Triathlete/Poet killed during training

[john e buechler]

My father, Philip J. Buechler, two time IMH finisher was killed during a
training run in Dec. He was running against the flow of traffic and
wearing a reflective vest. This post is long but one of hte few
tributes that I can give him. Included is his obituary written by my
brother, two personal notes, and a poem written by my father and read at
the dinner for the older athletes at IHM.

Please find below a copy of Phil's obituary:

On December 10 of this year, Philip John Buechler finished this worldly
race and began another. While running in Nevada City, California, he
was struck by a pick-up truck and expired on the scene. His corporeal
remains have been cremated and according to his wishes, the ashes will
be scattered in the Pacific Ocean. Born to Lucy Lowden and Franz Joseph
Buechler on May 12, 1937 in San Diego, California, Phil led a rich and
adventurous life. In 1959 he graduated with a bachelor's degree from
San Diego State. Phil began his overseas career with ACCION in Venezuela
in 1960 and the International Voluntary Service in Cambodia and Laos in
1963. There, he married Aleta Joanne Barker, from Willow Hill,
Illinois, in 1964 and they were married 32 years. In 1965, he joined
USAID. Phil's reputable career in the foreign service spanned 30 years
during which he worked in at least a dozen countries throughout the
world. He served his and other countries with a unique intensity and
love.

Ever the athlete, Phil died doing what he loved. He finished the
Ironman Triathlon twice, in 1995 and 1997, and ran and organized
countless other races around the world. Phil was also a builder with an
almost tireless spirit and impeccable work ethic. The house he was
proudly building in Nevada City will be finished in his memory. Phil's
creative side also manifested in his humorous and touching poetry and
the love he gave freely to all those he called a friend.

Phil is survived by one parent, Franz Buechler of San Diego, CA, his
mother, Lucy, having preceded him in death in 1987. Other survivors
include his brother, Donald Buechler and sister-in-law Sue of Del Mar,
Ca., and their two children, Laurie and Jud, his former wife, Joanne
Buechler of Mattoon, IL, his son, John E. Buechler of Springfield, VA,
and his son, jeffry büechler of Blacksburg, VA. Phil will be missed by
all who knew him.

Donations to a memorial fund in the name of Philip J. Buechler can be
sent to: Philip J. Buechler Memorial Fund, c/o Citizens Bank, PO Box
1420, Nevada City, CA 95959. The moneys will be used for lighting the
newly completed all weather track at the Nevada Union High School. Any
additional funds will benefit a project to be determined at The
Asheville School in Asheville, NC. Both John and Jeffry graduated from
The Asheville School.

"Phil" is the Latin stem meaning, "love". A fitting name for a loving
man.

PERSONAL NOTES:

Dad will be missed for a variety of reasons. He always had a wry sense
of humor. In the past year or so, those of us who know him well have
seen his creative and spiritual side emerge. He always lived on his
terms. He taught us life's lessons well and provided for us a wealth of
its opportunities. He will always be remembered for his ability to get
the job done, no matter the task.

i am philip's youngest son, jeffry. from my father i inherited his love
of language and poetry. i'm sure that most of you have experienced the
passion and eloquence of his rhymes. he and i shared poems over the
years and often they bridged our feelings about eachother better than
other ways of communicating. late in 1994 he sent me an e-mail in which
he wrote the following in typical phil prose: "the bottom line is that
the gift of giving is the real pleasure in life, whatever you receive in
return is extra." dad's bottom line is that he gave and gave. and
although he finished life's race sooner than expected, i can feel
everyday in the body and life he gave me, that intense love he is still
giving.

Poem [2] -Langston Hughes

I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There's nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Soft as it began,-
I loved my friend..

IRONGENTS

From near and far we've come to test
something more than who is best,
our bodies aged by some measures
but heart and soul are timeless treasures.

Training hours we've logged so many
equipment costs stealing every penny,
from deep inside we'll find the will
to push our bodies over one more hill.

Memory becomes a curse
as each day lived we try to nurse,
"Right for loose, Left for tight"
Heaven help me I hope that's right.

To over come the aches and pain
how many times have you heard "insane!",
why we're here is complex for sure
each having reasons and a plan to endure.

Our pounding hearts and aching feet
will carry us beyond defeat,
the sun will set before we see
that TIMEX clock that sets us free.

Wrinkles deeper at the end
but lasting courage will not bend,
our D.O.B. defines the pride
as we cross the Finish with a longer stride.

As Age Groups go we are elite
we've proven how we can compete,
experience, wisdom and desire
fuel the inner youthful fire.

Over the Pacific: Oct. 13, 1997
pjbuechler

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Real triathletes don't draft or wear wetsuits!

[Lynne Fonda-Kosorek]

Please accept my deepest sympathy, John. A very sad story. I can see that
you deply appreciate the wonderful role model your father lived, for you.
May time heal your raw wound and his memory inspire countless others

God speed.

[Triduath]

i had the honor of meeting this great human being. i stayed with him in hawaii
this past october. met his sons also. what a man. filled with an eternal
energy. i had a great week in hawaii. i hope i can live a life that is as rich
as his. john and jeff, i am sorry about your father. my 1998 season will be
dedicated in his honor. though i only knew him a short time--he showed how
precious life was. so in his honor---i will return to hawaii. thanks for your
support that week. when i return you are welcome to come stay with me. it is
the least i can do for those that gave support during that long day. your
father is in my prayers.

marty