Well, I confirmed for myself, and my youngest son, that I’m not the only dad trying to give his kid a competitive edge.  Shortly after Phoenix and I arrived at the race venue—fifty hours before his race—I was biking alongside Phoenix familiarizing him with the course and transition areas. I had him practicing his mounts, dismounts, riding angles on the S curves, gear shifts with and against the wind, adjustments in and out of the saddle to attack the rolling hills, etc. It was refreshing to see a couple other dads doing much the same and seemingly with the same type of energy.  If nothing else, it showed Phoenix that even though my training style may sometimes be a bit intense, I’m not one-of-a-kind.

Our road trip also reminded me how much thought and effort a dad (or mom) must devote to make sure his kid eats healthy on a multi-day sporting trip.  I packed lots of fresh fruit, sandwiches, cereal, trail mix, and water but I was limited by not having room for a cooler in my car.  Fortunately, we located a supermarket in West Chester that enabled us to restock our supplies and eat well on the fly.  I was still confronted with a reality check one night in Kentucky when Phoenix and I left I 75 to find a hotel room and food.  I asked the hotel clerk where we might go nearby to get a healthy meal.  With a smirk and half chuckle, he said, “This is Clinton, just fast food around here.”  We found a Subway shop and made the best of it.

I was often challenged on the road to figure out how we could accomplish all we wanted to while keeping some semblance of normalcy to Phoenix’s sleep schedule, especially in light of his demanding race obligations. Aware that Phoenix, like many kids, often does poorly when his sleep routine is interrupted, I pondered several times how to prioritize the short-term joy of his evening fun time with the likely lethargy and grumpiness I would face the next morning if I extended Phoenix’s bed curfew.  Truth be told, I compromised once on his bedtime, when, on the night following his race, he found himself playing water games with several older girls he befriended in the hotel pool.  I reasoned the unique “vacation” experience would have some developmental value and it seemed a just reward for the recent effort he had put into training and competing.

Traveling and making trips to out-of-town rest stops, hotels, supermarkets, drug stores, and other public places gave Phoenix many chances to venture beyond his usual social circles.  In doing so, he was quick to notice the ever expanding waistlines and risk-taking behavior (e.g., smoking, riding motorcycles without a helmet) of many Americans.  His sensitivity to others’ disregard for fitness and their penchant for risky behaviors reassures me that he is committed to adopting a healthy lifestyle.  

On the flip side, our trip surrounded Phoenix with a sea of 850 extremely fit, young athletes.  Seeing so many dedicated athletes helped reinforce Phoenix’s conviction to be healthy and fit. He, too, saw more clearly that he was not one-of-a-kind. 

When I was in elementary and middle school, embellishing the unrealistic dream of someday becoming a professional athlete, my dad gave me basic pointers on how to play football and baseball—the two sports he excelled in as a young man.  My memories of those times exist more as cloudy, nostalgic sentiments than detailed, visual images of specific exchanges.  However, I do vividly recall his low-key approach to teaching me to play sports, both in his praise and criticism.  In fact, my only meaningful memory of his frustration was when he told me one day that I would never amount to much as a ball player if I didn’t get rid of my sulky attitude.  Even then, he didn’t raise his voice, he just shared his message in a stern, yet matter-of-fact manner. 

I took his message to heart; this I know for sure.  I am uncertain though whether part of the reason he expressed a laid back demeanor was because he believed I was eager to learn and trying my hardest.  Did my energy make it easy for him to remain calm?  I know I always wanted to please him. 

Today, after a cycling training session with Phoenix, I was filled with my enduring sentiments of Dad, who passed more than 18 months ago.  Phoenix got up on time at 6:20 a.m., but he soon started to get distracted and waste time while he ate breakfast and brushed his teeth.  I became increasingly agitated because we faced serious time constraints in doing our planned workout before I dropped him off at camp by 8:30.  

Beyond my frustration with his dawdling, I wasn’t sure what to expect from Phoenix on the bike because the night before he took part in a new triathlon training program.  He logged cycling intervals on a stationary trainer and then ran a few miles with his new friends.  That night, he seemed tired from the experience, but he often rebounds by the morning.  When the morning came, I was hoping for the best.  

But this morning, after watching how he warmed up and did a practice mount and acceleration, my optimism gave way to the realization that Phoenix wasn’t going to be committed to the session.  He soon lagged behind on the ride, despite me being on my mountain bike.  I called back to him “push yourself,”  “come on, you’re not going to get on the podium going that slow, . . .”  None of my verbal challenges dented his resistance; he was determined to go at a relatively leisurely pace. 

Unlike my experiences with Dad, I sometimes question Phoenix’s lack of effort on the bike or when he is running, swimming, or playing one of his team sports.  For the record, whatever significant experiences I had with Dad came later in my childhood because I wasn’t as deep into the athletic world when I was Phoenix’s age.  I try to keep that difference in perspective, but I struggle with that at times.  

What perplexes me is his situational willingness to sometimes exude a competitive, energetic spirit.  When cycling, I’ve seen him celebrate those times when he is moving quickly next to me.  What distinguishes those intense moments from his sluggish ones?  I’m not always sure…fatigue from other activities, mood, drifting mind, or something else.  I do know that he’s capable of meeting my expectations if he wants to because he has done so on various occasions.

How much of my observations are the result of developmental versus generational forces?  That’s another tricky question.  Those of us raised in an era and family context where kids were routinely discouraged from developing a sense of entitlement, tend to get annoyed with kids today who want the glory of an accomplishment without putting in the hard work and making sacrifices.  Each successive generation of men and fathers seem to claim that their generation of peers was more mentally tough than their predecessor.  I’m not aware of any rigorous data that either supports or refutes that claim, but anecdotally the idea resonates with me.  Does it apply to elementary school kids?  Perhaps, sometimes?  However, the sporting opportunities for youth in the current era are so different in many ways, it distorts comparisons.

So, my ongoing dilemma is how hard can, or should I physically and mentally push Phoenix to do what it takes to achieve the goals he claims he wants to achieve?  Of course, it takes little effort to express the desire “I want to be one of the best in the nation” at some athletic endeavor, but the journey to realize such a goal demands an incredible amount of focus, dedication, and hard work.  That’s hard for most kids to grasp.  Yet, some do.  I regularly share my message about the value of hard work with Phoenix and I continue to push him beyond what he perceives to be his limits, then remind him later at those times when he’s focused, that what he just achieved was more than he had imagined.  For now, my approach seems to be fostering more good than bad, so our journey continues day by day with a detailed written log to remind him just how much he has done and improved over months of training.  He loves setting new personal records.

Jeremy Rifkin, in his 1987 book, Time Wars, wrote a fascinating account of how six dimensions of time have affected the organization of societies around the world throughout history.  One key dimension of interest to me, synchronization, has implications for dads and their kids in the way they interact and experience aspects of health and fitness. 

In addition to shaping cultures, then, time matters to individuals on a personal level. It affects how they experience their families, friendships, play, and work. When things are synchronized, harmony and efficiency typically follow.  When time preferences or schedules are poorly matched, tension and conflict result. 

My parents managed time with the precision and reliability of a Swiss watch. As I recall, neither of my parents were ever late to a scheduled event.  For them, being on time was the norm; it was the polite, honorable thing to do.  They taught me to show people respect by respecting their time. They also thought ahead and planned their activities and time accordingly.  I embraced their time-oriented values long ago and I express them often with Phoenix, my nearly seven-year–old son.

How I manage time in practical terms as a dad, often depends, not just on my own basic philosophy, but on how Phoenix reacts to organized schedules and my “on-time” and “let’s not waste time” perspectives.  If I’m on my game being a nurturing dad, I consider his mood and energy level when I ask him to manage our shared time.  Unfortunately, Phoenix still regularly tests my patience with his bouts of “time insensitivity.”  I reassure myself that we’ll eventually improve our synchronicity and harmony… all in good time.  

Let me share a couple insights about how I manage my shared time with my son.  First, I learned early on that Phoenix, like many kids, thrives when kept on a fixed sleep schedule.  The circumstances must be truly special for me to deviate from his routine.  Long ago I bought into what sleep and child development experts stress—get infants accustomed to a regular, calming set of bedtime rituals.  The National Sleep Foundation also recommends that kids aged 5-12 should get 10-11 hours of sleep a day.  Early on, I introduced nap and evening sleep rituals that included writing a song “Baby Rock” that I've sung to put Phoenix to sleep on-schedule thousands of times, even to this day.  Phoenix is much more receptive to my requests to “get a move on” when he’s realized his sleep target of 10.25 hours.  His energy level is also in sync with the scheduling demands of his school, summer camps, sports, workout sessions, and other activities. 

Second, I do a lot of thinking ahead to coordinate Phoenix’s busy and time-sensitive schedule.  I’m confident that a dad’s (or mom’s) effective style of time management can make a significant difference in a child’s health, fitness, and sense of well-being.  A parent’s attentiveness to time can also enhance a child’s options to do more, and accomplish more, in life.  Being a “time-focused” dad means I make a concerted effort to anticipate his physical, travel, and event needs so that we can synchronize our time efficiently.  Of course, not everyone agrees with where to draw the line between a positive, supportive parental focus on time and what Margaret Nelson has negatively labeled “parenting out of control” in her 2010 book by the same title.”  I strive to not be neurotic about it, but I’m sure those who are careless with time would question my deliberate style.  

Third, I take full advantage of travel time by using my car as a resource.  I've established time-saving rituals for Phoenix by stocking my car with healthy snacks, water, paper, pens and pencils, books, sports gear, and sun block that allow Phoenix to do his homework, read, eat, or change his clothes and shoes on the fly.  Fortunately, he didn't inherit my penchant for getting car sick when reading.  

Fourth, I urge Phoenix to be more mindful of the transitional moments in daily life that shift his focus from one event or responsibility to another.  Many of these moments occur in my car or his bedroom.  In the car, I have a blanket on hand for the times where we’re driving at night and I want him to go to sleep on schedule.  During the day, when time between events is short and I’m shuttling him from one activity to another, especially a training session or athletic event, I have on board what he and I call “fuel-food” to energize him.  At home, on the nights when an early morning triathlon training session is planned, I have him sleep in his workout clothes to reduce the potential for us to butt heads over his distracted or sluggish efforts to get ready.  Just tonight, I wanted to get Phoenix to sleep on time after a relatively late Youth Combine triathlon training session, so I packed him a homemade dinner that he ate as we drove home.

In short, at every turn, I strive to make sure Phoenix is well-rested, outfitted with the little things he needs to be efficient, and aware of what he needs to do to move efficiently from one activity to the next.  I trust that, over time, our collective efforts to manage time wisely will lead to a form of synchronicity and harmony that will enhance our resolve for sustaining good health and fitness.

Yesterday I was cycling on my own when I saw a dad riding bikes with two kids—presumably his son and daughter who appeared to be of elementary school age.  I love seeing dads exercising with their kids, but this scene bothered me because all three were riding without helmets.

As most middle-aged people know, perceptions about safety issues have changed considerably since they were kids. When I was a youth back in the 1960s and 1970s, I never owned or wore a helmet when I rode any of my bikes; it just wasn’t part of the public consciousness.  And I can’t remember any of my friends wearing a helmet.  In retrospect, this shocks me because I sometimes recklessly flew down steep, windy Pennsylvanian hills just east of Pittsburgh.  The thought of brain trauma and concussions never crossed my mind.  My parents never voiced any concern either.   

Fortunately, the few biking accidents I recall having never involved my head hitting the pavement.  Some kids are not so lucky.  And, of course, even though wearing a helmet does not guarantee that a person of any age will be spared brain damage, proper helmet use reduces the risk of experiencing bad outcomes.

The Bicycle Helmet Safety Institute (http://www.helmets.org/stats.htm) references plenty of websites and data that help place children’s bike safety in perspective. The Safe Kids Worldwide website, for example, reports that “Helmets reduce the risk of head injury by at least 45 percent, brain injury by 33 percent, facial injury by 27 percent and fatal injury by 29 percent.”  Unfortunately, one study finds that 55 percent of children don’t wear a helmet while bicycling.
(http://www.usa.safekids.org/sites/default/files/documents/skw_bike_fact_sheet_june_2014.pdf)

As I continued on with my solo ride yesterday I thought about how Phoenix would have reacted had he been with me and seen the family riding without helmets.  Based on what he’s said in the past, I can image him saying, “Dad, did you see that?  Unsafe! None of them are wearing helmets.”  No doubt I’ve imprinted my disapproval of people taking unnecessary risks while biking as well as doing other activities. 

I’m highly critical of dads and moms who allow their kids to ride their bikes without helmets.  I react similarly to parents who set a bad example by riding without a helmet themselves.  In either case, parents should know better, and “care” more.  Why take the chance?  Oddly, these same parents often strap their kids into car and booster seats.  Maybe they do this because it’s the law or perhaps they see cars as potentially more hazardous.   Whatever the reason for the inconsistency, they place their children at risk when they allow them to ride bikes without wearing a helmet.

What should a dad do? What can a dad do?

Well, for starters, write a blog to grab other parents’ attention?  If one sees a dad or his kids riding without a helmet, he could be bold or rude depending on your perspective, and shout out “helmets save lives” or something similar.  I’m probably too reserved for that.  However, a dad might be willing to share his concerns with friends and acquaintances who violate the “helmet code.”   

Along these lines, two weeks ago I saw a young middle-school girl from my neighborhood riding home with her helmet not on her head, but hooked to her handlebar.  Just yesterday, I saw her riding again, this time she had her helmet on but it was unstrapped.  I’ve acknowledged this girl a few times on the streets but I don’t really know her.  However, I am casually acquainted with her father.  I was mute when I saw the girl, but I made a mental note to consider whether I should divulge what I saw to her dad.  I haven’t seen the father since these “sightings,” but writing this piece reminds me that I should speak to him.  If our circumstances were reversed, I definitely would want him to inform me if he had seen my son riding without a helmet. 

Exciting events this past week shifted my son, Phoenix, and me into a new space in our cycling relationship.  As I mentioned in my first blog, I decided to honor Phoenix’s year-long request to get a road bike.  It seemed reasonable because he wants to compete in triathlons at a high level.  Entering him in highly competitive races where the top performers are hammering down the course on road bikes and he’s peddling a mountain bike didn’t seem like such a great idea anymore.  Once my empathy button was activated, my consumer dad mentality kicked in.

Taking him on a surprise venture last week to a local bike shop to test ride a youth road bike was a memorable experience for us both.  His excitement resurrected my first bike memory when I snuck downstairs from my bedroom very early one Christmas morning and went over to the tree.  There stood a shiny, red bike with training wheels.  As I tried to sneak back upstairs Mom probed me in her stern voice, “Billy, what are you doing?”  Elated, and unfazed, I replied, “Santa came, and he brought me a red bike—it’s a beauty.”  Ironically, I was about a month away from turning seven, nearly the same age as Phoenix is now.  But, unlike Phoenix, I would never ride bikes with my dad even though I recall him teaching me how to ride without training wheels.   

Today, just six days removed from my slightly nervous test ride with Phoenix as he experimented with his first ride on a road bike, I’m already generating fond daydreams based on the past several days of joint riding.

Two days ago we had our first taste of exhilaration when we created a new bonding ritual with our bikes.  About six miles into our ride I challenged him to ride hard so that we could prevent another cyclist from overtaking us.  Roughly twenty seconds after we began to retrace our path at the turnaround point on the paved bike trail, I noticed a serious cyclist approaching us from the front.  I assumed he too would do the turnaround and be on our wheels shortly.  When he passed us initially going the other direction, I looked at Phoenix on my right and challenged him by saying, “Let’s stay away and not let that guy catch us.  He’s gonna turn around like we did.”  With a little prodding, I convinced Phoenix and we both accelerated.  Twenty seconds later I turned around and spotted the rider and warned Phoenix that he was coming.  For the next three miles Phoenix and I monitored the trailing rider.  At one point Phoenix insisted he had “no more power,” so I narrowed my challenge and told him that we should at least “hold the guy off until we reach Parker Road”—about a mile away.  After that “carrot” eventually gave way to his exhausted legs, lungs, and mental focus I told him to “take my wheel” and draft behind me, which he did.  He’s watched enough coverage of the Tour de France to understand the basic logic of breakaways and pursuits where riders either leave the peloton (main group of riders) or try to catch those who have accelerated and gone out ahead of their competitors.  We made it to Parker Road in the lead, barely, before being overtaken by a fit looking man probably in his early twenties. 

Our first stab at “team riding” tested his limits and gave us a cool workout memory.  I’ll be looking out for similar opportunities to challenge him to go fast and hard as my “teammate.”

Off the bike, I have been creating ritual time with him by periodically watching a neat video that showcases the Youth and Junior National Championships slated for West Chester, Ohio, August 3, 2104.  He continues to tell me that he wants to go and compete against the “best seven-year-olds in the nation.”  Watching this video stimulates his desire to train, an important benefit since we have yet to find a steady, serious training buddy for him.

In fall 2010, when Phoenix was a few months beyond his third birthday, I decided to sign him up for a soccer league.  Outside of taking a soccer gym class in college and kicking a soccer ball around a few times with my older son, Scott, I had no experience playing soccer and had watched it only sparingly on TV.  But I was willing to explore the soccer option because I wanted to introduce Phoenix to the world of organized sports and some of his pre-k classmates wanted to give soccer a try.

I was delighted to discover that Phoenix’s first soccer coach, the father of one of his classmates, had an engaging personality and played competitively at a high level.  I sat back and closely watched as he did a masterful job organizing the practices that first season.  In spring 2011, I offered to help the same coach herd the cats, otherwise known as toddler soccer players who spent as much time gazing at clouds and airplanes as they did the ball and goal.  I enjoyed the process, quickly growing more comfortable with the sport and working with the kids. 

The following season, Phoenix regrettably had a different coach.  This one was far less invested, animated, or knowledgeable than the first coach.  Again I offered to help, but I was frustrated by the coach’s nonchalant, disorganized style.  The kids were not being challenged and spent most of their time just standing around tugging on each other’s shorts and teasing one another.  I navigated the politics of being the helper as best I could.  Eventually, though, I tactfully asserted myself to get the kids to do drills that required them to move and develop basic skills.  I told myself then that I should not leave these matters to chance in future seasons.  I’ve coached all but one of Phoenix’s athletic teams since (a back surgery got in the way once) to guarantee that an energetic, invested person would be in charge. 

Ironically, a few years before my youth coaching career began, I interviewed 55 male youth workers in Florida who were working with kids for pay or as volunteers in various positions (e.g., coaches, teachers, youth ministers, Boys & Girls Club staff).  When I became a youth coach I was informally extending my academic experience.  Those dedicated men I interviewed reinforced my desire to make a difference in young people’s lives.  

All of the attributes I describe in my first blog as being key features to fathering in the health and fitness areas (facilitator, attentive, time manager, healthy model, energizing, ritual innovator, inspirational, nurturing, and generative) have shaped my experience as Phoenix’s dad-coach.  Those of you who have taken on this responsibility know quite well that the experience is often difficult yet rewarding.  Unfortunately, for coaches like myself who work with kids in entry level participation leagues, it is challenging to motivate kids with diverse personalities and skill sets to forge a team mentality. 

I gain perhaps the most satisfaction out of inspiring Phoenix to be a leader on his team even though he is typically one of the younger (or the youngest) players.  Because we spend a lot of time together, and I have flexible work hours, we have ample time for planning and practice sessions prior to a season and a game.  Consequently, on our basketball and football teams especially, I talk to Phoenix extensively on and off the court or field about my coaching philosophy, the value of drills, specific plays, and strategies for building team chemistry.  As a son-player he has learned that he can help build team spirit in unique ways.  

Our arrangement allows Phoenix to enter the first and often subsequent practices with a much clearer sense of my expectations. This provides him with athletic capital that is built on both his physical motor skills and coordination as well as my knowledge and motivation to teach him the details of a specific sport.   

The thoughts of Jessica Skolnikoff and Robert Engvall, professors at Roger Williams University in Rhode Island, are relevant here.  In their recent book, Young Athletes, Couch Potatoes, and Helicopter Parents: The Productivity of Play, they discuss how dad-coaches in youth sports affect their child’s chances to succeed in this arena.  They extend Malcolm Gladwell’s conclusions in his 2008 best seller Outliers that those who are truly standouts in a field develop their talent through the connections they often make at a young age, the increased practice time they get, and the specialized coaching they receive.  Skolniknoff and Engvall agree with Gladwell’s basic idea, but they encourage us to understand that many kids who are labeled “standouts” benefit from an initial and subtle selection process that implicates them as the “chosen ones.” These kids are given unique opportunities and tend to be given greater latitude to fail as they gain experience.

This new book helps me to reflect as a dad-coach on the overlap between family and youth sports.  In particular, it prompts me to assess my own practice of incorporating Phoenix as a point guard and quarterback on our teams.  Even as I write this piece, our joint story and my self-reflections continue to unfold because we—the Cobras—will soon play our last regular season game, and then the championship game, without our top play maker and other key players who will be on vacation.  As a result, even more responsibility may fall on Phoenix’s young shoulders to run the team and for me to find ways to help him and our team succeed while managing the politics of being a dad-coach.

In the fall of 2013, a friend convinced me to register my 6-year-old son, Phoenix, for a small, local youth triathlon.  Little did I know what lay ahead for my son and I.  By that time I had coached several of my son’s basketball and soccer teams and we had logged more than 1,200 miles mountain biking in the previous 18 months.  I had also done three Olympic distance triathlons (1.5 km swim, 40 km bike, 10 km run) many years ago, so I had some experience in the discipline, although I drifted away from the sport because a leg issue ended my running. 

At the conclusion of that first triathlon, during the awards ceremony for the 4-6 year-olds, I watched Phoenix, encircled by his peers, listen to the MC announce the medal winners.  After third place was announced, Phoenix fixed his eyes on me.  “I didn’t get anything…why?” he muttered as he fought back tears.  He looked crushed; my heart grew heavy.  But I also thought to myself, “well, you didn’t train much, you don’t swim very well, and the concussion you experienced two weeks ago forced you to refrain from any physical activity for the two weeks leading up to the event.”  I wasn’t surprised that his time fell short of medaling, but I was still on the verge of shedding public tears.  Seeing the devastation consume my son’s face cemented my resolve to do whatever I could to help him be better prepared if he decided to do a second event.

A month later, we heard about another triathlon from the same friend, and Phoenix jumped at the chance to do it because his best buddy was registered.  Phoenix and I were going to get our second chance.  This time I pushed and prodded Phoenix to train harder for the upcoming event which would have more competitors than the first triathlon.  I helped him prepare for all three legs of the triathlon as well as the transitions from run to bike and bike to run.  Sometimes he obliged me reasonably well. Sometimes he did what I asked but his mood was laced with an “attitude” and resentment.  And sometimes he just flat out refused to do a training session.  Despite his uncooperative moments, I challenged him because I didn’t want to see him emotionally crushed again.  Through our cooperative training moments as well as the confrontational ones, I was there every second of the way.  I was motivated, in part, because I could see his improvement and I didn’t want to fail him as a dad-coach. 

On race day I got glimpses of him during each segment of the race and I offered up encouraging shouts from the sidelines.  Shortly after the last kid in Phoenix’s age group crossed the finish line, we rubbed shoulders with a crowd of parents and participants as we all studied the posted results.  This was our first time processing a race results page.  I was nervous.  “Am I reading this correctly?  Is that really Phoenix’s name listed in third place for his age division?” I thought to myself.  He was trying to stretch his four-foot frame to see what I saw.  “You’re on the podium, you placed third,” I said beaming with joy.  With a look of amazement, he jumped into my arms and shouted, “I’m on the podium!”  I was a proud and happy dad.  We had redeemed ourselves.  As we embraced, I realized my competitive spirit had waned very little, if at all, from the days when I played games that mattered and my identity as an athlete was paramount.

Fast forward five months to spring 2014 and the same friend alerted me to yet another local triathlon.  This time, the event was only two weeks away.  Phoenix had played basketball and biked a lot during the winter but he hadn’t done any long distance running and he had no pool time since his last triathlon. Nonetheless, we gave it our best shot.  It was a fun race even though Phoenix fell outside the age-group medals again.  Being the fastest six-year-old was a small consolation, but, ultimately, he was without an award beyond his finishing medal. Surprisingly, his reaction to this result was relatively subdued.  I was more frustrated because he missed the podium by only six seconds.  Prior to the event, I had him practice his swim to bike transition many times.  Unfortunately, he was just learning to tie his shoes and he did it rather slowly.  Had it dawned on me prior to the event that I could have purchased performance laces [cool laces designed to lock in place without tying, just a tug], Phoenix would have had a place on the podium.  Instead, I walked away with a tinge of regret and disappointment.  A few days later, once I learned about performance laces, I took Phoenix to buy a set and I invested in Phoenix’s first pair of running shows as well.  As the triathlon bug began to sink its teeth in me, my middle-class “consumer dad” mentality was invigorated.  

Phoenix quickly let me know that he wanted to do more triathlons, so I signed him up for one in May, another in June.  The first was huge—more than 1,600 kids, and the second was smaller but highly competitive because it was a United States Triathlon Association (USTA) state team championship event.  He found his way back to the podium for each of these and now the bug has an even firmer grip on my time and wallet—most notably, a new road bike to increase his speed and chances of competing at the highest level which he assures me he wants.  However, days like today, when he refuses to do training sessions, make me worry that he wants the glory without the sweat. 

As I’ve gotten deeper into triathlon as a sport, and the subculture of youth triathlon, I find myself spending more time reflecting on both.  As a sport, triathlon offers unique opportunities for kids to develop important life skills.  For example, I find myself reminding Phoenix that he needs to manage his (and my) time wisely so that he can maximize the quality of his training.  Most voices in the sport agree that finding the time and commitment to do morning workouts, at least some of the time, is helpful.  Doing so provides recovery time for additional training later in the day. Figuring out ways to squeeze in a workout around weather conditions, eating schedules, school work, other sports, etc. reinforces the virtues of thinking about time and productivity systematically.   

While learning time management skills, kids also develop the ability to juggle multiple responsibilities as they come to understand how to prioritize their efforts.  I often encourage Phoenix to assess his strengths and weaknesses with swimming, cycling, and running and to consider how he can best allocate his time and effort—I do the same with his homework assignments. 

At Phoenix’s last triathlon in Sebring, Florida I directed his attention to the slogan on a woman’s t-shirt “Every Second Matters.” This is particularly true in the shorter forms of triathlon where a few seconds, or even one, may determine whether an athlete wins or places.  A related slogan, one that I haven’t yet seen is “Seconds Add Up.”  These slogans convey noteworthy messages:   kids should push themselves as they train and perform and they should be attentive in their preparation and performance to each and every detail that affects their time—like what’s the quickest way to tie a shoe or mount a bike. 

A critical, but poorly understood life skill involves individuals’ approach to making various types of transitions from one activity or mood to another.  In our high-paced society, we pay increasing attention to how well or poorly people multitask, but equally important is how people can move smoothly from one state of mind, activity, or place to another.  Triathlon forces kids to pay close attention to their bodies and equipment as they transition from one sport to another.  This needs to be done in training as well as the event itself. I suspect that developing the mindset needed to do this well can benefit kids well beyond their triathlon experience. 

And, as is true for athletes in all sports, young triathletes are given opportunities to nurture their ability to be disciplined and focused.  At every turn I remind Phoenix that he needs to be focused to succeed.  Yet, I am constantly reminded that he, like most young kids I suppose, is challenged in this regard. 

As I finished the first draft of what will become my next book, and then immersed myself in constructing the webpage, Dads & Kids: Health & Fitness Talk, I realized it was time for me to start blogging.  I want to share my personal insights on fathering, health, and fitness. Over the years, I’ve given a lot of thought to these matters for my two sons, Scott and Phoenix, ages 37 and 6 respectively, as well as for myself.  But, I’ve only publically shared bits and pieces of my life story as a dad in my scholarly publications. Now, as I begin to venture down this road, I want to frame the personal impressions I’ll be sharing in subsequent entries as a dad who happens to be a sociologist as well. 

A few days ago, as Phoenix scanned cereal boxes and other printed materials, he started counting the letters in the individual words as well as the number of letters that made up sentences.  His game was contagious.  I noticed that “fathering” has nine unique letters.  I then expanded the word play by identifying a key aspect of fathering that began with each of the nine letters.  In making my somewhat arbitrary selections, I was mindful of how attributes relate to high quality fathering in the areas of health and fitness.  Despite being frustrated by my self-imposed restrictions for choosing words, the set of nine attributes that emerged from this process is compelling.

Facilitator: Because I’m committed to keeping Phoenix physically active, I spend much of my time coordinating his sports involvement and triathlon training.  Sometimes this involves finding a tennis or swim coach, sometimes it means I’ll contact a parent to see if our kids can get together and spend time exercising outdoors.  Sometimes it means identifying and signing him up for teams and events that he would enjoy.   And sometimes it involves me driving him to his practices, games, and events. In my future blogs I’ll talk a lot about the logistics and dilemmas associated with the public side of fathering.  Although making things happen for kids outside the home has been a major part of mothering for decades, in recent years fathers increasingly are getting involved in this way.  Coaching Phoenix’s youth sports teams in soccer, basketball, and flag-football as well as training him for triathlons provides me numerous options to create opportunities for Phoenix to interact with other kids and adults.

Attentive: In my view, it’s hard to be a good dad if you’re not attentive to your child’s health and fitness needs. For me, part of that fathering attentiveness means that I need to figure out Phoenix’s moods and how I’m going to deal with them.  How hard am I going to push or even pressure him to overcome his lethargy or desire to be inside the house on a beautiful day (we get a lot of those in Florida)?  A big part of how I “do” fathering involves trying to read the signs correctly that tell me I have a good shot of convincing him eventually to run, or bike, or swim, or practice basketball despite his initial reluctance.  Coincidentally, the day I began to dissect the spelling and meaning of fathering, I heard LeBron James talk about how important it is for him to be sensitive to his kids’ moods when he first sees them after being away for the day.  

Time manager: It has been one of my biggest challenges to encourage Phoenix to stay on task so that he can accomplish many of the things he wants to do in a day, or should do if he wants to achieve the level of success he values.  Helping Phoenix develop effective time management skills is certainly no easy task, but it is a big part of fathering for me.  When I’m successful, and he does things in a timely way, I know it allows him to reap the benefits of participating in multiple sports while doing well with his school work and other activities.

Healthy model: For me, I need to walk the walk if I’m going to preach to Phoenix my message of being healthy and fit. So, from my perspective, an important part of being a good dad is to demonstrate to Phoenix in all that I say and do that I’m dedicated to a healthy lifestyle that includes regular exercise, eating well, and avoiding unnecessary risk-taking.

Energizing: Because of my genes and my life choices I’ve been blessed with an abundance of physical energy.  I’m almost always eager to engage Phoenix in physical activities. Unfortunately, many men, my own father included, are not as fortunate as I have been because they face physical limitations and challenging life circumstances that leave them with little energy or time to be active with their kids.  Fathers with these limitations can instead harness their emotional/mental energy to boost their kids through encouraging words that support a healthy lifestyle

Ritual innovator: I find that I’m able to do a better job of promoting a healthy lifestyle for Phoenix when I’m able to achieve and reinforce not just a routine, but a ritual that is packed with symbolism and warm affinity.  Our routines and rituals usually reinforce his passion for fitness activities and good eating habits.  I’m particularly fond of how I encouraged Phoenix as a toddler to enjoy grocery shopping with me by placing him in a “big green machine”—a shopping cart with steering wheels that was decorated in the image of a car—while we navigated the aisles on our shopping spree.

Inspirational: To me, being a good dad demands that I help Phoenix come to appreciate the gifts of a healthy mind, body, and soul and to recognize that it is his personal responsibility to maximize his abilities and talents.  Challenging my son to dream big dreams and to pursue them with dedication and determination is a key part of my job description as a dad and his youth coach.  So too, my job is to challenge him to confront self-perceived obstacles and to overcome them.  He understands that rain WITHOUT lightening does not prevent our outside swimming, biking, and running.

Nurturing: A few years ago I spent a lot of time thinking and writing about the meaning of being a nurturing dad (see Nurturing Dads: Social Initiatives for Contemporary Fatherhood).  I find that some of my biggest struggles as a father are those times when I try to navigate a reasonable balance between a nurturing style of fathering and a hardnosed “coach” mentality that would have me trying to squeeze that last ounce of effort out of a player.  So far, the plentiful hugs, kisses, and loving reassurances have allowed me to nurture, challenge, and inspire Phoenix to test his physical, emotional, and mental limits. 

Generative: In the academic world, being generative describes parents’ efforts to pass on their values, life skills, and practical knowledge to their children.  Encouraging Phoenix to be mindful of how he treats his body and to respect animal life by not consuming it has been front and center for me.  I’ve tried to inspire his passion for exercise, competition, and healthy/ethical eating.  Just this morning at 7:15 a.m., I was treated to his beaming smile as he joined me for a 12-mile  adventure on his first-ever road bike which we purchased last night.  The competitive spirit he is honing in his triathlon training and events took one huge leap forward when he celebrated the idea of going faster.  I’m full of anticipation wondering how our upcoming rode cycling excursions will add to the bonding rituals we’ve created during the past 18 months while riding mountain bikes in nature preserves and suburban bike paths.