My father and I were having a conversation last night. In his fatherly way I suppose he was trying to provide me some guidance. We sipped our wine, shed more than a few tears, and came to the conclusion that I should simply take my own advice. Our conversation started because my bike is actually showing signs of neglect: my bike has collected dust. I have not washed it, oiled it, rode it or even looked at it in days.
5 days out of 7, I greet the morning sun out on the pavement. I kiss my baby boy as he sleeps, and I'm off, fueled on coffee & potential. I follow the same route without much thought. It's become mind-numbing how many times I've gone up & down the same stretch of road. I know every bump and curve in that 1.8km; I feel safe there. It's where I ride & run my intervals. I can put on my music and let my body do the work while I shut out the world around me. I have left blood, sweat, tears and vomit along that stretch. Last Friday, I left my passion there as well.
Last Friday, around 3pm, the text messages started to fill my in-box. All the social media paths got bombarded at once. Friday became one of those days that I will always remember. Like we do the worst of tragedies, conversations will start with " I remember where I was when.." The news no one ever wants to hear hit a small community of triathletes, and it hit us hard. The internet flashed the pictures, our text messages went from confusing, to tear jerking, to the simplicity of mourning. 6 local athletes were taken out by a SUV while cycling; 3 beautiful woman died.
Our triathlon community, normally so competitive and unyielding, stopped in unison. Our most horrifying dream come true, too close for comfort, too tragic, too soon.
I came in from my ride at 3pm and as habit checked my Blackberry. My water bottle is still half-full, still sitting in it's cage. Like my pre-Friday beliefs that people are good, my bottle is growing fuzz. What my father understands about me is that my will to change the world through sport is probably my biggest motivator. If the sadness of Friday's accident has replaced my motivation with fear, then I must use it for good and refuel my passion. He told me to speak up, write it down, and 'ride on'. Maybe fathers do know best.
Like most of us, I grew up in a time when we trusted our neighbors. We knew which doors we could knock on if we needed safety. We played hide & seek, we rode our bikes in peace. Now, as an adult and a mother, I am left questioning not only my son's security, but also my own. The safely net of my 1.8km just got yanked from under my feet. My shoulders are tight with sadness, and I am suddenly aware of how heavy the target on my back really is. Do we ever run / ride/ even drive completely aware of our surroundings? If I am out there every day, twice a day, training hard, lost in time and distance, is it not up to me to make sure I get home safe? It is, and it isn't. It's up to all of us.
We must all slow down. Stop, look both ways. Yield and wave. Be patient. Be focused. When I do get back to my training, I won't allow myself to be over-confident, I'll use caution, and approach with hesitation. I'll stop believing I have the right to be out there, I'll remember it is a privilege. Whether on on a bike, in Asics, or surrounded by steel enforced impact beams. I will make a more conscience effort to wave at the other runners I cross, to let them know I've got their back. I'll smile at all cyclists, not just the hot guys in race jerseys. I'll make eye contact. I will wear my Road ID, and turn my music down just a bit, and I will pick my battles out there, testing no one, obeying the traffic rules. I will practice what I preach.
We must also speak up: to our city councils, our municipalities, the driving schools and the local police. We need to educate. We need to communicate our concerns and our needs.
The tragedy of last Friday is not only to be mourned by triathletes & cyclist- it should be felt, spoken about, and never forgotten by anyone who ever steps out their front door. Everyone should be having the same conversation shared by my Dad & I. The reality is that on the most basic level, we are failing each other; we have left no time, given little effort or thought, to helping each other.
You might feel experienced, and therefore safe. Well, then teach by example. One small effort could very easily save a life.
I am not trying to rant, or tell you how to run, or how to drive, or how to act in your everyday life. I am however, with my heart on my sleeve and a Kleenex full of tears, taking in the lesson I hope you never have to learn... that life is fragile, no matter how empowered spandex makes us feel. If we can line up together at the starting line on Sunday, we can be neighborly enough today to make sure we all get there safe.
Please- train smart, train safe. And above all, honk if you yield for athletes!