Giving It A Tri

For the past four months I have been running, biking, and swimming in sweat to prepare for the Capital of Texas Triathlon in Austin this past Memorial Day since I made the commitment to join the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Team in Training to raise money and awareness for the cure of these blood cancers. My mom died nine years ago after a valiant fight against non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma and I felt my participation in this event was a way to honor her memory and work toward a cure for this devastating form of cancer. So in January I, along with my stepdaughter, signed my name to the dotted line and began to count the miles and dollars toward our improved health and fundraising goals.

Over the past months and weeks our Team in Training logged hundreds of miles on our bikes, swam thousands of laps in the pool, braved the murky and cold waters of Boerne Lake, pounded out laps around the track and miles on the dusty trails in McAllister Park at the benevolent, but tough call, of our coach Marion in order to be as prepared as we could be come the 7 am blast of the starting horn on the shores of Town Lake in Austin on Monday, May 28. Over the weeks we have learned about how to best fuel our bodies for the mile swim, 26 mile bike and 10K run. We learned how to stretch our muscles and replenish our protein stores following sweaty workouts. We were schooled in how to prepare our "transition area"--where one quickly (or not-so-quickly) wriggles out of a wetsuit, slips on a helmet and bike shoes to speed off to the bike course, then locate the same transition area after the bike route, change into running shoes (and remember to remove the bike helmet) before wobbling out onto the run course. We strengthened and toned our bodies to best respond to the physical and mental challenges. By Friday, May 26 we were as ready and lean a tri machine as we were ever gonna be!

On Sunday my stepdaughter and I began the hour long drive to Austin from San Antonio noting that the days-long rain finally abated. On the 60 mile drive, we grumbled, groaned, worried and smiled in anxious anticipation of what lay ahead of us the next morning. Two thousand triathletes descended on the shores of Town Lake that day, checking in to their hotel rooms and picking up their goodie bags. We attended a pasta dinner held for all Team in Training participants on Sunday evening, and I wondered at the 300 people who made the commitment of time and energy to raise money to find a cure for blood cancer. There were tables of folks from all over the country: from New York to Georgia to Texas. All in all, the San Antonio chapter raised $100,000 in the past four months and nationally, Team in Training raised $1M for the cure!

After a day's worth of pre-event gatherings, we fell into bed at 10 pm and counted down the hours til the alarm sounded at 5:40 am. I had a great night's sleep (thanks to a Tylenol PM) while my stepdaughter tossed and turned in nervous anticipation of her first triathlon. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the morning alarm buzzed and it was time to get up--the Big Day had arrived! I turned on the news to check out the weather report for the day and was shocked to see the weathermap showing Austin being engulfed by a green blob. I looked outside and witnessed the rain coming down in dark sheets. Soon we received a call that the triathlon was postponed and we were to meet in the lobby of the hotel for further instruction. Sheepishly, my stepdaughter and I smiled at each other, guiltily acknowledging that our anxious and tepid prayers for rain the day before had been answered. We gathered with the other Team members and were informed that due to the dangerous conditions and flooding, the swim portion had been cancelled. An hour later we were all told that the triathlon had been cancelled due to the manic, Texas-style, activity of Mother Nature.

Here it is Wednesday and I am still trying to name my feelings following word of the cancellation of the event. What I am experiencing must be a bit like what a bride feels after being left at the altar: the invitations were sent out, the flowers were ordered, the guests arrived, all the while the skittish groom headed for the hills. Later in the day, as I drove back to San Antonio in the beautiful bright sunshine, I began to try to make sense of what occurred. I thought about how, just like cancer, one never can be sure of the outcome. I thought about my mom's diagnosis and how, although she had never been a smoker, a tumor formed in her throat. I thought about how she followed medical advice and began radiation to shrink her tumor. I thought about how later she had to make the choice to begin chemotherapy, which frightened her terribly, because the cancer did not abate with the radiation. I remembered how I began to read about cancer-fighting and immune-boosting foods and I shared my knowledge with her and my dad. I remember praying with all my might that she would survive. I recalled her positive outlook and assurance to me that she would survive. Even though she followed the rules and did what she was supposed to, cancer ultimately claimed her life on May 18, 1998. No matter what I did, I could not change the outcome. It was the first time in my life that I experienced total and complete helplessness with regard to being able to change something.

I thought about how we, the Team in Training members, showed up at the workouts, pushed our bodies to build new muscle and endurance, changed our eating habits, and found our voices to ask others to support our mission through a donation. Despite all of the best laid plans and following the workouts to a T, the outcome was not what we planned. The experience provided me yet another lesson in letting go and how to not wed myself to a particular ending. There is a lesson in everything and my mom's death from cancer lead me, years later, to think about what I could do as an individual to make a difference for others. If my mom had not been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, it is likely that I would not have thought twice about campaigning for such a cause. Nine years later, after surfacing from my immersion in grief, I raised $3000 to help find the cure to the cancer that claimed my mother's life and I shared an experience with my stepdaughter that we will remember all of our lives.

Although we cannot always control the outcome, we can do what we can to move forward as if we could count on a predictable future. Prior to Monday's rainout, I envisioned a sweaty victory salute to my mom as I crossed the finish line, instead today as I write this, I feel my mom's smile over my shoulder as she helps me to realize that there is even greater victory in letting go and allowing new awareness and possibility to emerge.

Thought for the Day: Is there something in your own life you need to let go of in order to reap the benefits of new awareness and possibility?

Why do I tri?
I tri for health,
for a cure,
for awareness
and to set an example.

I tri to make a difference.

I tri for children
and for adults.
None are immune from disease.

I tri for myself,
to help me remember
it's not too late
and I'm not too old.

To tri and make a difference.
--Kevin Baumann--Team in Training Mentor