Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Mistakes


Last week I let my kids have it. I had given them two weeks to practice and study how to spell the word nervous. Two weeks later, only three of them could spell it correctly. After I gathered all the quizzes and saw the results, I asked them if they were upset about it. Then I unleashed some sort of tirade.

But as I pulled up the PowerPoint for that day's lesson, a blaring typo showed up on the screen. Embarrassed and feeling pretty hypocritical, I went in and fixed the error and then continued on. But as I did, I told my kids this: "Everybody makes mistakes. It's how we respond to those mistakes that makes us who we are."

I thought it was a pretty profound thing to say on the spot like that. I'm sure it's been said before. But it stuck with me this week. And it resonated louder than ever as
I hustled, struggled, and beast-moded it through my first triathlon this past Sunday.

It was just a sprint triathlon- a 400 yard swim, a 12 mile bike ride, and a 3 mile run. I signed up for it only a week and a half in advance because even though I hadn't bee
n training specifically for a triathlon, I felt like I was in good enough shape to finish and maybe even do well. The only issue in the past that I had been worried about was swimming, but I had been getting better at that. I was pretty confident and felt really good leading up to Sunday.

Aly Gamache joined me as well, and we showed up (bright) and early at Haleiwa Beach Park for the race on Sunday morning. We checked in, got our transition areas ready, warmed up, and headed to the beach for the start of the race. I put my goggles on and waited for
the horn. The time had finally arrived for me to show exactly what I could bring to the world of triathlons. But more than a few mistakes loomed in the distance.

Mistake Number One: Preparing for the first leg of a triathlon by only swimming laps in a pool

Training for the 400 yard swimming portion had been a piece of cake. Swimming laps in the calm and quiet Central Oahu Regional Park Pool became an almost nightly ritual. It was becoming more of a stress release, a form of meditation, than a physical endeavor. I had improved my stamina and could do 400 yards in my sleep.

But when that horn sounded, and I was sandwiched between 200 other people who were all frantically swimming for the same five foot buoy 100 yards out, I realized that I hadn't really done all that much to prepare myself. I got clobbered. Limbs everywhere were hitting my face. My legs and feet were grabbed as I tried to kick. Any time I turned my head to breath, my mouth either met a big gulp of saltwater or someone's armpit. So this is it. T
his is how I'm going to die. I was horrified. For someone who had been so comfortable in the water all his life, I was now in a living hell. Big mistake.

But then I did something different. I smiled. I laughed. I kept swim
ming. The washing machine of torture that I was trapped in became a water park. When I reached the first turn buoy, it was more frantic than ever because it was at that point that everyone was converging. By strange coincidence, I ran right into Aly, and we both laughed and said how ridiculous the whole thing was. The next stretch wasn't so packed and I even started to pass some people. By the time we turned towards shore, I had a little space and could establish a rhythm. My heart was pounding (more from fear than fatigue) as I scrambled up onto the beach and ran to the transition zone, but I was laughing about how nuts my first swim had been, and how much I had underestimated it.

When you find yourself in a frantic place, don't panic. Try laughing i
nstead and see where that gets you.
Mistake Number Two: Bringing biking gloves to a triathlon

I assumed because I was a guy and I could get ready for anything in a few seconds,
the transition from swim to bike wouldn't be something to worry about. I dried my feet quickly, threw on my shoes and socks, and then realized I still needed to put on my running shorts...I was stumbling and bleeding time. Then I grabbed my helmet and got my bike. I started to put on my biking gloves- I thought they might make the ride more comfortable and make me look more legit- but I just felt like everything was taking way too long. It had been a bad idea. So I wheeled my bike out of the transition zone and tossed the gloves back to my spot as I jogged. It was a perfect toss that landed them right on top of my backpack. Nice recovery, I thought.

If something's not working out, there's no harm in dropping it. Just do it with grace.
Mistake Number Three: Riding a mountain bike

Now that the swim was over it was show time. My legs were made for biking. I mounted and began pedaling up Kamehameha Highway for the first of three laps around Haleiwa. I felt great. I was pumping and the wheels were turning at full blast. I'm gonna smoke this course, I thought. I was going faster than ever before. But fast on a mountain bike was still slow compared to any road bike. Going into the race, I knew that I was at a disadvantage with my thick tires, heavy frame, and full suspension. Almost everyone brought a road bike. I'd been on road bikes before and I knew how much faster and more efficient they were on the pavement. But I had no idea it was this bad.

Everyone was passing me. Old guys. Fat dudes. Forty year old women. Left. On your left. Left. It's all I heard. I was pedaling harder than any one of them, but they were all gliding right past me. The hill at the top was the worst, and I thought for a second that maybe I had a flat tire. Nope. Just a slow bike. When we hit the top of the hill and cruised through town, even more people passed me. By the time I reached my second lap, a guy with a real triathlon bike and one of those Tour De France helmets flew past me. He must be a terrible swimmer, I thought, because he had been so far back for so long but looked so strong on the bike. But then I realized that he was in first place and had just lapped me. Discouraged, I kept pedaling hard, harder than I had ever pedaled before. And I kept getting passed.

By the time I finally made it to the transition zone, it was a ghost town. At the time I thought I was near last place. Later I'd find out that I was in that lonely space behind the average triathletes and in front of the slower ones. But at that moment, I thought that I was going to finish last. And it was funny, because it felt like I had just rode harder than ever before. It was like I had just raced the Indy 500 in a golf cart. I ditched my mountain bike with disgust in the empty transition zone and began the run. The playing field was even again, and it was time to make up time.

Don't give up on your deficiencies. Keep working hard and your other strengths will compensate for your shortcomings.


Mistake Number Five: Underestimating a mile of sand

Three miles was easy. I did it almost every night. I could do it backwards if I wanted. It didn't matter how tired I was from the frustrating bike ride. But I wanted more. I wanted to regain the lead over all those who had passed me on the bike who I knew I could outrace. So I stepped it up. The crowds of joggers got bigger and bigger and a lot of people started to see my backside. But I still knew what I'd have to get through before I crossed that finish line.

A mile run through the sand was something I just didn't want to train for. I had tried it once, and it was miserable. I was satisfied with being able to do it at Ala Moana Beach, but that sand was way easier than the stuff up North that I was about to face. When we got to the sand, everything started to hurt. I finally felt like I was burning out. I was sinking. The worst part was that it was a beautiful beach, and the sun was shining bright, so stopping and just lying down in the sand didn't seem like such a bad option. But I had never walked in a race, and I didn't plan doing it then. So I slowed down, took softer steps, and kept on trudging. I was able to rest my calves in some stretches where the rocks were poking out and the ground was more firm. I finally did make it off that beach, and I ran hard through the finish line. One hour and 21 minutes. Not the best time, but not too bad either. And my body felt pretty good.

Sometimes you need to slow down before you can speed up.

It was only a sprint, it was pretty low-key, but it was my first triathlon. Hopefully the first of many. It's no surprise that there were so many mistakes. You make mistakes when you're doing anything for the first time. The truth is that the clock doesn't stop ticking while you stop to dwell on what you messed up on. But like I told my kids, it's how your respond to those mistakes that makes you who you are.

And that makes me so excited for the next race.



Thursday, November 11, 2010

My Oh My

Swung on and BELTED, DEEP TO CENTER FIELD!

I tip my hat to the agony and ecstasy of sports. Who would know that a simple game could create such extreme highs and even lower lows. Every one is, in some way, moved by sports. Since I was very young, I've been like a buoy out at sea, tossed around in the waves of the wins and losses, the hopes and failures, the upsets and shortcomings, the joys and furies of sports.

It's why in my earlier years I would cry after losing a game and rejoice over a victory, replaying the goals, assists, hits, catches, and strikeouts in my mind for hours upon hours, days upon days, until the next game. It's why all I can remember about 1995 are two things: a big wind storm and the magical Mariners season. It's why in 2001 I spent an entire evening going around town trying to find a transistor radio so that I could listen to the M's first playoff game on the bus ride to our cross country race. It's why after the Zags lost to UCLA in the tournament in 2006, I walked out of my apartment and into the cold, wandering around campus and legitimately wondering if I was suffering from depression. It's why despite everything that was going on at home, leaving my best friends and family behind and moving away to Hawaii, and the tumultuous start to my teaching career, one of the main reasons I think 2008 was one of the toughest of my life was because the Sonics left for Oklahoma and the Mariners lost 100 games.

And it's why, yesterday, when I got the text from my dad, I stopped in the middle of a crowded Costco and just stared at the ground in disbelief.

GET OUT THE RYE BREAD AND MUSTARD, GRANDMA. IT'S GRAND SALAME TIME!

Every sports season, the highs are there, the ecstasy of hope and optimism is heavy, and then it usually fades. But there's always next year. That's a constant. The only other constant, since the beginning of my existence as a fan, has been the "smoky and smooth" voice that has narrated all of the highs and lows. So what happens when that's gone?

Almost anyone my age who grew up in or around Washington would agree that if there was one sound that could represent their childhood, it was the voice of Dave Niehaus.

The throw will be...LATE! The Mariners are going to play for the American League Championship. I DON'T BELIEVE IT!

His call of Edgar's double in 1995 to beat the Yankees still gives me chills. We had muted the TV and turned on the radio because the NBC broadcasters clearly wanted the Yankees to win. As Griffey flew around third and scored, we ran around the house in pure elation, pouring orange soda into champagne glasses. It was the highest of highs, and Niehaus's voice was our victory soundtrack. I remember so often listening to his calls on long car rides home from school. On warm summer evenings while camping, we would turn on the radio in the camper van and try to get a faint signal of the game, his voice providing a brief taste of the civilization we were taking a break from. His voice did more than just paint a constant beautiful picture the highs and lows of the Mariner season. It was the Mariners. It was baseball. It was summer. And it was the agony and ecstasy of sports.

Last spring, I splurged on the MLB.com package so I could watch the Mariner games from out here in Hawaii on my computer. In our opener against Oakland, the game was blocked and I was pissed. All I could do was listen to the audio. But as soon as it came on and I heard Niehaus's voice, everything changed. I wasn't in my scorching classroom, flooded by ungraded papers and pending IEP deadlines. I was 12, sitting in a car with Nick and Blaine, my baseball glove on my left hand, and we were heading to the Kingdome.

Any Seattle sports fan will tell you that there have been many losses. But I think this will be the toughest. The Mariners have won 116 games and lost 100. They've climbed from the bottom to the top and fell from the top to the bottom. They've made us smile and made us curse. And through it all, Niehaus has been there. It's going to be difficult next season because, unlike the hopes that come with every new year, there will be no Dave Niehaus.

So where do we go from here? What we do have are the memories he gave us, the highs and lows as told through his riveting voice. I know that the agony and ecstasy of sports will live on, but it will never be the same for me.

And it will FLY, FLY AWAY!

I guess I just hope that when I get to heaven, it will be summertime, and I'll walk past the Tuba Man with my glove in hand as he plays a pregame song. And when I enter the stadium, the Mariners will take the field with a winning record, looking set for a deep playoff run. And then I'll hear Niehaus's voice, excited as ever, booming once again.

MY OH MY!


You will be missed.


Monday, November 01, 2010

Halloween

Halloween is definitely one of my favorite times of the year. It's a time to dress up and get a little crazy. Over the years, I've had a pretty random, eclectic collection of costumes:

2005: Frank Normandin


2006: Trojan Warrior

2007: Good Charlotte

2008: Storm Trooper

2009: McGruff the Crime Dog


2010: Ronnie from Jersey Shore

The costume has changed each year, but one thing has remained consistent. I've been able to spend every Halloween surrounded by fun, caring, and incredible friends. And Kathryn Zielony.

JUST KIDDING KATHRYN!!!