There has been an undeniable feeling of 'YAHOO' in my home since Saturday. Dylan is living the post-race high, and it's provided us a few days of giggles, more giggles, and many victorious high 5's. He is rather famous around town as every kid on the street has been allowed to touch his medal, and everyone we know has called to congratulate him and get his replay of the BIG race. It's also encouraged much talk between Dylan and myself, as to what he accomplished, what he would like to do next, and what really happened out there on the race course (he hit The Wall at 1.2km, it was no-so-fun).
The following interview has therefore been put together using information gathered over the past 3 days. Some questions and answers have also been translated into proper adult English. Although some would argue that this is not proper journalism, he is only 3, and any attempt for a sit down interview quickly got turned into a game of 'good guy bad guy'.
I am using this milestone not to promote Dylan's pro athlete career, rather, we are hoping it will inspire others to try, and perhaps help ease the nerves of any first timers out there. Here it is:
Me: Dylan, u did it! How do u feel?
D: Did I win?
Me: Everybody won; it's about enjoying yourself and trying to be the best you can be. Are you happy with your race?
D: I know I won, because when I stopped there were lots of people behind me, so that means I beat them.
Me: Yes, you did beat some. Were there people ahead of you, did they beat you?
D: Yes, but they don't count.
Me: Did you enjoy racing? Would you like to do another one?
D: Yes, but not today.
Me: No, you recover first, and when you are ready, we can do another one.
D: Will the same kids be there?
Me: No, different kids next time.
D: I want the same kids, so I can beat them again. You should call their mommies.
Me: I'll try...
Me: What happened in the race? You stopped running and wanted a piggy back, but then you were running again?
D: I wanted a snack. It was a very lllloooooonnnnnggggg race, and my legs were getting tired, so was my tummy. But then the lady gave me a lemonade, and let me jump in her sprinkler, and then my legs weren't tired no more. I like lemonade now. And then I was running fast.
Me: You made a friend while you were racing. That was cool.
D: His name was Euan. I didn't know that, it was written on his shirt, but I can't read names yet so his mommy told me his name. And I high 5ed him and we ran really fast. He helped me and I helped him.
Me: Right, that was good teamwork! Then you left him behind and started running faster, why?
D: After I helped him keep running, it was time for me to win the race. So I ran straight ahead faster than him. I didn't look at him, I looked straight so that I wouldn't trip on my other foot. That's good running form. Then, I saw my friend Euan again, after the race, at the juice table. He looked strong, but he needed a lot of juice. I think he did good in the race. I beat him though.
Me: How do you want to train for your next race?
D: In the winter I play hockey, but now it's spring, almost summer, and then it's fall, and then it's winter. So I have a long time before hockey. I like winter because I like to making angels in the snow. But now it's spring almost summer, and there's no snow so we have to put lots of ice in the tub after we train, right mommy?
Me: Right, mommy likes a cold ice bath.
D: So now, in spring almost summer, I use my new scooter for training. And I run with my soccer ball, and I race auntie in the back yard because she can't run, so I beat her to the fence every time.
Me: That's not nice Dylan, that's not the point...
D: But mommy, she just has to run faster, but she can't, so I win. It's by accident!
Me: OK
D: AAANNNDD, for training I do lots of swimming in the big pool. I do swim-bike-run training and racing, but at this race the police were everywhere and they only let us run. They had motorcycles and they were talking to all the good kids; they were trying to find the bad-kid-racers.
Me: The what?
D: The bad-kid-racers: the kids that come to the race and think they will win, but they can't win, and then they cry and they don't get a medal or any lemonade. I got a medal because I won the race.
Me: Everyone who finished got a medal Dylan. It's not about winning.
D: Yes it is mommy. It's about winning when you are fast like me. When you are slow, then it's not, but I'm super fast, and I race to win.
Me: I'm very proud of you Dylan. Not because you won, because you did it. What was your favorite part about your big race?
D: I liked helping my new friend Euan. And I like lemonade now. And the blue toilets were funny because you can't flush them, you just peepee in the hole, and you don't look in the hole because....
Enough said.
It should be noted that Dylan has never completed a triathlon yet. He is too young. He does watch the Kona videos, and does hope to qualify, one day in 15 years.
We hope Dylan's competitive streak will not shy away any newcomers to the sport.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Always Time to Tri...
My new neighbour had a flat tire. Seeing that I was on the trainer, in the driveway, I guess I was the best person to ask. The conversation started with me giving directions to the nearest bike shop; it ended in me giving myself a well deserved pat on the back, as once again I found myself in the familiar role of explaining, and defending, my lifestyle.
To most non-athletic types we triathletes appear extremely selfish. Whether this judgement is rooted in envy, pity, or fascination I really don’t know. However, I do know that we are an easy target to such labels as the hours we take away from the rest of our lives, and the people in it, do add up. Take a moment to actually say it out loud… “I train ___ hours a week.” (Fill in the blank!) WOW! Think about that… the world has PVR so they don’t miss a minute of television, yet every week, I dedicate so many hours to my sport. I swim, bike, run, crunch, lift, stretch… yet I don’t see myself as selfish at all. Even my 3 yr old calls an evening bike ride his ‘training’.
Those who say wise statistical things say that most triathletes are A-type personalities. I can’t help but wonder though, if most were B’s or C’s before they took on the sport, yet, with time have transformed into A’s? Besides, is being an A-type really that bad? I have time management skills that have become so refined I could teach a seminar for newbies. It would be called “Be Faster, at Everything”. Life outside of triathlon is simply mini training sessions, all bricked together… I don’t linger at the dinner table, I eat. This helps my body get accustomed to eating while in movement: race day nutrition. I get dressed in Superman speed: T1 & T2 practice. Going to work, not one person off the subway gets up the stairs faster than I do: this helps me develop mental toughness. They are not fellow commuters’, they are my competition. I have had some brilliant interval sessions just getting to a meeting. Every Saturday afternoon, Dylan & I cuddle up together for our recovery nap. I love it!
No, I do not believe we are selfish. And I do not believe we take time out of our lives for triathlon. I see the water bottle as half full: life, family, and other obligations are all in our triathlon life to inspire us to be more well rounded A-Types. So the next time someone gawks at how you manage to fit it all in, inform them that just speaking to them is training: their ignorance is practice for all those spectators telling you how great you look 3km from the finish line!
Train safe,
To most non-athletic types we triathletes appear extremely selfish. Whether this judgement is rooted in envy, pity, or fascination I really don’t know. However, I do know that we are an easy target to such labels as the hours we take away from the rest of our lives, and the people in it, do add up. Take a moment to actually say it out loud… “I train ___ hours a week.” (Fill in the blank!) WOW! Think about that… the world has PVR so they don’t miss a minute of television, yet every week, I dedicate so many hours to my sport. I swim, bike, run, crunch, lift, stretch… yet I don’t see myself as selfish at all. Even my 3 yr old calls an evening bike ride his ‘training’.
Those who say wise statistical things say that most triathletes are A-type personalities. I can’t help but wonder though, if most were B’s or C’s before they took on the sport, yet, with time have transformed into A’s? Besides, is being an A-type really that bad? I have time management skills that have become so refined I could teach a seminar for newbies. It would be called “Be Faster, at Everything”. Life outside of triathlon is simply mini training sessions, all bricked together… I don’t linger at the dinner table, I eat. This helps my body get accustomed to eating while in movement: race day nutrition. I get dressed in Superman speed: T1 & T2 practice. Going to work, not one person off the subway gets up the stairs faster than I do: this helps me develop mental toughness. They are not fellow commuters’, they are my competition. I have had some brilliant interval sessions just getting to a meeting. Every Saturday afternoon, Dylan & I cuddle up together for our recovery nap. I love it!
No, I do not believe we are selfish. And I do not believe we take time out of our lives for triathlon. I see the water bottle as half full: life, family, and other obligations are all in our triathlon life to inspire us to be more well rounded A-Types. So the next time someone gawks at how you manage to fit it all in, inform them that just speaking to them is training: their ignorance is practice for all those spectators telling you how great you look 3km from the finish line!
Train safe,
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
On the Road Again...
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!
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!
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