.
Yesterday at the park, many people shared stories about Alex. It really brought together all the different parts of Alex’s life and the people he had an impact on. We enjoyed hearing the stories that his colleagues and students shared. I thought that I would share a few memories and experiences that we had with Alex.
The first memory I have of Alex is before I met him, when I knew him as the neighbor that I would always see walking down the neighboring streets, oh so slowly. He truly took EVERYTHING in, never in a rush. The first time I ran into him on the trails I remember thinking, “oh wow, he runs!” and fast.
I will miss the dinners we would share. Alex would have us over, or he would come over to our place with a bag full of food and just cook. He was an amazing cook, truly appreciating the flavors and ingredients of what he put together. He loved to share this with people and it was fun to watch him work in the kitchen.
Many weekends, Ryan and Alex would go on adventures on the Ashland trails. For hours hiking and biking and talking. I always looked forward to hearing fun Alex-isms when they returned, which leads to…
Alex’s humor, oh we will miss this. Subtle at times, but always good for a laugh. He used to joke that he thought we should chop off one of Willow’s legs (our dog) so that she would be on par with everyone else. As a puppy she has much too much energy, which I knew could wear thin on Alex, but secretly I think he loved her. He would say, “If I’m not back by such and such time, send Willow for me.”
Alex loved to teach and share his knowledge, and we loved to just listen and learn from him. The most valuable thing that he shared with us was his time.
Alex perfected bars. Ryan perfected joooose (juice). They talked of opening a “Joose and Bars” business.
I never truly enjoyed a yoga class until I took one of Alex’s. His silent yoga class was so powerful; even without talking Alex could teach and he had such a presence and impact. Sometimes, in between poses, he would come out with a one liners and have the whole room cracking up. No one will forget the glittery short shorts on holidays either.
For the several weeks leading up to Alex’s trip, we would make weekly trips up to Mt Ashland; packing Vanna White full of bikes and picnic stuff and spending the day on the trails. This weekend will be my first 50 miler, on those very trails. I will carry these and other memories with me during this race. Although jokingly at the time, I said last Saturday that I would wear tie-dye, his outfit of choice, for the race. As promised, I will be wearing tie-dye for him on Saturday. Alex’s presence and wonderful spirit is everywhere in Ashland and will live on in the places he loved and through the people that loved him.
You are in our thoughts,
Jessica and Ryan Lamanna
A Note from Timothy Tillman
Hello All,
I’ve never met anyone like Alex and am forever grateful to call him friend….Thank you all for sharing your stories and love of him. It was especially moving to receive Buzz and Pat’s words.
This Sunday morning as the skies opened up and rain fell for the time in months here in Southern California my heart cracked open realizing my friend Alex was really gone. I met Alex right after he moved to Ashland and got to share close time together playing, riding, visioning the beauty of the world and drinking strange concoctions he would make in his blender. His openness and joy for life touched me and we quickly became buds.
Again and again Alex’s willingness to lead with his heart in a gentle yet direct ways opened me and others around him. I loved his willingness to be himself at every turn and simultaneously demonstrate great care for those around him. By being truly himself he helped me to be more real. His insatiably curiosity and passion for adventure was contagious and took me places I would not have gone without him. Mostly, I want to praise Alex for his courage to let his light shine brightly into the world and to his parents for birthing and guiding such a pure love into the world. His light is alive in me as I am sure it is in you. May we all foster this light in Alex’s honor.
Love to Alex and all of you, Timothy Tillman
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.
Rumi
A Letter From Ayani
Ayani was a student and friend of Alex. Here is a letter he read to us at our Gathering in Ashland on August 10, 2014:
8/10/14
Dear Alex,
I just got back from my week-long backpacking trip in the Three Sisters Wilderness Area. As I admired the beautiful scenery and rugged terrain, the whole time I was thinking “this is a place where Alex would like to be.” I could picture you running the ridges or hiking the trails or swimming in the high mountain lakes and I could feel your presence as I enjoyed everything the wilderness had to offer. This experience proved to me that you will never be forgotten in my mind. Alex, even though you are gone, your spirit will live on in those who knew you and were touched by you.
I also never got to tell you about my ten day bicycling trip in the San Juan Islands; the trip that you helped me prepare for. All of those hours you spent helping me hone my cycling skills paid off and One of the best memories I had of the trip was when we were getting ready to bike to the top of Mount Constitution on Orcas Island. I had heard from many people that it was a hard ride and I wasn’t sure if I was going to do it. It was at that moment that I made my decision: “I am going to do this for Alex. Alex helped me get ready for this trip and he would be happy and very proud of me if I made it to the top.” So that is what I did, I hopped onto my bike and pedaled all the way to the top and as I stood there I not only knew that you would be proud of me, but I was also proud of myself.
Alex, I could never thank you enough for all of the things that you have done for me. I still treasure the many times you helped perfect my math skills and help me understand the subject that I disliked the most. It was because of these many sessions that I ended up actually liking math and even getting an “A” in math for the first time. You made feel capable for the first time ever.
There are countless other things that I will remember about you and I know many other people have their own stories, too but there is one thing we all share; you have inspired and touched us in many ways. Alex, we will miss you, but you will never be forgotten. Thank for you loving me and making me feel important.
Love Always,
Ayani
A Note from Dan Britton
“Alex was an amazing guy. He was a phenomenal athlete, very driven, a most memorable character, and very kind to me while I was visiting. Alex was the guy that offered me a bunch of cycling clothes after our first meeting, the guy that slapped me high five as he sprinted off the summit of Mt Ashland as I made the climb up on my bike, the guy that made awesome homemade energy treats with dates and coconut, the guy that brought raw cacao beans to our picnic in the Mt A parking lot, the guy that knew every good cycling route in the Pacific NW, the guy that started following me on Strava and encouraged me to go up every bad ass climb I was in the vicinity of, the guy that commented “Such a rad route! You are probably one of the few touring cyclists that enjoy these sort of side trips.” after I rode up Hurricane Ridge Rd., the guy that Ryan and I joked with about opening a resort/spa for athletes on our ride down the Mt Ashalnd ski road, the guy that was wearing the shortest possible running shorts every time I saw him, the guy that used the word rad more than any person I have meet. Alex will be missed.”
–Dan Britton
A Note from McHale
Alex’s older sister McHale read this note at our gatherings this past weekend for Alex.
I have such fond memories of being a kid with Alex in the forest and home where we grew up …playing in the creek together, building little dams so we could watch the water pool up, collecting snails, traipsing through the snowy forest, my friends and I outfitting him in my dress-up clothes during slumber parties, snuggling into bed with him on one side of my dad and me on the other so we could read bedtime stories.
As we got older, I remember some competition and typical sibling rivalry, heated discussions in the mornings when we were getting ready for school- me spending way too much time (and hairspray) on my bangs and Alex pulling on a pair of shorts even though it was January.
But as we reached adulthood and pursued our interests, I found myself almost surprised at how much our passions aligned. Although we pursued them in different ways, Alex and I were both teachers, both shared an appreciation for words and language, both loved the joy and challenge of being active and pushing ourselves physically. Beyond shared interests, we shared values- the importance of family, an appreciation of nature, the value of hard work and perseverance. Perhaps this isn’t surprising, given we both grew up with the same amazing parents, who taught, and instilled in us, many of these values
But I was always impressed- and proud- by how deeply Alex embraced all of these things, the passion and intention with which he lived. As a teacher, he embraced his students and was personally invested in them as individuals. As a reader and a writer, he had a deep wisdom and a way of putting words together such that the thoughts seem completely obvious and exactly what I had been thinking, and at the same time also help me see the world in a totally new way. As an athlete he was amazingly disciplined and accomplished feats that were often unimaginable to me. As a lover of nature, he was always one to venture off of the beaten path, and to discover and appreciate treasures that many people didn’t notice.
In recent years, Alex and I bonded over running. As with many things, Alex took running to an entirely different level than I did. While I ran marathons, he often ran much longer distances, with thousands of feet of elevation gain, and at a pace several minutes per mile faster than mine. I will always treasure our runs together in the forest, sometimes talking about life, other times just running together in silence, soaking in nature.
Alex and I often spoke before one of us had a big run, and I distinctly remember three pieces of advice he gave me that I continue to appreciate. One was in response to my worries about running up hills- he said something that helped him was envisioning little birds, lifting up each foot as he ran. Alex was also the one who taught me the value of a mantra, especially when you need a little boost- repeating a short, inspiring phrase that helps to establish a sense of rhythm and provides an emotional lift. Another one was as I was preparing to run my first 50K trail run, which he had urged me to do, and which got me hooked on trail running. I explained to him that I was worried about not having the energy I usually get from big crowds in a road marathon. He assured me that I could draw just as much, if not more, strength and energy from nature. He was right- the trees and other life around me on the trails gave me all the energy and boost I needed, and in a way that also brought a sense of peace.
While I will deeply miss feeling Alex’s feet hitting the trail next to me, I know he will always be running along beside me. He’ll be the one who helps me reach the top of the seemingly endless hill, the one who urges me to speed up just a little even though I’m feeling tired, the one who reminds me to breathe in the scent of the forest and to feel the energy of the trees.
I’ve thought a lot about what it means to honor Alex, to keep him in our lives, especially because I want Kaya and her little sister to know their uncle. In some ways, they will honor him without even knowing…like the way Kaya can spend inordinate amounts of time playing in icy mountain lakes; the way she zooms around on her skuut, a gift from her two uncles, with such joy and determination; her enthusiasm for downward dog; her love of nature.
In addition to continuing to talk about Alex, I’ve also realized that honoring him means becoming a better person myself– helping to share his qualities that I appreciate and admire the most, with my daughters—and with the world. It means
- Being true to myself
- Pushing myself- setting my goals a little higher and putting in the extra work to reach them
- Showing people little—and big—acts of kindness
- Appreciating the world around me- recognizing and treasuring the special moments, even, or perhaps especially, when my days begin to feel routine
- Sharing creativity…perhaps through a poem or story, a new recipe, a picture, a yellow marble…
- Taking time to be quiet, to reflect, to just be
I encourage all of you to remember that Alex is always with us, and to honor him by embodying his qualities that you most admire. In these ways, even though he is not physically with us, he will continue to be in, and touch, our lives.
Alex Newport-Berra 