Today I celebrate my inspiration

A year ago today, I lost my Dad after a long battle against his degenerating heart. I’ve come to learn that he unwittingly has been my inspiration in many ways, but particularly in my pursuit of sport. My Dad taught me everything I need to know to compete in triathlon and because of that I cannot help but be reminded of him as I train and race.

He balanced me on his bike frame during family bike rides when I was too young for my own bike—this taught me balance and that small, slimline seats are not always comfortable. When I finally got my first bike—a blue, slightly used no-speeder with fat tires and enormous fenders—he taught me how to ride safely. He would take the entire family on evening excursions around the neighborhood—this included riding on some roads that as an adult, even with a helmet, I find quite dangerous. My Dad was comfortable with his lessons of safety.

He taught me how to swim without getting my hair wet in some of the most crystal clear and incredibly frigid lakes of upstate NY. Initially, I cheated and touched the bottom of the lake with my long arms. I’m sure he knew but encouraged me anyhow. I can see him in his blue swim trunks, his Saint Christopher medal slapping the water, exhaling as if he were blowing out birthday candles with every stroke—and not a single strand of hair touching the water.

Today, as I climb a long hill at the end of a 10-mile run in high humidity, or as I struggle to finish the last 300 meters in a 3200-meter swim, or as my gluteus maximus is giving me a maximus pain in the buttocks on a 54-mile bike ride, I remember how much suffering he endured merely to spend one more day with his family and suddenly I see my way through. His life and lessons inspired me to cross the finish line of my first half-Ironman earlier this year, and I have no doubt that he will lead me to the finish line in Lake Placid—but if it’s alright with you Dad, I’m much faster if I put my face in the water.