A Tri Tribute to Dad

I wonder if my Dad realizes he has been a key force in preparing me to do triathlons.

Growing up in Queens, New York, my parents put up a small backyard pool every summer for as long as I can remember. I think I was about five when Dad taught me to swim. While I wish I could remember exactly what happened, I kind of recollect him teaching me to float on my back – holding me at first, then gradually letting go. I also remember him telling me how to move my arms, and then to kick my legs, without a tube. A couple of years later, we were at a resort in the Poconos, my first overnight vacation – and with a “huge” in ground pool. I had been hanging around the shallow end with my mom and aunt for hours until my dad and uncle both encouraged me to jump into the deep end. I remember a feeling of cautious trust – as I leapt in and swam my first length across an in ground pool. I grew up being my Dad’s little fish, loving the water. And just like so many other things besides swimming, if Dad said I could do it, it seemed possible.

Around six or seven, it was time to take the training wheels off my bike. My Mom and Dad took me to my elementary school playground and Dad ran behind me as I struggled with my first pedal strokes to balance my bike on just two thin wheels. And Dad was right there, always within distance of catching me, always encouraging and always making me feel confident and special.

I pretty much figured how to run on my own. Though, when I was in my teens, Dad took up jogging. Nike and Adidas running sneakers were becoming popular – and it was all the craze to own a pair – even if you didn’t run. Dad would go for a run almost every day after work. There were no IPODs at the time, but Dad did have this rather bulky headset for listening to music. One day, I joined him for a run and he showed me the mile route he had planned out through our pretty and quiet neighborhood. I don’t even think I finished a mile the first time we went out, but we ran together a bunch of times and after a while, I was almost able to keep up with him for a few miles. When Dad signed up to do his first 5K in our neighborhood, it was my first exposure to local organized races. Dad was also somewhat of a back-packer in running, and his self-effacing ability to make fun of himself – like his light hearted comments about beating the fire truck – taught me that there was so much more to sports than being fast or winning a race.

So on this day, when I have many, many reasons to be thankful for my wonderful Dad - here are a few of the many ways he has been an inspirational and supportive part of my love for triathlon, and more importantly, my life.

Happy Father’s Day!