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.
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’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.
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