Honolulu Advertiser
I admired Vicki Viotti long before I met her. When she chronicled her loss of 20 pounds last year, I found myself riveted by her personal challenge and impressed with her honesty. She told the entire state about her goal. What if she failed? Public humiliation! Yet she confronted that possibility and disclosed both her triumphs and setbacks
In this spirit she and I will share our journey toward the Niketown Na Wahine Sprint Triathlon in September, an all-women’s event in which we will both participate. It will be her first triathlon; I completed my first triathlon 26 years ago at age 9. She wants to finish; I hope to place in the top three.
Our alternating weekly column will do more than describe various ways to prepare for a race. It’s really about setting goals outside your comfort zone, attempting something in life that you’re not really sure you can do. Something that makes your stomach flutter and your heart pump a few beats faster. Something that will leave you with a feeling of accomplishment that could change the way you approach every difficulty in life.
My challenge as coach/cheerleader will be to match Vicki’s authenticity.
The first task? Admit that people consider me an “expert” only because I have a little more experience. Like any neophyte, we veterans are plagued by insecurities (albeit different ones). No matter how many times we race, each one feels like a new experience. Especially in a sport whose gear, tactics and rules are constantly evolving. I am always a student.
The column idea began with a simple conversation in the parking lot. “My friend told me about this race,” Vicki said as we strolled from the News Building for lunch. “It’s a triathlon. Think I can do it?” Before I could answer, she shook her head and waved a hand in one of her distinctly Italian gestures. “Never mind, it’s crazy. I can’t.”
I stopped. “You can!” My long-lost teacher/coach persona returned instantly. “The distances are about half of Tinman, so it’s not too long. You have months to prepare.” Did she have a bike? Could she swim? That mattered less than the determination I knew she possessed.
This attitude is the essential component of racing. And understanding racing means uncovering one of life’s profound survival tactics.
Competing in sports since age 7 — weathering inevitable defeats — has been good training for the past year. I have endured pneumonia, a broken little toe, bronchitis, a broken big toe, a new job and career, a seriously ill parent and other traumatic life changes.
When I interview people who have lost a child or been relegated to life in a wheelchair, I realize that my travails are relatively minor. Even so, the events often have left me doubled over and breathless and tentative.
While my status as an athlete wanes, I hope that my credibility as a cheerleader is on the rise.
As we share the practical, philosophical and humorous, Vicki and I hope you’ll join us on our path to the triathlon — even if this is not your kind of event, then perhaps it can be a small symbol of the next challenge in your life.
By Vicki Viotti, Advertiser Staff Writer
The hard part about fitness for “the rest of us” is not the running, the swimming, the biking and all that.
Oh, what am I talking about? That’s all bloody hard, too.
But the really hard part is the self-portrait etched in your brain back when you were a kid, the reflection of yourself that talks back when you contemplate your running shoes, or consider taking the bike down from the rack, or stare at the rippling pool water that surely will chill you to the bone this early in the morning.
Right now, my reflection is shaking her head, convinced that I must soon come to my senses and admit that I’m not the kind of person who does this.
Last picked for just about any athletic team at school, she’s thinking. Fighting a weight problem most of her life. An existence that’s the antithesis of jock-hood. Who’s fooling whom around here?
“Me!” I answer hotly. I’m fooling myself, at least for now. Eventually, I hope, the devil on my shoulder will pipe down for good, because the angel will have pummeled her into submission.
Deciding to enter a sprint triathlon does not come easily to someone once rattled by the mere mention of the term “sprint,” let alone the second half of that expression. “Triathlon” is Greek to me, in more ways than one.
It started with a decision to lose weight late last summer, paired with a decision to write about that campaign in an ongoing series. For anyone who followed that column: Yes, I am STILL stuck five pounds from my weight goal.
And perhaps the hope of getting unstuck was what resonated when a friend suggested I enter something called the Na Wahine Sprint Triathlon. Partly, that was it. Partly it was feeling flattered that someone would even think I could do it, if only on the strength that I’ve started running for fitness (the swimming and biking part still spook me a bit).
Mainly, it was the idea of checking into a room, presumably at a discounted rate, at the posh ‘Ihilani Resort and Spa the night before the race. The triathlon, an all-women’s event now in its third year, had always been held at Ko Olina, next door, and the ‘Ihilani had put up participants. My husband liked the idea of cheering me on, especially if it meant he could sleep in and easily materialize on the race sidelines well before I’d ever show up.
Imagine my distress — and his — upon learning that the race had been moved to the Kane’ohe Marine base. “I don’t want a room there,” he moaned.
Too late. I’m committed now. And I’ve allowed my office cubicle mate, triathlete and cheerleader Katherine Nichols, to cajole me with her rah-rah speech. I’ve gratefully accepted her offer to advise me on training. Moreover, we decided there’s something in all of this — a veteran reflecting on, and an uninitiate fretting about, pushing beyond one’s comfort zone — that readers might appreciate.
Of course, there have been moments of regret. Not the least of these was the moment right before being photographed standing beside Nichols in a bathing suit. But now that this moment has passed, perhaps I’ve earned everyone’s support, or at least their sympathy.
And now, all that’s left is that reflection with her little voice that wakes me at night and asks if I’m crazy. I’ve got three months to shut her up.
A few others in the series:
http://the.honoluluadvertiser.com/article/2001/Aug/09/il/il02a.html
http://the.honoluluadvertiser.com/article/2001/Sep/13/il/il01b.html
http://the.honoluluadvertiser.com/article/2001/Jul/19/il/il03a.html
http://the.honoluluadvertiser.com/article/2001/Aug/30/il/il02a.html