Tri for Les 2012: Lavaman
One month ago I was in Parker, Arizona having dinner with my Team In Training teammates on the eve of the Bluewater Triathlon. It was the first triathlon for many of us in the room and I for one could feel the butterflies in my stomach as I picked at the pasta and salad on the plate in front of me. Up until that point, for me, the triathlon was dedicated to my aunt Leslie Whitfield, who lost a 19-year battle to breast cancer in February of 2011.
But during our aptly named, “Inspiration Dinner,” one of my teammates stood in front of the room and shared her reasons for joining Team In Training: her husband, and father of their young son, tragically died from cancer a couple years ago. And as you would expect, it was devastating, leaving her feeling helpless. She joined Team In Training to fight back and move forward. It was something tangible that she could start, focus on and finish.
Surprisingly, this was the first I’d heard of her amazing story. And it blew me away. I had been swimming, running and biking with this woman three days a week, for four months straight, and had no idea she was dealing with that kind of a loss or had such a moving connection to the cause.
The next day, at the end of the race, her son ran with her down the final stretch. They crossed the finish line together as we all cheered them on.
I was already proud of what I was doing in my aunt Leslie’s name, but this added another level of significance to the funds I’d raised for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and all the time and effort I’d spent training for the event.
When we said goodbye after our race, I hugged her and her mother-in-law, who is battling a blood cancer of her own. As I left her mother-in-law told me, “Thank you for helping me.”
I forget what I said exactly in response, but I hope it was something like, “It’s my pleasure and I’m nowhere close to being done.”
On the drive home, I thought about how “Tri for Les” started off as a way for me to celebrate Leslie Whitfield, but in that process I discovered that it was really about so much more. It was about inspiration, about cancer-fighters everywhere, about personal accomplishment and well-being. And in the end, it was about one of my teammates and her touching story of survival, positive energy and fearlessness.
So in the spirit of new challenges and inspiration, keeping Leslie’s fight alive and never letting up, I’ve decided to keep swimming, riding and running toward a cure and have signed up for another Team In Training triathlon: Lavaman, in Hawaii on April 1, 2012.
This will be an extra special event as I’ll also be completing this triathlon with my sister, Cecily, making Tri for Les 2012: Lavaman a family affair! She’s training with the Sacramento Team In Training for Lavaman and between the two of us, we’ll be raising $8,800 for cancer research.
As exciting and inspirational as this all sounds, we have a very big mountain to climb in order to reach our goals and would appreciate any support you can offer: be it a monetary donation, an encouraging comment, a Like on Facebook or just helping to spread the word.
Please click here to donate at my fundraising page.
Thank you in advance for your support and stay tuned for updates as our journey continues.
To everyone who wished me well, donated to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and otherwise supported me in my first triathlon — Tri for Les 2011: Bluewater — please accept my sincere gratitude.
I said thank you in person, emails and status updates, but it’s always best to show it.
So I designed this thank you card and mailed it to everyone who contributed to my fundraising goal. It was the first time in a while that I’d sent thank you cards or composed hand-written correspondence. And even though it took me a while — my design skills have been ignored of late and snail mail is obviously more time consuming than email, Facebook and Twitter — I really enjoyed the process. Especially crafting the messages.
Through these letters I was able to reconnect with many people I hadn’t spoken to in quite some time. And for others, the notes let me say something out of the ordinary and more intimate to the people I speak to every day.
Here’s to writing letters and giving thanks.
Twenty minutes before the start of the Bluewater Triathlon someone asked me, “So, what’s your strategy?”
Barefoot, jittery, cold and nervous, I thought about it for a second, and proceeded to swing my arms around to loosen up.
“Dominate,” I said with a smirk. “And pass on the left.”
We both laughed, knowing full well that this was my first triathlon and that I was being somewhat sarcastic.
And even though a part of me wanted to dominate and pass as many people in the race as possible, another part of me stepped back to remember what this triathlon was really about.
My aunt, Leslie Whitfield, and the fight against cancer.
She lost a 19-year battle with breast cancer in February of this year. In celebration of her amazing life, and for everyone else who battles cancer every day, I joined Team in Training and pledged to raise $2,200 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS). I dubbed this triathlon, Tri for Les in her honor.
When I signed up four months ago, I was excited to be joining a team and trying something new. On the other hand this was my first fundraising effort of this magnitude and the pressure of meeting that minimum weighed on my mind.
But thanks to the generosity of friends, family and even strangers, I soon blew past my fundraising goal, raising a total of $2,785 for LLS. This overwhelming and inspirational support let me spend most of the time focused on training rather than fundraising.
And train I did.
On most weekdays my alarm buzzed me awake at 4:45am for bike rides around the city, swims at the YMCA, runs on the bridal path or other pre-dawn workouts. At first it was tough to acclimatize to the new schedule and physical demands, but after about a month I fed off of it. And hungered for more.
For four months I worked out six days a week, with a couple two-a-days sprinkled in every week for strength and agility training. When event weekend came, I was ready.
And as obsessive and compulsive as you’d expect me to be during the hours leading up to the triathlon…I was even more of a wreck than you could imagine. I had a dream, the night before the race, that I had forgotten my bike at home and had to run the 168 miles from Parker back to Phoenix to pick it up.
Can you say, “Anxiety?”
I spent most of the early morning fidgeting around with my gear and double, triple and quadruple checking that my bike was secured in the transition area. Once everything was accounted for, I pulled my wetsuit on, walked over to the starting location and dipped myself in the cool 74-degree water of the Colorado River.
After a few minutes of nervous small talk with the other racers, someone yelled, “Go!” and the mad dash was on. I plunged my face in the water and launched off the shore, mimicking the rush of the other swimmers with frantic slices and kicks.
This all-out sprint from the blocks turned out to be a minor mistake, in that I burned myself out by the time I arrived at the first of the three buoys marking the 1,000-meter (0.6-mile) course.
I floated on my back for a few seconds to catch my breath and spent this time reminding myself of the techniques I learned in training: smooth strokes; balanced breathing; straight, choppy kicks.
I rolled back over and kept swimming until I was finished, which took me 22:50.
When I got out of the water, my head felt like it was still submerged and my equilibrium was going haywire. I shuffled over to transition into bike mode, peeled off my wetsuit and, feeling extremely wobbly, sat down on the pavement to regain my bearings.
For some reason I felt it necessary to put my watch on first. But in my dazed state, the simple task of clasping it around my wrist proved daunting, and I spent a good 20 seconds figuring out how to work the surprisingly complex contraption.
My supporters were watching all of this from a few feet away. No doubt between their cheers of, “Go Adam!” and “Woo Hoo!” they were asking each other, “Why the hell is he taking so long to put on his watch?”
With the watch finally affixed, my bike shoes, helmet and other incidentals were a cinch to secure. This first transition took 3:18, before I was pedalling off for the 53-kilometer (33-mile) ride.
Even though the bike ride was the longest leg of the race, it was my favorite. The route followed the Colorado River, passing back and forth across the Arizona-California border with beautiful views of the morning desert landscape. It was hilly at parts – but nothing compared to Fountain Hills where we trained many a Saturday morning – and crossed over Parker Dam at the halfway point.
I pushed myself the whole ride, eating my nutrition and energy gels one-handed (a new feat for me), and forcing myself to drain both of my water bottles before the next transition.
When my legs started to relax a bit, I yelled at myself, “Don’t let up!” and snapped them back in form to pound on the bike cranks. This message, to never let up, stuck with me through the rest of the race and into the days that followed. I hope it adheres to the rest of my life.
In 1:58:34, the ride was over and I was back at the transition area. I replaced my clip-in bike shoes with my faithful Converse All-Stars, swapped my helmet for a hat and sprayed on some sunscreen. This transition lasted 3:09 before I took off for the last leg: an 8-kilometer (5-mile) run.
Running is my strongest sport and at this point, I was ready to let loose.
The slight dirt hill just out of transition gave my legs a jarring wake-up call, but soon I was running high, passing on the left and picturing the finish line. When I ran by the cantina near the hotel, I knew I was close and picked up the pace.
Next thing I realized I was sprinting blindly down the final straightaway to the finish line. During these last paces I wasn’t thinking about what place I would finish or who I was beating. In fact, I wasn’t thinking about myself or time at all.
Instead, I saw the faces of Leslie, my friends, family, supporters, teammates and coaches flash through my head and I crossed the finish line with a smile, a fist pump and 3:05:30.9 showing on the clock.
I kissed my girlfriend, high-fived my coaches and sat down to drink some water, stretch and think about what to do next.
A shower. A beer. Some lunch. Then start prepping for Lavaman!
Tri for Les didn’t end when I completed the Bluewater Triathlon. It began.
Thank you to everyone for supporting the fight. Leslie never let up and fought every day with a smile on her face. We should all do the same.
My “Tri for Les” triathlon training has taken over most of my free time these days and unfortunately my blogging time has been pushed aside for early morning bike rides, evening swim and run practices, and late-night fundraising brainstorming sessions. Excuses, I know, but it’s all for a good cause, in honor of a great woman (my Aunt Leslie) and I don’t feel too bad for prioritizing.
I’ve also been getting a creative fix from a side project, called Letters to Letters. It’s a fun commitment and good for keeping the creative juices flowing.
That being said, I am still working in social media full-time during business hours and wanted to share a bit about a recent experience I had with the term “WTF.”
Lots of people tend to feel comfortable using relaxed, colorful and often NSFW language in social media conversations these days. It’s the nature of the channels. Tweets and status updates often don’t feel like they should carry much weight or have the same repercussions as other traditional channels might. I think they should.
Part of my job is to monitor these conversations on social media. And sometimes, I come across situations where I need to judge whether or not a comment should be categorized as inappropriate (and thus removed) or considered in-line with commenting guidelines (and thus allowed to remain public).
Well, one day I came across a comment that was in a grey area. It used the abbreviation WTF. This term is thrown around a lot these days, sometimes even in professional circles, and I debated with myself as to whether the comment should be removed from my company’s Facebook page. Even though the term does represent a vulgar phrase, it’s often used to emphasize a “What’s going on” sentiment. That was the case in this situation and part of me felt like it wasn’t a big deal and the person was obviously not intending any disrespect.
But another side of me felt like it needed to be removed. I wouldn’t use WTF in a work email or professional setting and if I were to let the comment stay, since it technically wasn’t swearing, it would still feel inappropriate: like it was sullying all of the great commentary that we do receive on our sites. I also thought it may open the door and set a bad precedent.
So, I removed the comment. And it ended up being the right move. The person who posted the original comment came back later and posted another similar comment, expressing the same sentiment, only this time without using, “WTF”. This comment was appropriate, remained visible and received a helpful response.
I thought this was a good example of how important it is to trust your gut and to establish and stick to a set of commenting guidelines if you’re managing a Facebook page or other social forum.
What do you think? Do you consider “WTF” inappropriate or offensive?
Disclaimer: These views are my own and do not necessarily represent those of my employer.
It’s early in the morning and still dark out. The alarm on the other side of my bedroom buzzed me awake and I’ve just silenced it by slamming my fingers on the snooze button. It’s quiet. Nobody is watching and I’m standing alone and dreary in the dark, with a crucial decision to make:
Do I listen to my tired body and stumble back to my soft bed for another hour of sleep?
Or do I throw on some clothes, take a drink of water and get the day started with a workout?
The battle ensues.
One side pats a fluffy pillow, and becons, “Come on…you exercised yesterday and stayed up late last night. An extra hour of sleep will be good for you and one day off isn’t going to hurt.”
The other side counters, “Weak sauce! You are so pathetic. Get your butt downstairs and let’s do this thing! If you were going to sleep in today, why’d you set the alarm in the first place?”
I teeter there, silently, as they exchange fire for another minute, until it’s time to make a move.
My eyes relax and close as I take a couple of steps toward the bed. I can almost feel the pillow on my head and the warm hug of the comforter. But on the third step, I’m jolted by a foul taste: failure.
I remember how toxic it feels to start the day off with a loss and know that I’ll be kicking myself later for my lack of dedication if I go back to bed.
It stops me in my tracks and I think about how good it feels to get outside and exercise in the morning. How it breathes positive energy into the rest of the work day and how these moments of weakness are easily resolved by simply moving my feet in the right direction.
I grab a pair of socks and trudge downstairs.
And as I’m sitting in the kitchen, staring at the floor, still laboring to get going, my thoughts drift to my aunt Leslie Whitfield, my brother Elliot and my sister Cecily.
Three of the most inspirational people in my life.
Elliot, an active-duty Marine, doesn’t have the option of hitting the snooze button. Whether he’s deployed on a boat, back home, on no sleep, hot, cold or hungry he has to maintain peak physical fitness. He doesn’t whine or make excuses and is developing into an exceptional Marine and an even better human being. You don’t accomplish this by diving back under the covers..
While Elliot fights evil with the Marine Corps, my aunt Leslie fought a different kind of battle.
Cancer.
In her 30s, she was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer. Despite the grim prognosis, she survived and battled the disease for 19 years.
Yes, 19 years of treatment, doctor’s visits, tests, wigs, weight fluctuations and God knows what other hindrances that she kept below the surface. Pretty brutal right?
Not for Leslie.
If you met her, you would’ve had no idea that she was sick. Happy and go-lucky, she attacked life and accomplished more good than most people do with a clean bill of health.
Leslie passed away earlier this year, in February. I wrote about all the lessons she taught me on my blog, shortly after her funeral. But the one message that surfaces on a daily basis, is that she didn’t make excuses when the conditions weren’t right or things didn’t go her way.
Leslie didn’t hit the snooze button either. And if she can do so much good while dealing with so much bad, then I can stick to my training schedule and get my butt out of bed.
So right now you’re thinking, “OK, I get it. You’re not going to hit the snooze button anymore. Where are we going with this?”
I’ll tell you where we’re going: Parker, Arizona for the Blue Water Triathlon on November 6, 2011.
And I’m not just doing a triathlon to accomplish personal goals or improve my physical fitness level. Those are some of the reasons, but I wanted to do this as part of something bigger.
When Elliot joined the Marines, he joined a team. When Leslie aggressively raised money for cancer research all those years, she formed, and was part of, many teams.
For my first triathlon, even though endurance events are individual sports, I wanted to join a team too.
Enter my younger sister, Cecily and Team In Training.
She introduced me to Team In Training back in July, when she started training for her first triathlon. She’s also doing it in honor of Leslie and her motivation to train with others rubbed off on me.
Sometimes it’s easy to get bogged down with your own life and routine and forget how important it is to meet new people and support good causes.
And with individual endurance sports, I’ve found it even easier to hole up in my own world.
For the past couple of years I’ve been exercising alone. I don’t belong to a gym and do most of my workouts in the back yard or along the canal or bridal paths. It’s easy, it’s good to be outside and it saves money.
But it’s not very inspiring and it doesn’t offer many opportunities for spontaneity, new connections or outside influence.
So I joined Team In Training and have committed to competing in my first triathlon in November and raising $2,200 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.
I’ve never raised money like this before, nor have I swam competitively or biked for long distances. But for the next four months I’ll be working hard to learn all three while strengthening my running ability and maintaining some semblance of a social life.
I’m doing this in honor of Leslie Whitfield and everyone else battling cancer, of any kind. Cancer is cancer and a fight is a fight. I’ve heard some incredible stories from various breeds of warriors and am happy to support LLS and cancer research.
At the surface, my Team In Training is composed of about twenty people working together to get in shape for a triathlon. But if you look closer, you’ll see that the team goes far beyond these triathletes, coaches and volunteers.
It includes you: our family, friends, co-workers and everyone else supporting us along our journey.
It’s going to be a challenge, no doubt. And for the next four months there are going to be many mornings when I just want to hit the snooze button, go back to bed and fight the battle another day.
But at those crucial moments when it’s so appealing to lay down and take a break, I’m going to think of Elliot, Leslie and Cecily.
I’m going to think of all the people who wake up every morning to battle cancer for another day.
I’m going to think of the support and inspiration from all of my teammates who are pushing me out the door and across that finish line.
And I’m going to dismiss the alarm, lace up my shoes and attack the day.
I would appreciate any support you can offer – even if it’s just a few words of encouragement – to help make those brief morning battles and the next four months of training, that much easier to conquer.
To donate, please click here to visit my fundraising page and follow along as the journey continues.
Thank you very much,
Adam
(Cross posted on my fundraising page)
Tri for Les 2012: Lavaman
