“Sometimes it’s just as valuable knowing what you don’t want to do.”

-Dr. Amy Kruse, former DARPA program manager

Look, excellence doesn’t transfer. It’s a common mistake to think it does, and one that many SOF vets make.

I know, I know, you were an excellent soldier. You were a medic, or sniper, or intel guy, or drone pilot. You worked for Orange, or Green, or Blue, or Black or whatever they’re calling themselves now. Your CV lists all the impressive credentials you have: Leadership experience, 18 Delta, weapons authority, driving expert, PSD, dive supervisor, Tac Air, and on and on.

Now you’re out and faced with a tripartite quandary:

First, contracting is the same thing you’ve already done with slightly different rules, higher pay, and less stability. It’s nothing more than a transition job and you know it.

Second, you’re overqualified for jobs you know how to do.

Third, you believe you’re woefully uncredentialed for the work you want to explore.

You (believe you) were excellent and now you’re nothing. Excellence didn’t transfer.

So, here you are, wandering in the wilderness of your post military time. You yearn for a clear mission and a community of pipe-hitters in the civilian world. You wonder why you got out, why your skills aren’t valued in this new world.

This new world requires a willingness to stretch your mind into unexplored territory, an acceptance and embracement of mistakes.

Many of the mistakes you’ll have to make yourself. It’s how most of us are wired; we don’t believe it until we experience it.

You were a superb soldier, so you’re not used to making mistakes. Failing at anything is likely to be foreign to you. The military cultivates a “success” mindset of 4.0 evals. This is reflected in achieving safe perfection over imperfect learning.

Hidden in that perfection mentality is the source of your future success: You have been taught and programmed by one of the most effective mind-shaping organizations that ever existed to pursue excellence.

The mistake many veterans make is to confuse the value of their hard skills, like shooting fast or coordinating comms between 9 different assets, with their value as a human. Those hard skills have little value in the civilian world, and the realization that you’ve spent years perfecting skills that no longer matter can be crushing.

While the skills don’t transfer, the method absolutely does. Your experience of the method of building skills from non-existent to mastered is the biggest advantage you have over most of the rest of the civilian world.

The extraordinary bonus is that pursuing excellence creates stoked humans, no matter where on the path they are.

The idea of exploring unknown territory is equally as crucial as applying your ability to pursue excellence.

When you begin to explore unknown territory and pursue excellence, you’ll discover in your mistakes the deep value of knowing what you don’t want to do. Knowing our dislikes creates a healthy contrast that increases our pleasure in those work environments we enjoy.

At this point, with you out of the military and being unsure of your next step, the specific directions I can helpfully give you become less and less accurate; what worked for me may not work for you.

The mistakes I made in learning that excellence doesn’t transfer were extensive and at times nearly mortal, but individually are of little use to you. The dream I have and have had will almost certainly not be yours.

Still, if you can acknowledge the existence of your own dream and apply yourself to producing excellence, knowing that someone else has engaged successfully on the same quest you’ll get much further down the road then by remaining ignorant of it.

At our end of service, we vets walk out into the wilderness of civilian life. The maps we’re provided to navigate this wilderness don’t always match the territory. For many of us, the only information on the part of the map we must explore is the same phrase that thrilled the heart of many an adventurer before us: “Here be dragons.”

Many of us have wandered this wilderness before. You are not alone, though you will feel alone much of the time. Others are out here, shining a light in the dark. We have found a place to clear a patch of forest and build a house of excellence, to lay down roads to other clearings, to begin to understand the new wilderness we inhabit.

You can do the same, and if we veterans are to build the next, brighter version of the world we wish to inhabit, we share the responsibility to develop that world using the tools we’ve been given of learning to achieve excellence.

The people I like most share two things in common:  First, they have open minds.  Second, while they appear normal, they are in at least one aspect of their lives, utterly bat shit crazy.

To be fair, I’ve got my own quiver of crazy, here’s one of my favorite arrows to draw from it:

I shit in a bucket and I have for 10 years.

Let me go through the thoughts in your head (yeah, I’ve had this convo before.)

********

That’s disgusting!

Why?

Gross!

Wait a second…what do you do with the shit?  Oh my God!

*********

Let me set the stage for you.  I own a house with a flush toilet that works, my wife (and most guests) use that toilet.  I live within city limits on a 3,000 sq ft lot and have neighbors on 3 sides.  I’m not way out back of beyond, and we’re connected to the city sewer not a septic tank. There is no reason (based on your flawed understanding of poop management) that I should shit in a bucket.

There’s no easy way to slide into this conversation.  Shit is just too powerful a concept for someone to immediately nod their head and understand that what they’ve been doing their whole life is complete madness.

Let’s just start with a few truths that you may not have considered:

First, the fact that shit seems toxic and disgusting.  That’s incorrect.  Your poop was just IN you.  YOU created it.  If anything is toxic or disgusting, it’s because there’s a problem in YOU.  Shit is not a food, you don’t have to immediately eat it or build with it or make shit castles in the sand.  In fact, you don’t have to touch it.  Shit is a resource, not a problem. You just have to learn how to use it.

Second, why does it make sense for you to shit in drinking water?  Yes, drinking water.  That’s what’s in your toilet.  A lot of time and energy went into getting that water drinkable, and you just shit in it.

Third, after buying the drinking water and shitting in it (adding value), you send it back!  What kind of American does that?  That’s like buying coffee in a paper cup then pouring it into a nice ceramic mug and handing it back to the barista to sell to someone else.  WTF?

You have to understand that your poop is just a step in an endless cycle.  If you think for one second that the food you are eating was made in a cute little vacuum without fertilizer, water, earth, or animals, well, you’re just flat out wrong.

When you try and distort or break a natural cycle you end up with much bigger problems than the simple act of distortion.

You waste thousands of gallons of drinking water.  You increase the taxes you have to pay because every time you flush you affirm your part of the agreement that we should shit in our drinking water and then manage it.  Not cheap.  And dumb.  Is that really you?  A tax loving and profligate idiot?  Wait, we just had a very close election.  Never mind.

Like I said at the beginning, I’ve been shitting in a bucket at my house for 10 years.  I’ve been using that shit (along with all our kitchen scraps) to make compost.  I’ve used the compost to grow fruits and vegetables. I’ve freely fed anyone who came by with peaches, berries, figs, pomegranates, and veggies grown with that compost. All the produce grown on our little plot is super healthy and delicious.  I’ve had zero complaints about taste, health, or any kind of follow-on sickness.

In fact, our house is well known in our neighborhood for having the healthiest and tastiest garden around, and we are constantly asked how we do it.

It’s not magic, it’s a simple system, and if you followed it you’d be happier, healthier, and wealthier.  But you’d be considered weird, and most folks place fitting in over happiness, health, and wealth.  The odds of you doing the right thing are heavily against you.

Luckily for me, when it comes to fitting in, I also have a field of fucks I grow.  Cast ye thine eyes upon it and thou shalt see that (unlike my garden) it is barren.

Ok, saving water and money isn’t enough for you?  How does living in a war zone sound?

Humans fight wars for resources.  Right now we’re finishing up fighting for oil, and if you thought the oil wars were bad, wait until we’re fighting over water.

Those cute little bumper stickers (on the backs of oil guzzling cars) that say “No war for oil”?

There won’t be any of that when your family is dying of thirst.  You won’t have time for hypocrisy, you’ll be too busy curb stomping your neighbor for watering their grass.  Trust me, you’ll fight.

You can ride your bike if gas gets expensive enough, but there’s no alternative when you don’t have water, not at any price less than blood.  I’d prefer to contribute as little as possible to starting World War III, especially if the alternative is as easy as buying a three dollar bucket and spending a day building a toilet stand and two compost piles.

Common Questions:

Q: “Did you tell your neighbors that you just fed them a poop-berry?” 

A: No, I didn’t.  In the same spirit that the current source you’re getting your fruits and veggies doesn’t tell you that they sprayed the food you’re eating with insecticides, grew it with fertilizer made from oil, harvested it from massive tractors that destroyed habitat and in the process mixed up insects, animal turds, and small animals with your “organic” tomatoes, then washed them off with a chemical/water spray you wouldn’t drink and wrapped them in plastic that you throw away where it will last a few thousand years in a giant diaper, aka a landfill.

I don’t feel like rubbing it in my neighbor’s face that they just made the best possible ecological choice completely by accident, and if they knew about the right choice they probably wouldn’t have made it.  I tend to try and protect people from their own ignorance and stupidity, even if it means temporarily withholding the truth.

Q: “Doesn’t it stink?  I mean, you’re shitting in a bucket!”

A: Shit stinks, that’s the hard fact.  You flush it down a toilet (we’ve talked about the insanity of this already.)  I cover it with coffee chaff, which is a waste product that comes from roasting coffee.  My toilet actually smells more like fresh coffee than poop.  I have neighbors who are just 10’ away from my toilet.  It was 8 years (YEARS!) before they built a deck and were able to look over my fence and realize (surprise!) they now had an excellent view into my outdoor bathroom. Not only that, they quickly realized that I squat on the toilet, native style, so we had a talk about that too.  I’ll save squatting for another article.

Back to smell management:  When I dump the bucket into the compost pile, I cover it with about a foot of dry straw.  No, the smell doesn’t get out.

Q: “Doesn’t it stink when you spread it out on your garden?  I’ve smelled horse manure compost before, and that stinks!”

A: By the time I actually use the compost (formerly shit and kitchen scraps and straw), it’s been resting in the compost pile undisturbed for at least 6 months, and sometimes a year.  It is compost, not shit, and smells like fresh healthy growing material for plants.

Q: “Do you have to turn your compost pile?”

A: No.  We compost aerobically, not anaerobically.  We do this by placing lots of layers of straw in our compost, which creates interstitial spaces that promote aerobic digestion.  Ask any 14 year old what interstitial means, it’ll give you a good indication of whether or not they’re getting reasonable schooling.

Because of all these little air pockets throughout the pile, we don’t have to turn it.  We just add a layer of shit ’n scraps, then a layer of straw.  The worms and bacteria cruise slowly upwards through the pile and convert our waste stream into high grade top quality fertilizer.

Q: “Isn’t it dangerous?  I mean, shit is really scary stuff full of bacteria and toxins!”

A: Stop it.  Seriously.  It just came out of you!  If there’s anything harmful to you in it, it would have killed you already.

Q: Ok, ok, what about when you’re sick, or have food poisoning?  Aren’t you creating a compost pile full of listeria ready to turn humanity into constantly flowing shit spigots?

A: No.  Within the active part of the pile there are “thermophilic” bacteria.  They come from your healthy gut, and as their name suggests they LOVE heat.  In fact, they make things so hot that everything else around them can’t take the heat (including all those bad bacteria you just fire-hosed out your ass), and the bad bacteria are burned to death.  It’s pretty awesome.

Q: Ok Nik, my mind is opening up just a little bit to this.  Where can I read more (so I can prove you wrong and convince you to shit in drinking water again)?

A: The bible on this is The Humanure Handbook, by Joe Jenkins.  Buy it, read it, live by it.  The dude is awesome.

Archived Comments​

Chris - April 7, 2021​

Discovered you via your helium network posts, gotta say this is the first time I have enjoyed reading someone’s blog xD

In the vein of continually getting better, I just started sending out a “pre-interview” request for the Paleo Treats podcast.  This one went out to Gavin McClurg, a paraglider.  They’ll probably change as I go along, but I thought you’d enjoy it.

*******BEGIN PREP EMAIL ******** Gavin, Tomorrow we are going to spend an hour or so on Skype having what is literally a contrived conversation. For both of us it will be a relatively tame adventure, but it is, as of now, an unknown.

We’ve never met and yet I’ll be asking you to share some of your private thoughts and life with me and more importantly, my audience.

In order to make this conversation between us better, and deeper, and more effective, I’d like to make a few requests.

First, whatever your “go-juice” is in the morning, drink deep. Whether you’re a coffee snob or a cocaine freak, load up. No half-measures please, no holding back. Finish the dregs, drink to the Lees, snort like a bull ’til the end of line.

If you’re not a substance abuser, knock out a hard workout with heavy weight, the kind that has you prowling around the house looking for phone books to tear in half. I want the best, the fullest, the most intense version of the Gavin McClurg experience possible.

Second, about 5 minutes before we get on, pull up a video online or from your computer that makes you laugh hard. I’m a fan of the ol’ Butter Floor Prank, but anything that makes you guffaw is good with me.

Third, just before time starts, take a look outside, breathe deep from wild and fresh air, and remember one of your best moments. Could be totally public, could be intensely private. I won’t ask you to share it, just to remember it as intensely as possible right before we talk.

Ok, I know those are a bunch of weird requests and probably intrusive. Hell, some of them could be downright insulting, especially if you think I’m serious about the coke. Still, do the best you can and know that on my end I’ll be doing the same.

Coffee is my drug, max bodyweight squats my workout, and the clean sea breeze just sniffable from my rooftop in San Diego my final breath before coming in to my sound room.

Ultra fucking stoked! NFH *********END PREP EMAIL******

Archived Comments​

Scott - September 7, 2021​

Wow, just ran across this Nik. What a perfect post to read! Thanks so much for always sharing your knowledge and wisdom. ‑SC

Nik - September 7, 2021​

Ah, the good ol’ interviewer days. 🙂

Man stands in an empty ball field at home plate. It’s night. Half a moon, maybe less. A few clouds scud across the sky. Dull glow on the horizon, some distant city. Enough light to see, but barely. The wind moans through the batting cages. Lonely.

The man holds an old, well loved wooden bat in his right hand. Work boots, well worn jeans, untucked shirt, forearms scratched with many cuts, t‑shirt flecked with dark slivers of glass. Stubble, un-combed hair. Skin creased. Eyes intense.

Behind him an enormous pile of lightbulbs. All the way behind him to the fence, twice as high as he is, they flow down to his feet, perfect in their manufacture. The ground directly around him covered with shattered white glass and the metal screw bottoms of broken bulbs. Thousands.

Holding the bat loosely, he turns and steps back. Shoes crunching on broken glass in the quiet. He leans and reaches for the pile of bulbs, picks one up. Steps back to the plate, faces the mound. Turning the bulb in his hand, he inspects it. White glass, perfectly complete. Flipping it in his hand, he catches it by the bulb. In one smooth motion, he lightly tosses it up, brings the bat to his shoulder and swings mightily.

The bat catches the bulb perfectly. In slow motion the bulb shatters, filament giving off the briefest small spark that dies in the night. The metal screw bottom flies crazily into the blackness. A slight stagger as he follows through the swing. Glass crunches again. He pauses, breathes, wipes his mouth. Turns, and selects another bulb.

Repeats process. This time a tiny sliver catches him under the eye. It bleeds, but not much. Pulls out the sliver, smears blood. Wipes his fingers on his jeans. Turns, selects another bulb.

The stars swing ‘round overhead. The mound of bulbs shrinks and moves and grows like a breathing being. The man swings again and again. Glass shatters, screw bottoms veer unsteady into the night. The moon begins to set. The broken glass around him ever deeper.

Over and over, they break, unable to stand up to reality. Over and over, he swings.

The lights of the city sputter in the distance. Light is not unavailable to him, but it is his own light that he seeks.

The man swings, the bulb explodes, again and again. A thousand times. Ten thousand. Ten thousand and more.

He turns again to the pile, selects a bulb. Holds it, inspecting. Perfect white bulb, perfect screw bottom metal. He spins it in his hand, holding the bulb. Pauses, breathes in. In one smooth motion, he lightly tosses it up, brings the bat to his shoulder, and swings mightily.

The bat catches the screw metal bottom perfectly. Sharp, grunting exhale at contact. The connection, the angle, the power, all in alignment. Slow motion, the bulb shivers but holds, arcing away, racing off toward the fences. The man watches, mouth open, hoping. Intense silent prayer follows the arc. As it flies, the bulb tumbles, the screw bottom metal now leading the way. The screws catch the air and it begins to spiral, to spin.

We see its destination now, in the distance but closing rapidly. A row of black poles, sentinels at the far edge of the field. A socket looms on some far lamp post. The bulb flies closer and closer, riding the curve of its arc, dropping out of the sky toward the socket, sliding through a perfect trajectory.

Still spinning, it closes through space to the socket, halving the distance infinitely. At 1,000 frames per second we see the puff ring of dust pushed out of the socket as the bulb enters it. The spiral motion forces it to seat itself, the bottom makes contact. The bulb blazes brilliantly, reflects off the cloud of dust motes shaken loose by impact.

Temporary victory, heralded only by the screaming lonely night. The far off seething city knows nothing.

To the left and right of the blazing light stand more socketed and bulb-less posts, black in the night. They stretch all the way around the ball field, to the edge of the world, each empty.

Back to the man. He sees the light in the far distance, his pupils widen then constrict back down. He smiles crookedly, raises a hand to his eyes to shade them.

Turns back to the pile, selects a bulb.

Trust me kid, you’ll never run out of bulbs. Just don’t run out of game.

NFH

No, it wasn’t on purpose.

I went to go pick up dry ice in my little car.  I paid for it in the office while a nice fellow loaded 100 lbs of it into the back of the hatchback.

I got in the car, closed the doors, turned on the A/C & drove off.  The dry ice shop is in the Point Loma area and our office is 15 highway minutes south, just south of downtown, in Barrio Logan.

I called Lee via the magic of bluetooth and the car stereo link and was going through what we had to do biz-wise that day, but I felt a bit breathless.  Weird, because even though I’m not in ultra-marathon shape I’m not out of shape, and I certainly don’t feel breathless often.

Talking with Lee, it got worse.  It wasn’t like I was fighting for breath, it just felt like I couldn’t finish my sentences.

I’m trying to focus on my conversation with Lee, but it’s hard to finish sentences, to even think.  I know something’s wrong and getting worse, but what is it?  I’m healthy, godddammit!

There’s a part of me that thinks it’s drinking too much coffee that morning; 2 cups instead of 1.  No, that can’t be right.  What else could it be?  Something is wrong, work the problem Nik.

Feeling the prickling of sweat prior to blackout, the kind you feel when you stand up suddenly after laying down for a while.  On the highway, rolling at 70.  Something is seriously wrong, think, Nik, THINK!

I needed time.  To think.  The world.  started.  to.  close.  in.

Breathing shallow, like when you turn the O2 off on a Draeger, shallow puffs, darkness closing in, you CAN NOT pass out on the highway NIK, THINK GODDAMNIT!

Stop trying to talk with Lee and figure out your life, NOW.  This is getting worse, not better.  You’ve got less than 30 seconds and you don’t know it.  What the fuck?  Be cool.  What the fuck!!?  Calm, work the problem.  Wait, Draeger, shallow breathing, O2.…

CO2!  It’s the CO2, it’s the 100 lbs of dry ice sublimating in the back.  You idiot!  Just as the first heavy wave of nausea and faintness hits and my head bobs I get the windows down.

Air rushes in and I raise my head.  That’s it!  Just hold on, dammnit!

Now I’m focused, I know what the problem is, I can solve it, just have to hang on.  Dizzy.  Deep breaths out the window, hand out focusing the air into my face & mouth.  Breathe deep the air, my friend.  Today, you live.

The nausea passes, the faintness fades.  No horns honking, no cars swerving, nobody even noticed.  I tell Lee what happened.  She (rightly) thinks I’m an idiot.  I’m no longer breathless.  I hang up the phone via the steering wheel controls.

Off at the exit, windows still down. What the fuck?  Did that really just happen?  Was I really that stupid?  I’ve driven with dry ice in the car before with the windows up, why this time?

END

Lessons learned: ‑Don’t be a fucking idiot with dry ice, make sure you have enough air to breathe.  Shit. ‑Dry ice sublimates MUCH faster when it’s single wrapped; this was a new place to buy from, the old place double wrapped it and taped it. ‑You don’t always get to choose when you have the rest of your life to figure out a problem.  Learn to stay cool even when you’re freaking out. ‑Don’t ignore small problems.  They can get big so fast you won’t have time to solve them. ‑The deadliest danger can be where you least expect it.  Picking up dry ice for your business can be just as lethal as running around Syria waving a US flag if you’re not paying attention.  Death doesn’t care where she finds you. ‑Be thankful that you live, and remember you’ve only got one chance sometimes.  Remember to enjoy the warmth of the sun, the coolness of morning mist as you walk the dogs, a kiss from your wife, the breaks that do go your way.

All’s well that ends well, thought you would dig my brush with death via the cookie business.  Stay safe out there!

Big heart, NFH

Archived Comments​

Lea - December 13, 2016​

Yea, I did that too one day. Makes you feel dumb as a door knob.… you know, after you regain consciousness and all

Dick Headstrong - September 6, 2021​

Uuhhhh.……You’re not flying. Get off the phone, Pull over, and then figure it out. I find that anytime I’m struggling to remain conscious, my chances of a positive outcome are inversely proportional to my relative velocity (possibly squared).

I have to ask you some helium questions, so maybe I’ll talk to ya over there. I guess this is all the same place, it just doesn’t feel right asking so close to your brush with dry ice.

As usual, success doesn’t teach as many lessons as failure.  After two years of failure, (2013 & 2014) I made it this year in 28:46:45 (that’s 28 hours, 46 minutes, and 45 seconds), or about an hour and 15 minutes ahead of the 30 hour cut off.

As context, where does that put me in the pack?  Just aft of the middle.  Out of 650 who picked up race packets, only 319 made it across in under 30 hours. I finished in 185th place, or at the 57th percentile.

As a “wow” tidbit, that means 134 people out of 319 finished in the last hour and 15 minutes.  The winner (Ian Sharman) knocked it off in 16:33, which gave him 12 hours to sleep while I slogged on.

The major takeaways aren’t groundbreaking; long term planning (8+ months out from the event) increases your odds of success substantially, focused & disciplined training pays off, and hard work works.

I had intended on putting in a max week of 70 plus miles, but about a month and half before the race injured my Achilles and had to take a few weeks off for it to heal.  That meant my max weekly distance was just over 50 miles, and most weeks after March were 40+.

I had a great time with altitude prep at CrossFit Flagstaff, in Carbondale, on top of Ajax Mountain and up at Weston Pass Hut; if you’re looking for a beautiful place to stay above 12k’ in Colorado and don’t mind not having electricity or running water then WPH is a rippingly good choice.

The two unusual pieces of race prep & execution this year were the experimentation with fat adaption, which made race day nutrition pretty much stress free, and the power of community.

Fat adaption starts with the idea that most of us privileged First World denizens eat a carbohydrate rich diet and focus on specific carb intakes on race day, but it’s not the ideal or only way to fuel for performance.

By slowly adapting your body to burn fats instead of carbs you can burn longer, stronger, and cleaner.  It’s a fairly complex topic and it did take some significant lifestyle changes (what you eat, when you eat it, and education as to why it works) but it worked very well for me.

As a teaser, for the entire 100 mile race I ate 2 GUs, 4 bananas, 4 cups of ramen noodles in chicken stock, and a handful of chips.  I drank water (20 oz of water to 1/4 tsp salt) throughout, but that was it.

That’s all that powered me through almost 30 hours of steady energy output above 9,000′ elevation.  I had no GI issues, energy never dropped radically, and I felt strong throughout.  In fact, from mile 60 I started to gain in strength and speed while my heart rate dropped down below 140.

I did slow down in the last 5 or 6 miles, but hell, I never ran more than 26 miles in training so 95+ miles was new territory for me.

If you’d like to know more about fat adaption for endurance performance I strongly suggest checking out Barry Murray’s viewpoint, here. We did a podcast for the Paleo Treats show a while ago and I was so intrigued I followed up by hiring his services for Leadville.

Barry was kind enough to take me on as a short term case (less than 2 years of fat adaption and not a full time athlete) and his advice & diet plan were integral to my success at Leadville.   He is a wizard out on the bleeding edge of nutritional performance and I’m grateful for his help.

The other big piece that I underestimated was the power of community.  The past two years (2013 & 2014) it’s just been Lee crewing me.  Lee is awesome, and the fault for not finishing those 2 previous years was entirely mine. Realizing that I was putting a lot of work on Lee to crew the race, this year we called for reinforcements and had my sister, her boyfriend,  as well as my Mom come out along with 2 friends (Dave Rutherford & Shauna Sledge) to pace me from mile 60 on.

That made a HUGE difference; all that energy and love at each of the aid stations was a strong rallying cry, and it allowed me to focus more on the race and less on the struggle.  Having someone to chat with during the second half of the race made it easier to keep going, and I treasure the conversations I had deep in the wee hours of the night with my pacers.

I wish I had more wisdom to give, but as I said before, success doesn’t teach as much as failure, and I’m thankful that this time I succeeded at a tough race.  Should you or anyone you know have any questions about Leadville prep please feel free to reach out.

Cheers,

NFH

Goals: Have the most personally fulfilling race possible at the Leadville Trail 100 on August 22nd, 2015.  Run a sub 12:00/mile avg pace.

Overview & disclaimer:  These are the ideas & thoughts I’ve had regarding preparing for and racing at Leadville after 2 unsuccessful attempts.  I’m 37, 5′8″ and hover around 150 lbs/69 kg.  I’ve been an athlete for most of my life. I took a break in my early 30s, but in my 20s represented the US on the Navy Pentathlon Team, swam competitively for about 18 years, ran cross country in high school along with a few other sports (lacrosse, wrestling, climbing.)

No record setting times, the fastest mile I’ve thrown down was a 5:10 in my late teens and I used to swim 500 free (yds) in the same time.  The last time I ran mile repeats I was hovering around the 6:00 mark.  I haven’t swam a 500 free for time in the last 10 years.

For every one of these ideas in which I believe & base my training on, you can find anywhere from 5–5,000 assholes who are doing the opposite and getting really good results.  Paleo vs grains, sprints vs LSD (that’s long slow distance, hippies!), low carb vs high carb, lifting vs running, etc.  This is what I believe will work for me.  This is not a training plan for you, just a record of what I’ve learned and incorporated along with what I aim to do.

I attempted Leadville 2013 on a training regimen of running 15 miles a week, thrice weekly lifting sessions of squats or deadlifts with pull ups, dips, and the occasional clean thrown in.  I did a fair amount of sprinting in the 4–800m range, with a longest running distance of (I think) 12 miles in training.  Late in December of the 2012 I did the Rim-River-Rim as a test run with a few friends at the Grand Canyon; that was the most I had walked/hiked/ran in 12 years. I made it to mile 75 during the race and missed the time cut off by a few minutes.

For Leadville 2014 I doubled my max weekly miles to a one time weekly push of around 30 but mostly in the 20s, headed back out to the Grand Canyon in March of that year for a full Rim-Rim-Rim push and did most of my training in the 8–12 mile/run range.  Aiming to run only on “real” food and a Paleo diet with no testing, I cramped up at mile 25 or so during the race and couldn’t move for about 30 minutes.  Once my legs unlocked (after a few salt tabs from some rad trail angels) I made slow and agonizing progress until about mile 38, when I started being able to actually run again.  I rallied from Twin Lakes up over Hope Pass, feeling strong & holding a 14:00/mile pace going up & over Hope, but was so smoked from the cramps that I missed the time cut off by about 30 minutes on the return to Twin Lakes (mile 60.)

After the 2014 fiasco, I committed to training for Leadville 2015 in a much more serious way, my previous white trash training methods having failed me.  Zach Negin was right.  Hey, my methods worked when I was 23 and ran a sub 6:00 pace for a half marathon with only a few weeks training.  I was a king once, you know.

I kept running after the 2014 race, but quickly overtrained and laid off running entirely from October 2014 until the end of that year.  I lifted heavy twice a week, squats and deads and benches and presses, mostly 5x5s and worked up to a 97 kg squat, 85 kg dead, 57 kg press, 72 kg bench, all for 3 sets of 5.  My form needs work especially in the deadlift & I haven’t worked it seriously.   I weigh 69 kilos.

I did that to build a base of strength, having gotten fired up on Brooks Kubik’s Dinosaur Training book.  Now, he’s a weightlifter and I’m aiming to be a runner, so as I was working the lifts on the path of strength, I was researching running in preparation for the 2015 running year.

I’m a reader, so I started by ordering a bunch of books off of Amazon.  I read Siff & Verkhoshansky, Tim Noakes, Barry Murray, Phil Maffetone, Bruce Lipton, Volek & Phinney, Fred Wilt, Steve Magness, and Jay Dicharry.

I also talked to most of those guys via podcast interviews which you can listen to here.

Ok, with all that intro/background out of the way, I’ll break down what I’ve learned into a few categories: Training, Nutrition, Recovery, & Mental.

For Training, I follow Phil Maffetone’s guidance.  He’s a legendary coach in the endurance world, and while some folks write him off as a legendary coach from a long time ago I think his ideas are still good and they form the basis for my training.  In a nutshell, I run by my heart rate and aim to stay between 133–143 bpm, which is 180–37 (my age.)  Dr. Maffetone calls this heart rate your Max Aerobic Function (MAF) HR, and the basic idea is that this is the heart rate at which you can run for days if you train it up.  Once you go above your MAF you move into anaerobic work and start the countdown clock for bonking.

If you decide to follow my lead and run at your MAF after training the “regular” way your whole life, expect to run some extraordinarily slow paces.  I was running a 143 and clocking 13:00 miles on the flats, getting passed by fat old men and women.  I’m running closer to 9:00 miles now on the flats at the same HR and feeling much better.

Going up & over Otay Mountain on a 20 miler I stayed at an avg HR of 139 and averaged 12:57 with 4,600′ of gain over those 20 miles.  All up or down, no real flat sections.  I don’t do any sprints, intervals, tempos, or striders.  I may start to add those in, especially the striders, but the vast majority of my training is geared towards building aerobic function.  I’m aiming to average sub 12:00 miles at the race.  For reference, the current male record holder Matt Carpenter averaged around 9:27/mile.

I hit my first 40+ mile week in late May of 2015, feel free to connect with me on Strava if you’d like to follow along.  The general aim now is to increase up to a steady 50+ mile week with a possible run at a 70 mile week before the race.  2 runs during the week, 8–16 miles each, and a long run on the weekend that’ll top out at 28 miles and 6k of gain.  4 week cycles, 3 week build ups followed by a de-load week of around 20 miles.

I’ll be out in Colorado (Aspen) by early August, aiming to stay at the Weston Pass Hut for about 10 days prior to the race, and will be staying in town from Tuesday-race day.

For Nutrition, in 2013 I raced on Hammer Nutrition’s Perpeteum along with an assortment of their pills and powders and had no GI problems.  In fact, I didn’t realize how much nutrition was a factor in ultra running because Hammer made it so easy.  It tastes revolting, but avoiding that revolting taste led to a disaster in my “Paleo for race nutrition” strategy during my 2014 effort, and made re-think and study much more about training & race fueling.

After reading and talking with Barry Murray and Tim Noakes on the Paleo Treats Podcast, and chatting with Peter Defty from Vespa, I started thinking more about low carb & “fat adapting” and decided to go for it in March of 2015, cutting out any food on runs, running in a fasted state, and starting to really cut down on carbs all the time.

I’m still using Paleo as my guide for what kind of food to eat, but need to figure out this LCHF (Low Carb High Fat) thing as I really think it has a lot of potential.

LCHF has not been particularly easy, but at the same time it ain’t impossible, and I’m certainly not done tweaking my diet.  As it stands, I’m aiming to run the 100 miles of the race on little to no food, no more than a few GUs and probably less, just sticking to a few dates to get glucose to my brain late in the race, and drinking water to thirst.

The general idea (I’ve been told I’m wrong in the details but sort of right overall by Barry Murray) is to run at sub-MAF pace, burn fat or ketones, and only get some quick sugar if my brain starts to fade.

After talking with Brian Peterson I’ve also set a “caffeine plan” up and aim to have butter coffee ready at mile 75.  This is still a “maybe”, but that’s where Nutrition stands as of May 30th, 2015.

For recovery, I’ve been getting bodywork from Heidi Fearon once a week, usually on a Thursday or Friday after a hard run on Thursday.  Heidi is a skilled acupuncturist with Taliban fingers and lots of athletic experience and has been able to fix most of the aches & pains I’ve had.  I’m also pressing my legs after runs with a VES device, anywhere from within an hour of running up to 9 hours later.  I think the Normatecs are better, but a friend had an extra VES to lend me and I wasn’t willing to spend $2k for a Normatec.  I did end up buying a MarcPro and think it’s useful but only if you’re working super hard, which most of my runs haven’t been. I’m finishing up Earthing and may buy one of these hippie sheets, although I walk around barefoot a bunch so not sure how much of a difference a sheet will make.

Finally, the mental game.  I used to teach this stuff for the Navy and have written up a post on the Big Four here.  I was talking a bunch with Brian Peterson (2014 Bear 100 winner), Rich Airey (7th at Leadville 2014), and a few others early in the season about just how far we can push some wacky stuff like believing we can produce more mitochondria and meditating on that, but I haven’t put as much time into that as I have into the rest of training.  Mostly I use Big Four stuff, mainly visualizing lots of the race while I’m running and before going to bed.

That’s the training plan and how I got there.  For the race itself I’m aiming to run a negative split (faster second half than the first), go out at no faster than an 11:00 pace, and not eat much food beyond a few dates if I get woozy.  I’ll definitely report back post-race with updates on this blog as I understand & incorporate ’em.  Feel free to comment below.

None of this would be possible if I didn’t have the support of my wife Lee, who puts up with my long runs, irritability, and generally unpleasant resistance to advice with the cheerful outlook of someone who’s in love & committed to excellence no matter its mood.  None of this can be blamed on her.

Cheers,

NFH

Once every 24 hours, for a scant 15 minutes or so, waves break on the Pacific side of the Panama Canal. The break is less than 200 yards from the moorings and I was easily visible as I paddled out to seek solace and perhaps a wave at the change of the tides. Every night somebody would approach me at the Balboa Yacht Club bar wondering if I was the man who had been surfing those little waves, laughing, falling and standing up in the chest-deep water. I would say “yes,” and wait for the inevitable next question: "Are you the guy on the J/22?" "Yes." "Where did you sail from?' "San Diego.” And off we'd go into conversations about small boats and big waves, keels caught in fishing nets, homemade boats pitch-poling in the Bering Strait and that love of the ocean that pervades every true sailors' speech. I would tell my story of how I got into sailing, how long it had taken to reach Panama, who I had for crew, if I had running water, what fish I was catching-- asking and answering the questions all sailors ask each other. I grew up on the East Coast then moved to Indiana when I was in high school. Later, I enlisted in the Navy thinking I'd be in for 20 years.  5 years later, in September 2000, I got out of the Navy and bumped around Australia with a friend for two months before flying back to San Diego and deciding to sail to Virginia in a small boat. I had been on a sailboat a few times with my aunt and uncle in England and a few times with friends of mine on San Diego Bay, but had no real experience beyond that. Originally, I wanted to do the trip in a Lehman 12, but was talked out of it by friends, most of them professional sailors. I settled on a J/22 and bought “Synchronicity” eight days after I returned from Australia. I renamed the boat “Apocalypso” and 14 days later set sail with Jason Bell, a San Diego J-World instructor and a man who would end up being one of my closest friends. The two weeks between the purchase of the boat and casting off from the dock of the Coronado Yacht Club were a maelstrom of organizing, buying and attaching various instruments to the boat.  I bought a Siemens 75 solar panel to supply the boat with power and a 12-volt marine battery. I purchased a Garmin 162 GPS that never failed, an autopilot tiller that failed constantly, a Standard Horizon VHF that kept me in contact with other boats at anchorage and intermittently provided me with garbled voices at sea, and an Alpine CD player with Bose 151 outdoor speakers to keep morale high. I had another reef put in the main (for a total of two) and had a used genoa re-cut to fit the J/22.  I took one main, two kites, a genoa, a racing jib and a working jib. The main, working jib and spinnaker saw me through to the Panama Canal.  After that I used only the main and jib for the slog north. Jason and I left Coronado on December 27, 2000.  We slipped away from the dock, families, and friends and headed out of San Diego Bay to point south, Panama bound!  As soon as we got out of the bay,we put up the chute and took off doing 7 knots down the waves and enjoying our newfound freedom. The first night was amazing.  It was the first time I'd been night sailing on the ocean and I was aboard the smallest sailboat I'd ever been on this far offshore. There was a northeast wind blowing 12 to 14 knots, the chute was up and happily pulling us along.  Scattered clouds passed over the moon and I had the first watch. What a life! We cruised down the coast, harbor hopping along the way. We usually did 300 miles at a crack, occasionally doing more, with a longest distance of 500 miles that took us five days. We got caught on kelp, watched the big Baja sea lions playing in our wake and saw all things in those days to satisfy a soul. I watched dolphins surfing the bow wake, felt the colors of sunset on my face and the whip of the wind as it cracked my lips. I grew tan as only sailors can and built muscle from working the boat. I grew lean and strong on fresh fish, fruits, nuts and vegetables and learned to live and breathe with the wind in the sail.  I connected with the ocean on a level I have felt at no other time, a bond that will always pull me back to the freedom of the sea. Eleven days after we left San Diego we coasted into Cabo San Lucas, spotting an orca in the harbor on the way in.  Two nights later we raised anchor and headed south and east- the stench of packed humanity too much for us in Cabo.  A north-northwest wind blowing 15 to 20 knots dared us to throw up the chute and the fun began. We screamed across the Sea of Cortez in 52 hours, chute up the whole way, the roar of water racing by the hull putting us to sleep every three hours.  When it got bad, Jason would come up and switch with me if I was on watch and I would open food packets and feed him while we talked. When I accidentally jibed in the dark and tangled the chute around the forestay I had to wake him up to untangle it.  He freed it so fast and easily I felt foolish.  As he crawled back into the musty cabin cracking jokes in his Scottish accent I realized he must have done it a hundred times while teaching at work.  By the time we eventually parted ways I felt comfortable doing everything by myself, but until I understood the basics Jason worked overtime. We stopped in El Salvador and northern Nicaragua for emergency anchoring, ignoring what the guidebooks said about the dangers of Central America. We explored an almost untouched world, where pleasure boats are seldom seen and where beer and stories flow freely. It was an awakening of sorts for me, to realize that even in poverty so many still have hope and joy. Two months into the trip, I lost Jason as crew when we pulled into southern Nicaragua and he was offered a job as skipper of the Farr 63 “Northern Winds.” While the friendship we had forged could not be broken, the lure of a steady paycheck took him away.  It took me a month to get the boat together—we had taken a fearsome beating between Puerto Madero and San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua.  After I had gotten all my parts shipped to Ricardo's Bar in San Juan del Sur and installed them on Apocalypso, I soloed to Playa del Coco, Costa Rica. It was my first solo sail, and the steady wind and never-ending tasks brought me the discovery of joy in a day’s loneliness at sea. In Playa del Coco an adventurous blonde named Laura signed on as crew. I didn't tell Laura until we were well on our way that I had only been sailing for three months— it just didn't seem to be the best thing to say.  Although Laura didn’t know how to sail she was willing to learn and showed an interest in boats that fueled further my love of the ocean and sailing.  Laura stayed with the boat through the Panama Canal and as far as Key West. Florida, listening to my fluent Navy cursing when our four-horse engine died and sharing the life of bon vivants as we swam with pilot whales and explored hidden anchorages.  In one anchorage on the east side of the Golfo de Chiriqui we met the hermit of Bahia Honda and rediscovered an island town where the natives whispered about Laura's naturally white-blond hair and gave us dried fish and beer. We left Bahia Honda with the boat full of coconuts picked from climbing high palm trees on a deserted beach.  As we sailed south down the Peninsula de Azuero with the fading sun to starboard, the gentle clunks of loose-rolling coconuts brought us out of our daydreams of reaching the Panama Canal. The night before our arrival at the Panama Canal shook my faith in my ability to sail and navigate. We kept getting tangled in fishing nets in the light and variable winds and the compass was difficult to read in the hazy light of the moon. To top it off, I was tired from three days of little sleep as I went over the side on three separate occasions to cut the boat free of fishing nets stretching down into green-gray depths, surrounded by shadows thrown by my tiny underwater light.  After getting out of the cold Humboldt Current the last time, I told Laura I was going to bed and didn't want to be woken until the sun was shining and we were making 4 knots directly toward the canal. I woke to the sound of the engine and hazy pale sunlight on my face.  I looked out of the cabin at the clean, glassy water of the northern stretch of the Golfo de Panama and knew the peaceful relief found at the end of a nightmare. Arriving at the canal was a victory for me.  It meant I was more than halfway through my journey, it meant that I had gotten across Tehuantepec and past the Papagallos, and it meant I could skipper a boat! After staying on the Pacific side for two weeks and battling a barely comprehensible system of bureacracy, we finally got all our paperwork together and shot through the locks in a day. From Cristobal we headed north, stopping at Isla Providencia where we experienced true Caribbean hospitality and the friendliest port captain I have ever met along with townspeople who could not have welcomed us more warmly. From Providencia we sailed hard on a fast reach to Roatan, stopping only long enough to resupply before heading north for Isla Mujeres off the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico. The draw of returning home became more powerful the closer we got to Key West, erasing from my mind the life I would have to lead upon return to the States and a “normal” job. We took a six-day beating from Isla Mujeres to Key West rather than sit in the anchorage scaring ourselves with weather reports, and only now do I realize the luxury of being concerned merely with physical survival. We pulled into Key West on May 14, 2001, 5 1/2 months after leaving San Diego. Those 150-odd days were the richest of my life and I looked for a way to squeeze in one more journey before selling the boat. After posting countless flyers to sell the boat throughout Ft. Lauderdale, I finally found a buyer in Kingston, Jamaica through the internet.  the only requirement was that the boat be delivered in advertised condition.  After enlisting the help of a fellow I met in a Publix grocery store, I hoisted sail and again surrendered myself to the sea.  Frank was from Berlin, Germany and between his heavily accented English and my high school German, we laughed our way through muddled conversations about girls, beer, toxic chlorinated American water and sailing. We stopped in Nassau, Bahamas, then swept down the Exuma chain to Georgetown. From Georgetown, we headed southeast to the tip of Little Exuma where we ran aground on crystal white sand.  Far from our finest moment, it ended after bumping over six sandbars and grinding into the seventh.  With no other course than to turn up the music, jump over the side and take a long saltwater bath, we waited for the tide. When it finally rose late in the evening, we dried off and headed on port tack for Cuba, the Windward Passage, and my final port of call. We made landfall in Jamaica at 7 a.m. on June 28 of 2001, seeing the lighthouse at Point Moran. We drifted along the shore, smelling land in the smoke of hearth-fires and waiting for the huge convection machine of Kingston Harbor to start cranking. We were sucked west along the southern coast until we turned into the harbor where we had to beat upwind to the yacht club.  The final sail was the hardest part of the trip.  It wasn’t from the feeling of ending a journey, but because the wind really pumps down that harbor; I recorded at least 30 knots on my anemometer!  As we pulled up to the gasoline dock at the Royal Jamaica Yacht Club, I saw four men sauntering towards us down cracked concrete stairs.  They eased up next to my boat as a group, their question broke the silence of a voyage completed.  "Are you the guy on the J/22?"

Brooks Kubik is an intelligent contributor to the Iron Game.  He offers a daily email newsletter that covers what’s going on with him as well as his thoughts on training.

He recently sent out an email about the power of one, and how many of the world’s top performers; athletes, businessmen and women, and artists do some of their best training alone.  Here’s my response:

A man is only a man if he lives by his own lights, curious though they may be to others.

Working physically alone, whether lifting, running, or sailing, has delivered many of my formative and peak experiences.  Alone there is no one else to blame in failure and no one else who can claim the victory; both are deeply deserved and heartily felt.

For many, the haunting ache of no audience is too harsh; for those of us who live for that fleeting and wild cry found only in the silence of one, the power of “alone” is the backbone of our existence.

It reminds me of a quote from the foreword to Lord Grizzly, by Frederick Manfred:

“I don’t mind [being alone] because I’m part bear, grizzly bear.  Grizzlies, male grizzlies particularly, like to be alone a lot–and the older they get the more they are alone.  But perhaps more importantly, if you’re going to do anything creatively, whether it’s in architecture, or writing novels, or sculpture, you can’t be spending your time in the presence of other people if you want to really explore your ideas.”

Effort, real physical effort, is for many of our lonely tribe an exploration of ideas.  Can I?  Will I?  Must I?  How we choose to answer it differs only in form, not reason, and we know, deep in each of our hearts, that the only answer to carry us forward is Yes.

With thanks for the reminder of the Power of One,

NFH

Jason Mullaney is a friend of mine.  He’s been in the news as “The Navy SEAL who swindled his brothers” and has been accused of stealing $1 million dollars from other SEALs and a family friend, but from the reporting I’ve seen no one has presented the other side of a man who has helped, encouraged, and supported hundreds of people as he catapulted to the top of a very unstable structure.

First, how do I know Jason?  We served together in the Teams, and I’ve been friends with him ever since we met in 1999.  He provided a tremendous example for me both physically and mentally, and served as a model character for me in that community.

Jason Mullaney (left) & the author on deployment in the Phillippines, circa 2000. This photo is copyrighted and may not be used without permission.

Jason was the quintessential squared away Team guy.  Physically strong and mentally sharp, he planned ahead for everything, was meticulous with his gear, followed the “2 is 1, 1 is none” rule, and was the guy you turned to if you needed to know how to do anything.

He’s quick to smile, and quicker to lend a helping hand the instant he sees you need it.

He isn’t your average one dimensional overly muscled knucklehead; behind the tattooed exterior he has one of the sharpest minds you’ll encounter, and he gleefully puts that mind to humor and pranks as quickly and easily as he put together polished ops in the Teams and solid deals in real estate.

Whether as a SEAL operator, instructor, or later on in the world of real estate and investing, Jason maintained those qualities.  His paperwork was always in order, he worked exceptionally hard both for himself and others, he was ready with a joke or his unique barking laugh, and always had a ready solution for everything that came up.

When he was on top, when the real estate market was booming, damn near every SEAL on the West Coast seemed to turn to him for help with their real estate deals.  He constantly guided his friends, helped them avoid the many pitfalls of buying a house, and helped more SEALs buy houses than anyone else I know.

In fact, I’d be willing to bet that Jason Mullaney created far more wealth for the men of the SEAL Teams than he’s ever been accused of scamming anyone out of.

Jason was also a model of the motto “Do the right thing always”.  Let me give you an example.

We had swam in “over the beach” in the middle of winter on a training exercise.  “Over the beach” is the classic frogman entrance; you roll off a boat in the dead of night a half mile off shore with your ruck & rifle and swim in.  It’s not complicated, just cold and hard.

Usually when you go over the beach, you swim in wearing a wetsuit (or drysuit) and then change somewhere on land into the appropriate attire for patrolling; wetsuits are not designed to hike in.  Once you’ve changed into your patrolling gear you stay as warm and dry as you can, something that is critically important if, like we were, you are going to hole up in a “hide site” and observe the enemy while remaining undetected.

A hide site is the smallest possible space you can fit yourself into and not be noticed by folks looking for you.  You don’t want to move around too much in it since the human eye is attracted by movement.  Hide sites are, as the name suggests, incredibly effective at hiding what you’re doing from people trying to find you, and usually incredibly uncomfortable.  You sleep, eat, watch, and shit from the same little spot for 3 days straight.

Jason, myself, and a third team member had come over the beach, changed out of our wetsuits and were patrolling along the ocean’s edge up to the spot where we would penetrate inland.  We were patrolling along the water for a good reason; no one would ever think to look there for us. It was 200 feet of steep rip-rap from the waterline up to a busy highway.

Rip-rap is loose stone used to armor a breakwater or shoreline from pounding surf, and aside from sunny days in the middle of summer, rip-rap is the one of the worst possible places to walk; the rocks are slippery, the gaps between them can be big & deep, and in the dark of night it’s awfully tough to keep your footing.

We slowly made our way along the rip-rap in the dark with Jason leading.  We were being very careful to simultaneously stay far enough away from the crashing ocean to remain dry, but not get pushed up the slope so much that we would be silhouetted by the lights of cars driving along the coastal highway.

I heard Jason slip, then curse as his body thudded into the rocks.  There was an awful squishing sound, then the even more horrid sound of suction being released.  As we scrambled over to see what had happened, our noses gave us the first hint.

The smell of dead rotting flesh overpowered the fresh salty air of the sea as we came upon Jason, who was pulling his leg, from mid-hip down, out of the decomposing body of a big dead sea lion.  Jason had seen it at the last minute, adjusted his step to miss it and ended up slipping and sliding right into (and through) the monster’s body.

The smell was revolting; our thoughts flew to the coming experience of living in a small space that smelt of dead sea lion for 3 days.  Without waiting for us to say a word Jason waded into the frigid water to wash off the slime & smell as best he could.

There’s not much worse than wading into cold water at midnight when moments before you were warm and dry, but without a thought for any other course of action Jason did it right away.  It was the right thing.  That was enough.

Later that night, after we had located a good place to hole up and settled in, it was my turn to pull the first watch, the one that goes ’til dawn.  I’d made the classic mistake of not checking my gear twice before leaving, and had forgotten to pack gloves.

It wasn’t an issue at first, but as the night wore on and got colder and colder, my fingers slowly stiffened.  By the time my watch was up I could only jab Jason in the side with a board-stiff hand to wake him.  Cheerful as a man can be who has slept in wet pants, he joked about having a nice clean bath before sliding into a stinky hide site with us two.

I told him my hands were chilly and I’d forgotten my gloves, and in classic Jason Mullaney fashion he instantly pulled out his extra pair,  “Oh, you didn’t bring spares?  Stupid new guy.”  Quick with a joke, always prepared, always generous, always willing to do the right thing, that’s Jason Mullaney.

So what, you’re saying?  Those are nothing, those are tiny acts.  A SEAL is supposed to be able to handle the cold, and you’re stupid for forgetting your gloves.  That doesn’t make Jason a hero.

It doesn’t, but every soldier knows it’s the small things a man does that show you how he’ll behave when everything is on the line.

I could tell you more Mullaney stories; about how the time my car broke down and went into the shop for a week.  I was a mobile notary and my livelihood depended on being able to drive all over Southern California at a moment’s notice.

I didn’t have a lot at the time; I was busting my butt, slowly salting away money, but I didn’t have anywhere near enough to rent a car for two weeks. The first guy I called was Jason.  He lent me his car without hesitation, without thought for the few thousand miles he knew I’d have to put on it, and without asking when I’d have it back to him.

Anyone who ever worked with Jason has at least a few stories like that; Jason doing the right thing no matter what, Jason being ultra prepared, Jason being instantly generous.  Small stories or big, helping warm up chilly hands or helping someone keep their job or buy their first house, Jason was known for his generosity and for doing the right thing.

It’s a potent combination, and one that allowed him to help hundreds of people as his business grew.

Hopefully, you’re one of those many people he helped.  Hopefully, you’re as grateful as I am to have had the good fortune of meeting and working with Jason Mullaney.  Hopefully, you’ll reach out in support.

I’m not asking you to pass judgement on his case; that’s what the legal system is for, as slow, inefficient, and frustratingly uncaring as it may sometimes seem to be.

I’m asking you to tip the balance of stories told about a man just slightly in his favor.

For every time you slept on his couch, borrowed a few bucks from him, drove his car, had him help you with a real estate deal, had him toss you a spare mag when you were dry, or heard his exceptionally loud voice greeting you in his happy bulldog fashion, I ask that you repay him below with a few quick words of encouragement.

For every story written about him by someone who never met Jason, I ask that you write just a few words in support below in the comments section.

Thank you.

NFH

Update, May 6th 2015:  In an emotionally charged court session with supportive statements from a wide cross section of his life including his sister, co-workers in the mortgage industry, former SEALs including investor/victims, Jason Mullaney was sentenced today to 6 years and 8 months.  He should be out on parole in late 2015.

Update, May 24th, 2017: Jason is out after serving his time and is working hard in San Diego.  One of his goals is to repay everyone he owed and I’m pretty sure he’ll achieve it.

Archived Comments​

Erinn Mullaney Martocchio - November 25, 2014​

Finally, someone willing to stand up and speak on behalf of my brother. I have hesitated to speak publicly for Jason, not because I don’t believe in him, but because, well, he’s my brother and what sister wouldn’t support her own brother? Well I have been moved to tears reading these words today. To see in print what I already know and have known to be true for over 40 years about the amazing character of my brother, generous to a fault. I am so thankful that Jason is known at least by some for his true character. And in this week of Thanksgiving, I am thankful and very proud to say that Jason Mullaney is my brother, a man with more genuine heart and integrity than most I’ve ever met! Thank you, Nik…

Ali Hawks - November 25, 2014​

I’m one of the people Jason has helped. I met Jason when I was 19, he was a friend of my brother’s. Back then I worked two jobs and had no money. He lived a few blocks from me in Coronado and was still in the Teams. During one particular rough spot Jason showed up on my doorstep with groceries, knowing I had run out of money. I had just moved into town and didn’t know anyone. Jason introduced me to his sister, my age, in an effort to help me meet people. 

In university I was looking for a job, Jason offered me one immediately. Throughout the years, this has been the story of Jason. When he was doing mortgages, after getting out of the Navy, everyone was coming to him . I would often see people calling him, or coming over, asking for help; help to move, help to fix a car, to borrow a car — you name it, Jason was there helping.

At every step of the way Jason has been there for me, unfailingly. I’ve known him on his way up and I’ve known him on his way down. I know him still. I am a witness to his generosity of spirit and kindness these past 15 years. This, too, is not a comment or judgment on his current situation. This is an offer of kindness, of hope and of love to someone that has shown me nothing but. I hope others remember his help and his friendship and feel they can pass along kind words to a man of few words but tremendous heart.

Liz Jardine - November 25, 2014​

Though I am not familiar with the details of the complaints against Jason I am horrified that he still sits in jail awaiting trial I imagine, no one should have to endure that.
I was Jason’s neighbor for several years before any of this happened and know him to be nothing but a kind, generous and considerate friend & neighbor. He was always willing to open his home for neighborhood parties or to help a person in need.
I do not believe that Jason ever intended to swindle anyone, I am sure he is not alone in being “upside down’ in the Real Estate market and I imagine things just went south and he tried his best to make his investors money. I am so very sorry that Jason is suffering and I wish him the best legal representation possible & would like to help. Sincerely, Liz Jardine

Janet Hock - November 26, 2014​

I remember a party of Jason’s, surrounded by friends and joking with everyone while his little dog ran underfoot — every so often, Jason would stoop down to pick up his dog and hold him out of harm’s way. He needs to know his friends have not forgotten him — great essay.

Seth F - November 26, 2014​

Jason M. Ha, how can i talk about him? Well let’s see. I guess, probably one of the 4 best SEALS I have ever known. I would simply say if he needed a kidney I would find a doctor to cut mine out. Jason I remember you as the best. I have made my life great and consider you one of the reasons I was able to. I cannot wait to see you bro.

Lee Selman - November 26, 2014​

I have known Jason Mullaney for 14 years, and I do not know of a more generous person with the ability to be excellent at so many things. 

He helped me find my first job out here in San Diego after a 10 year hiatus from the West Coast. He also hosted an art show for a charity for foster kids in his house and included my art, and was kind enough to stock his fridge with veggies because he knew I didn’t eat junk food. It was pretty funny when he showed me a huge pack of carrot and celery sticks he bought just for me (he was kind like that), he talked a mile a minute about it and always has a contagious energy and excitement about him. Parts of him remind me of a little kid with his love for gadgets. 

He is the kind of man who goes the extra mile for friends (we shared a small cubicle together for a while so I got to see the magic that is Jason Mullaney in action), whether it’s buying their home or refinancing, he had a line of people wanting to do business with him because of his generosity. I should be so lucky to have Jason on any team of mine! 

I can’t wait to see how he blossoms and makes waves with his life, he is a mover and a shaker and will change the world. He really made me a better person and inspired me to do more with my life. I will be one of the people waiting there on the day of his release. Godspeed my friend. Lee

Holly Watt (Teeters) - November 26, 2014​

I first met Jason when I moved to Coronado in 1998. Over the years on and off I ran into Jason or one of his buddies. Jason was always a wonderful guy, nice and caring. I do not know all the details of what happened with his business but remember thinking to myself when I first heard that there had to be something that the stories were missing. He was always such a fun, caring, giving guy to anyone that I knew.

Holly Buschman - November 27, 2014​

Excellent writing, Nik, and thanks for bringing another perspective. 

I had only one encounter with Jason Mullaney but even that was enough for me to experience his generosity. I was out with a couple of friends and we ended up meeting up with Jason at a wine bar somewhere in Hillcrest, I believe. One of my friends was romantically involved with him at the time – I can’t be sure now whether they were breaking out as a couple or breaking up or in some wild vacillation between the two – but I remember that he was a pleasant guy and he ended up picking up the tab for all of us at the end of our evening at the wine bar. Back in those days where the diabolical combination of my low pay and poor spending habits combined to render me perpetually short on cash, this generosity was something I very much appreciated. As far as whether he picked up that tab with other people’s money, well that’s a story I don’t know anything about. And, I imagine, neither do most of the people writing about it. Mark Twain said: “Every man is a moon and has a side which he turns toward nobody: you have to slip around behind it if you want to see it.” My hope for this person, who seems to be a caring, generous soul at heart is that he slips around behind himself, begins to know the side he’s turned toward nobody, learns to love it and ultimately finds peace and happiness within himself.

David Hall - November 27, 2014​

As a former SEAL of 20 years and Teammate of Jason’s — I agree with you whole-heartedly. Nik. I purchased a home through Jason’s company and don’t have a single negative thing to say about the entire process. Jason and his partners were fair, forthcoming and honest. I knew Jason to be a “squared-away” Team-guy in the Teams and was a solid Operator when we went through Comms school together. Again, I have nothing but good things to say about my dealings with Jason and will stick up for him in any way available to me. Let me know…

Kari Kohen-Leasure - December 1, 2014​

I first met Jason when he was going thru BUD/s and later he and my husband served together in the TEAMS. Jason had a key to our home we never locked in Nado and we had one for his, we took turns hosting playdates with our lab puppies. Jason has always been a very honest, loyal, trustworthy, emphatic and loving person. He is someone that we could be loud and boisterous with, splash around in the largest hot tub in SoCal one minute and rely on to be there the next in time of need. It is a shame that our other teammates don’t have the courage or loyalty to come forward and support him.

BW - December 1, 2014​

For Jason and the world. Jason- thank you for your friendship over so many years and I am sorry I haven’t been there more for you my friend. No excuses. You can gut punch me when you are out! 

I have known Jason for 20 years and have so many stories we could write a book. He helped me find my way after college and was one of my role models and mentors to join the Navy. He made sure I got my ass extra kicked in BUD/S but was also there to help guide me. Thanks for all the good times. 

Jason has a huge heart and was always there for anyone. He was there when I needed help. From helping me with my gear to coming out and helping me fix my Harley when it died on the side of the road, if you dialed Jason M, he was there. 

A man with honor and integrity, a man with courage and patience. I am proud to have Jason as a friend and blessed to have spent my younger years with such an incredible person.

Deno Borghi (Vinny) - December 2, 2014​

In my mind Jason is a super hero

As a kid he played an irreplaceable role as a father figure in my life. He taught me everything from why to open doors for others to how to piss without having my pants around my ankles and how to write my name in cursive.

Most of my best memories where with him and I’m sure that someday soon, some of my greatest adventures will be with him. I recall when he would pick me up early from school and drive me around Coronado island just to spend time with me. I can recall sitting for what seemed like hours at the Starbucks while he did business with people and I enjoyed it just because I loved being around him. We would skateboard around the island and he would play catch with me no matter what . Jason was the step dad of any kid’s dreams . My mother and him never got merried but he cared for me like I was his own kid.

Jason was there for me no matter what. One day years down the road I needed someone to talk to and I hadn’t spoken to Jason for years. I didn’t have his email or his phone number so I Googled his name and found his assistant in his Company who I had never met or heard of before. I sent him an email saying that I wanted to speak to Jason . That night I received a reply saying that he knew exactly who I was, and within minutes I was Skyping Jason from the other side of the world . 

He is caring , smart and personally a motivation for everything I do as a man today . 

I’m honored to know him in the way that I do.

Lana Kroth - December 3, 2014​

I’ve known Jason since he was a little boy as best friend to my son. After graduation I was not surprised at to hear Jason later became a Navy Seal. I had men come to my house to speak on his behalf for the highest clearance. My son also joined the Navy. Served 4 yrs active, 4 years reserve while going to college and then was encouraged by Jason to become active and go for Seals. He did and Jason was there well into his training always encouraging, helping giving tips through the ridiculous training that makes you a Seal! Only as he approached Hell Week it found that he had broken vertebrae in his neck and had to leave and have surgery. Jason was so supportive. I watched him help people. When the market crashed I feel confident that Jason did nothing malicious but like many others got in over his head. He is a good man! I believe in him and hope the justice dept hears the whole story!

Stephanie Paternostro - December 3, 2014​

Jason is a man among men. He gives when he sees a need and doesn’t ask for anything in return. He would literally take the shirt off his back and hand it over to someone who needs it and not even give a thought as to whether he has a spare. He will deal with that small detail later. I have known him for almost ten years now. I have seen him open his home to friends in need, for a night or for months on end. I have seen him loan his car, host social events at his condo, offer his professional services at no charge, to and for his friends, and friends of friends. This is just a fraction of the generosity and selflessness that I have seen Jason exemplify since I have known him. Jason gives first and thinks of the possible cost to him later, if at all. Jason embodies and lives the example most men try to present to the world. Over the last two plus years, I have fought to ensure Jason is well represented, to make sure he knows at all times that he is supported and loved. His sister, Erinn, has been an invaluable support as well as an advocate for her brother. His parents and sister Aly, have been a constant support to him. His friends who have shown support in various ways (you know who you are) have been encouraging to him in the way that only true friendship can provide. I have been able to read and see first-hand the kind of support Jason has. I am honored and proud to love Jason, and stand beside him. 

Thank you Nik, for posting your heartfelt thoughts and for inviting others to do the same.

Sean Fallon - December 10, 2014​

I worked with Jason from 1998 to 1999. He was always a available for advice while in the Teams. His advice was always trust worthy and he was somebody I looked up to as a highly thought of Team guy amongst his peers. I now work in the civilian sector of our country, where my past coworkers seem to care mostly about themselves. Selfishness was never the case in the Teams. The Jason I knew had the help first quality, ask questions later amongst his teammates mentality for which most Navy SEALs have genetically. I wish for brighter days to Jason. Out of this situation I’m sure he will make a positive as I’ve witnessed many times working along side the man.

CR - December 12, 2014​

Jason,

While I don’t know you, I’ve heard about you for a long time. Mainly from guys on the W coast who have had positive interactions with you. 

I’m a huge believer in character, and as Nik wrote in his article — how you behave in small matters tells me how you’ll behave in large matters. I’m hoping that all of the character work you’ve done in the past will keep you focused and strong for the upcoming fight.

Thinking of you and wanting the best.

Su hermano,

CR

Casey W. - December 17, 2014​

Like Erinn, I have been hesitant to speak as well. Not because I feel he is a bad person or a criminal in any way, but because he is family (my cousin). Even though Jason is family, the first time we met, believe it or not, was in Modesto for our grandmother’s funeral in February of 2007. Before we met I heard a bit about him from my parents and family about him being in the Navy and becoming a SEAL. I was young at the time due to our age gap (13 years) but really looked up to him for what he was and what he was sacrificing for the safety of our country. When we met, I wouldn’t say it was the most opportune time being a funeral and all but, we’re family so a formal or informal introduction shouldn’t matter. Upon meeting Jason, our handshake turned into a big bear hug with this stalwart guy. During and after the funeral there was small talk, a brief goodbye and to me I just thought that was that.

I, firsthand, know of the generosity this man has. I had come home from work one day and my Mother contacted me and was so excited. She had “great news” for me. She had been informed by my Aunt (Jason’s Mother) that Jason offered me the opportunity of a lifetime, to move to San Diego to work beside him to learn the Real Estate business. Jason, even though he and I are family, did not know me from Adam! And for him to open up his home to me with just one brief meet just shows you the type of man he is. So as the story goes I did end up moving down there. 

I had just turned 23 when the decision was made to move down there. I packed up all I could and drove a rental van down to San Diego to stay with a man who I had only met one time! It must’ve been 11 PM when I arrived. And there Jason was, an eager beaver waiting for me to arrive! By the time I had one of my bags in his home he basically had the rest of my belongings inside already! “This guy moves quick!” I thought. I told myself I have to step up my game, especially with him being a former SEAL! It was an honor! For him to pick me, to work beside him was a rare opportunity. I had to give it 100% to prove to him I had what it took to “try” to keep up with him. 

Okay, enough rambling about me. I really want people from both sides of the spectrum to know what a genuine, amazing, honorable (I could keep naming all of the positive traits Jason has) man that Jason Mullaney is. Like all who already know him, he would GLADLY take the shirt off of his back time and time and time again to help someone… even a stranger like me. Unfortunately the media does not always show the other side of the story. Like Nik says, we have to let the justice system work its course, slow and unjust as it is sometimes. Please, people, if you know Jason please give him your support and prayers. He needs all the positivity and compassion he can get during this rough time, for him and his family. There is a handful of responses on this blog, but there are HUNDREDS of people that Jason has helped unconditionally over the years. The Real Estate Market was a volatile time. I am sure there are hundreds, if not thousands of people who have been in the same situation. I know Jason would NOT mean ill will towards anyone. 

I am truly honored and humbled to have met and spent time with Jason. I am proud to call him family and also my friend.

Love you Bro!

Brian P Ruddick, Jr. US Navy Retired - December 23, 2014​

I’ve known Jason since the mid 1990’s. We met through mutual navy acquaintances and have been best friends since. We eventually became roommates for several years until he moved out with his girlfriend. We always stayed in touch when one or both of us were deployed overseas and our friendship never diminished.

Jason has always has been a solid guy and has a heart of gold. He was always the first to help someone out whether it was helping someone move, fix a car or give someone a place to stay during hard times. He is also an avid animal lover and has taken in many strays over the years and volunteered to prevent endangered animal poaching in other countries. 

In addition, Jason has extremely strong family values. I’ve seen him interact with his parents, sisters and nephew and nieces numerous times and will do anything for them anytime. He always wanted to start his own family, but as far as I know never found the right one, however I know he wouldn’t settle then anything less than a true soul mate he could marry in the eyes of the church. He has deep religious principles. 

He is and always will be a good friend of mine.

Brian P. Ruddick Jr. U.S. Navy Retired

Mark Owen - December 25, 2014​

I’m sure Jason does not remember me, but for a little while, we were in the same BUD/S pretraining class, which was known as fourth phase back then.
I didn’t become a SEAL. I dropped out in Hell Week.
Sound familiar? What the world does not know is just how tough BUD/S is even before Hell Week. So many guys give up, get injured, or fail because of the technical aspects of training. Even before Hell Week started, we lost about 40% of our class. When Hell Week was over, only 24 guys remained, and they became known as “the hard core 24.” Unfortunately, I was not among them.
I’m very thankful to have experienced Hell Week. Jason helped me get there. I was having a very difficult time with life saving. I’ve been told that life saving techniques taught at BUD/S are more technical than those taught in standard lifeguard training. I could not travel through the water carrying a drowning victim utilizing the technique taught. The BUD/S instructors could not help me despite their extensive training. Other students could not give me good advice beyond giving me pep talks. I looked everywhere and tried everything. Nothing worked. I was on the verge of not being able to pass life saving, which would have gotten me rolled back or kicked out. However, when I talked to Jason, everything changed. He showed me another technique that no one else had been able to demonstrate. I passed with flying colors when other guys failed. I was able to go to Hell Week and experience the toughest week at BUD/S instead of being dropped from training for an insignificant technicality. That did much to save my dignity, as not being able to survive training is devastating for a defeated candidate.
At least I could say that it took the toughest week at BUD/S to bring me down. For that, I am greatful to Jason.
After dropping out of training, a defeated BUD/S candidate must go to another part of the navy and perform well as if the devastating DOR (drop on request) never happened. My job was aircraft mechanic, known in the navy as AD. It requires thick skin and very strict attention to detail. It took me a long time to get over my failed BUD/S candidacy. Knowing that it took Hell Week to bring me down helped me extensively. I credit Jason for helping me survive until that fateful week. I know that he does not remember me, but I will never forget. Thanks always!

AD1 Mark Owen USNR (ret)

Selin Demirkazik - January 19, 2015​

I’ve read this essay and all the comments several times today…It is a relief to know that Jas has so many friends and a beatiful family to support him…
Jason is not only a good man but also the best, the most caring person I’ve ever met…I am looking forward to seeing him get this over with very soon…Jas deserves the best…

Jason Hill - March 27, 2015​

Although non military myself, I met Jason through some other SEAL friends over a decade ago and we’ve gone from being great friends to more like family in the years since.
From the start I was so impressed with how selfless Jason was to everyone in his life, and I had never met Anyone so respected and adored by everyone he knew.
I remember early on, I was living 45 min North of downtown San Diego and a promising date surfaced with a girl I really liked for later that night while I was hanging out at Jason’s (5 min from downtown). I was barely off the phone with the girl and J had two different dinner jackets dangling in front of me (with a big smile), so I didn’t have to go all the way home to change or kick start the relationship at a nice restaurant in a t‑shirt. He always happily shared anything and everything he had if it would make someone’s situation or day better.
Later on a Harley trip, I rode from Denver to San Diego only stopping for gas and was so tired I was hallucinating by the time I got home. Jason always seemed to care about my well being like a brother, and the next Harley trip I took, he gave me a comped room he had saved at a half way point so I wouldn’t push it- he knew I would. I’ve since wised up.
In-between my many moves and some difficult times, Jason gave me his spare room (sometimes for many months) and wouldn’t take any money. I can’t express in words how much that helped me and I truly miss those days of camaraderie.
When my Father unexpectedly died in 2010 Jason knew I was a total mess and he just took over, made all my travel arrangements so I could focus on making calls and other arrangements with my family- it was huge.
Jason constantly went out of his way to help and take care of family, friends, co-workers, animals, and total strangers. He’s absolutely made an Epic impact in my life, and helped me be a better/ mindful/ helpful/ thankful person.

ian boshoff - March 27, 2015​

This article needs to be publicized more…I’m not a seal. Just a father of 2 and a person who is actively in real estate & financing like Jason was. I met Jason through a friend. I wanted to find someone that i could follow and mirror into being successful and within a few days i realized he was one of the most diligent, hard working & selfless people I had ever met. Everyone screams how much money they’ve lost and when that happens, people try and point the finger to the one that is putting in the hard work. The bottom line is, an investment is an investment, you win some, you lose some, that’s life. Nobody speaks about how Jason lost money…because he never cried about it. Jason is an asset to society, always helping, always striving to improve, if there’s anyone out there that deserves to be free, it’s this guy! Cheers Jason! Anything you need, i’ll always be willing to help you! 

Much Love,
Ian H. Boshoff

Robert & Olivia Hines - March 30, 2015​

Jason’s chance to tell his side of the story was long overdue. It confirms what his friends and family have known from the beginning. No one who has known Jason for anytime at all would believe he would steal from anyone much less a friend. I remember when Jason found out I was going to propose to Olivia he knew someone that had a diamond, bought it and let us make payments on a no interest loan. Jason has always treated the people around him with respect, regardless of how much you had or didn’t have. To Jason a friend was a friend. I had a mutual friend ask me what I thought of Jason. My reply was I would trust him with my life and my wife. There aren’t many people I would say that about. As a former Marine I would have proud to share a fighting hole with my friend Jason. I am looking forward to tipping a beer and playing some pool with him in the near future.

Robert and Olivia Hines

mike hudson - April 2, 2015​

My name Mike Hudson and first I want to say that I am very sorry it took me so long to find this way of speaking up for my old friend and former student. I was the lead coordinator and on-site EMT and paramedic instructor for a pilot program for NSWG1 from 1994–1999. I taught a good portion of my courses at the teams in SEAL Team one and Team Three classrooms. I precepted and mentored many team guys on my city of san diego paramedic ambulance. Jason was one of my students and paramedic interns. What most people don’t know is that Jason was a SOT (which back in the day was the designation for a SEAL Team medic) From day one in the paramedic course he was a stand-up guy and always willing to go the extra length to learn the art of saving lives, to do things the right way in order to take care of his injured friends. He was a consummate professional and a god damn good medic. He often rode extra shifts on my paramedic unit, when he didn’t have to. Extra shifts that would eventually make him a better medic and ultimately a better SOT. We were a very busy unit (medic 201 downtown SD) and I got to see Jason shine as a medical provider. He truly cared about being the best at what he did. 

Ty Woods and Jason were two of my most memorable paramedic students and it kills me to see Ty dead and now Jason Mullaney in jail. 

To the person who started this campaign I want to say a hearty thank you for doing this damage control page. You are a good man and one that Jason I am sure is proud to call a friend. 

In closing; to the team guys that Jason (supposedly) screwed over I can say this: Jason would have taken a round for any one of you and you know it. So rather than throw your friend under the bus take a step back and look at the big picture. It’s only money and it can be replaced. Your friend and team mate cannot. Don’t trade money for his life. You didn’t lose your life, yet Jason is losing his life day by day as he sits in jail. You just lost your ability to buy a plasma TV or retire early and go fishing. So your daughter is going to have to work a job while she goes to college like most kids do anyway. If that money is so important to your future go do a bullshit diplomatic protection deployment with TC or Dynacorp and you will make $100,000 in 6–8 months, especially as a former Navy SEAL. 

Does he deserve a solid tune-up? YES. Does he deserve to rot in jail with rapists, child molesters and murderers? HELL NO!! 

Don’t let Jason spend any more time in a cage. You are essentially committing him to years of mental anguish and slow torture. It’s no way for a man like him to live. If the tables were turned he would beat your ass, buy you a beer and call it square. He would maybe not forget but he would for sure forgive and so should you. Don’t testify against him, testify in his defense.

Stay strong bro.

Your old friend and paramedic instructor; Hud

James Flynn - April 29, 2015​

I should begin by saying I am a former Navy SEAL, and an investor (“victim”) who lost money, who provided statements to both the prosecution and the defense. 

I am also one of the many people Jason has helped and Jason is my friend. Because I have been on both sides of this case I have tremendous respect for all those on both sides of this case. i

The only thing I am absolutely sure of these days is that I am absolutely not sure about anything I thought I knew about this case. I do not know all of the details and I’m sure that’s true on both sides of this case and probably for a variety of very good reasons. I will not say I was led or misled to believe anything, but I will say I got caught up in the swirl of what I saw on Fox news and read on the internet about Jason. For that I am sorry and “ashamed of myself “just doesn’t quite cut-it. I will say I have not seen any evidence that shows Jason intentionally engaged in anything deceitful. 

I provided information based on what I thought, what I’d heard, what I thought I’d heard, and I never heard Jason’s side of the story until a few weeks ago. I have not seen any black and white evidence that incriminates him of anything other than being a man who lost money, was understandably regretful and ashamed, and who was abandoned by me ‑as a friend-for a while. I know understand that Jason was not not allowed-or was discouraged-from telling his side of the story for legal reasons. That changes everything. 

I got caught up in the swirl of rumors and news coverage and upon reflection I see how I allowed rumors and my imagination to interfere with my own personal knowledge of his character. I know Jason to be an honest, dependable, honorable man. He may have lost money and been so ashamed he left town but in my eyes that’s not a crime-it’s just a really bad, regretable idea. 

I feel the prosecution had a job to do and they did it and did it well. I have so much respect for the prosecution it’s hard to write this without feeling disrespectful. I love everyone, but I do not see how it will be of benefit to anyone for Jason to remain incarcerated any longer. 

Jason, I love you and I will always love you and you are my brother. I hope that others will read this, search their hearts and remember what they also know to be personally true of your character, and give you their support. I can only speak for myself and assume responsibility for my part in wanting to you out of jail right now. I love you brother. 

Love Jim

God Bless You
Praise Jesus

J - May 24, 2015​

Always been my boy. I was not a SEAL, was an amphibian rocon corpsman. Met a bunch of Jason’s HM BUD’s mates in San Antonio TX at goat lab circa 1993. He was always a great guy, I totaled his 64′ Mustang just shy of our HS graduation night and he took the blame, will never forget it. Good man, a patriot, happy memorial day bro, please let me know how to get in contact with him if anyone knows. Really need to say hi. 

JS-

Donny Hunt - November 8, 2015​

Love You Brother. See You Soon

Ron - February 16, 2016​

I met Jason in 2011 in Tucson AZ , I was making a tough real estate decision and he gave me good informative advice about what I should do regarding a short sale of one of my properties. It seemed obvious to me that he has real knowledge of the business. I took his advice and it worked out well for me.

Repinseci - October 14, 2016​

Many thanks for writing this.

I’m one of the lucky souls that Jason saved.

I can’t put into words what a brother he has been and I will forever be indebted.

Ice.

Raff - March 21, 2019​

Raff
It is a shame to see how every one grilled him
He has been my friend my brother my daughter hero.
He never robbed anyone he never had the intention nor a plan ehat went wrong no one knows but one thing is for sure he is and always be a straigt up guy
Like Casey said he will go above and beyond the call of duty to help anyone assist anyone lend anyone in need and always with a big smile nothing was too much for him when it was for helping.
God Bless you and it is a privilige being your friend still!!!
I lost everything also helping keep him a float untill i had nothing else and Im sure im was short in everything comoared to Him
Hopefully we will meet again Pau sure misses you !!