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A Boy In Trouble

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We often use an acronym in our house: PITB (pronounced PITUB) for Pain In The Butt. It’s basically a G-rated version of PITA, which I am sure you can figure out.

99.9% of the time it is used like this:

ENOUGH! Stop being a PITB.

And is often preceded by comments like these, spoken in high pitched whiny voices:

 “Fearless is standing in front of the television and I can’t see.

Mami, the beans are TOUCHING my rice. I like rice AND beans, not rice WITH beans.”

Dreamer is putting the air in the back of the van on Max Hot and it’s summer.”

My PITuBS

I have a feeling that even if you are not a parent, you might understand what a PITB in my world means.

Lately, Dreamer has surpassed being a PITB.

Which is fine, nine year olds have phases where they act up to test their behaviors and their limits. However, when I get almost daily calls from school … then it’s no longer about being a PITB; it’s about being a problem.

That is where I am at and I am losing my mind. The details of Dreamers behavior or lack thereof are not that important. Plus, in ten years if he reads this I don’t want him to become a PITB again because he would be horrified I shared his discipline issues with the world. So let’s just say this:

This kid was detention bound.

And once there, he got in trouble. Again. He got in trouble IN detention. I mean, how do you do that? I went right back to The Breakfast Club.

When I got an earful from the security guard and detention monitor Ms. Mary about how Dreamer was laughing I confronted my child. He claimed she was wrong; it wasn’t him. When I told him we were going to go talk to her together, I was surprised he said “sure.”

Ms. Mary is an intimidating woman, the kind you want as a security guard for an elementary school. And so as much as I was concerned and annoyed by Dreamer’s behavior I was having mixed emotions as he addressed Ms. Mary.

The kid has got some gumption.

Petting a Wolf

Last month was the school talent show and he wanted to sing even though he had never had a voice lesson. I was all for it, and told him he should have the music playing in the background just in case he messed up the lyrics. He gasped back at me:

 MAMI, lip synching is cheating.

There I went, projecting my fears and insecurities onto my child again. He agreed to a karaoke version of “Best Day of My Life” for his act. He practiced often: I could hear him singing in the shower, to anyone who would listen, and to those who wouldn’t either.

The show was going to be held at a nearby school with a real auditorium instead of our “cafetorium.” No, that’s not a typo … that is our school’s cafeteria which turns into an auditorium during special occasions. The real auditorium wasn’t filled to capacity, but there were well over 100 people and many of his friends in the audience.

The Talent Show Director had cut 30 seconds of his song, and Dreamer seemed more concerned about that than any nervousness of being on stage. But the morning of the show, as he sang to his dad at breakfast, Dreamer was barely audible and forgot the lyrics.

It’s not that I panicked, but I worried. I worried that he was going to put himself out there and fail. I was projecting failure and fear. However, I did put on my own performance of being calm and collected as I gave him a pep talk and sent him to his assigned seat in the real auditorium as the show was about to start. Either I don’t know my child well, or he seemed rather unphased by it all.

Two acts before he was to be on stage, they called him. As soon as I saw him stand up and head backstage my hands began to sweat and it seemed my heart was beating so loud people sitting next to me could hear it.

All I want is for him to feel good about himself.

I told my husband, whose hands were squished between mine.

The master of ceremony introduced him.

The curtain opened.

The music started and as he began to sing …

No sound came out of the microphone.

NO SOUND.

He looked around unsure if the microphone was on or not. He was clearly uncomfortable but not knowing what to do, he kept singing. He kept singing as the audience, who consisted of mostly parents who want children to succeed, grew more uncomfortable too. I was holding my breath and he kept singing until someone came on the stage and fixed the microphone towards the end of the song.

If it were his Mami on stage, his Mami would be crying. But he held his own.

The format of the talent show works much like America’s Got Talent, so after a performance, a judge speaks about the act. It was the mayor of our town who spoke to Dreamer, and he said

I applaud your determination, you did not give up. If I were going into battle, I’d want you on my side.

That brought a big smile to Dreamer and he exited the stage still bearing it. The organizers rushed out and asked him if he wanted to try again after the intermission, he didn’t hesitate for a second. He got up there, and did it all over again this time making sure the microphone worked.

So I looked at Dreamer who was standing up to Ms. Mary because he did not believe he deserved to be written up in detention.  He was sticking to his story and I was strangely proud. I am fully aware he was having this discussion because he got in trouble while in trouble, and I did hear when the school principal called me  to say he didn’t take this seriously and I support his teachers 100%. I enforce discipline at home and his behavior is something we address every darn day. He needs to be respectful, and let his teachers do their jobs. They can’t teach well if he is as disruptive as they say he is.

But I also think life has other important lessons to teach. I don’t want to raise a kid who is afraid of standing up for what he believes in, afraid of failure, or afraid of what others will think. He needs to respect authority but I want him to be empowered. It’s a tricky lesson at nine years old and while there is no roadmap to follow, I have been going around in circles on this one.

I can’t wait for him to work though this and regain control of his behavior at school without crushing his noble spirit. I hope his teachers get to know the amazing child Dreamer really is, and heck, maybe even enjoy his being a plain ole PITB.

Ironman Arizona Week 2: Testing and Trouble

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One of Wolfpack Joey’s favorite things to say is: “you can’t improve upon what you don’t measure.” Consequently, this was testing week in my Ironman Arizona training plan. The only problem here is my absolute dislike for intensity and testing. It’s not just a sports thing either: SATs, GMATs, final exams. I panic and become dumb. Things that I know how to do don’t come out effectively.

I didn’t pay too much attention on the speed tests for Ironman Florida because I wasn’t too concerned with time. Finishing was good enough. But because I have a time goal for this race, I need to be more aware of my speed and hopefully my improvement. As ugly as it was, I did the run and swim tests. My bike FTP test is scheduled for Monday with Andreas at the Ultrabikex Computrainer Studio.

I was disappointed on all accounts (I was slower than usual on both tests), but being the quintessential cheerleader he is, Joey told me not to worry. There are about 22 weeks left to Ironman Arizona, and I have not been doing any speed work. It takes our bodies a little time to respond to training and to fire up the way we want them to. This was just a baseline. Lip service or not, it was enough to get me feeling good again.

I have stuck reasonably close to the plan, but had to be creative on getting it done. So on Thursday, while my boys rode their skateboards to the park I ran next to them. If they rode their bikes, I wouldn’t be able to keep up but they are not as confident on their boards. We found a good pace until half a block from our house where I stepped on a coconut.

I live in Florida and the street we live on is lined with tall, beautiful coconut trees. This is great except that sometimes they fall on the side walk, and this time there was a baby one about two inches wide and I stepped right on top of it.

I felt my ankle twist, I felt a “crack” and I went down. I felt a sharp pain and for a split second I thought I broke something. I sat on the grass while Fearless sat next to me not knowing exactly what to do. But it was that moment that things still hurt, and I couldn’t really tell him anything. I just held my ankle and waited for the pain to dissipate a little bit, and it did. I couldn’t believe a small coconut brought me down.

I still had to finish walking home, so I got up and limped around a bit. I was pretty sure it was a sprain and not anything broken. I immediately took Advil, iced my ankle and raised it while I watched the Brazil world cup game. Though the ankle was still swollen, stubborn little me still went out for my long ride on Friday as this weekend’s training was dicey due to father’s day. However, I am skipping the run, and letting this heal before this little nothing becomes a something.

I keep remembering: it’s still early and if I was going to twist my ankle on a coconut best for it to happen now, and not in the middle of the heavy training. Therefore, this week came with an added dose of gratitude. Here was the training:

Friday – Bike: Ultrabikex Studio computrainer session. Hill repeats.

Saturday- Swim: 40 minutes open water … met up with a large manta!

Sunday – Bike: 3 hours on easy gear with high RPMs

Monday – unintentional rest day

Tuesday- 5k run test and Monday’s missed swim test

Wednesday – 50 minutes, open water at a lake

Thursday – Run: 40 mins recovery run and sprained ankle

Friday – Bike: 2.5 hours on easy gear with high RPM

How about you? How was your week?

Tri Chat: IronMan Florida Training Week 21 – Taper Trouble

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The less you do, the less you can do.  I’m in the beginning of my IronMan Florida taper.  It’s not that there is no training, but comparing to what I’ve just been through, it’s nothing.  And well, nothing does not motivate me.

I simply was not in the mood for my 40 mile bike ride Sunday.  I struggled on Saturday’s 13 mile run, was still sore, and it’s been a hard week.  I was on my pity pot, in my bed, at 7:30am on Sunday morning.  I laid there with lots of company: Joe, Dreamer, Fearless and Penelope (the cat).

I was telling everybody I had to get up but didn’t want to and Joe told the boys how there was a little angel voice that said “Mami, go ride your bike” and a little devil voice that said “Oh Mami, but the bed is so comfy.”  Immediately Dreamer told me with a sense of urgency: “Mami, you need to listen to the angel voice, you need to go,” and nearly pushed me off the bed.  I had no intention of going and Joe was ruining it for me.

I kept telling Joe to stop, and he would say things like “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.”  I figured, it’s still too early and he hadn’t had coffee yet otherwise he would’ve surely agreed this is NOT the message we want to give our kids.

My thought process was: show Dreamer it’s important to listen to the angel voice because his dad is clearly not on the same page today.  So I got up, got dressed and headed out the door.  My legs were dead, my body heavy, Miami was ridiculously hot.  Dreamer had no idea how LONG I had to ride, so I cut the ride short after 25 miles, all proud of myself for the wonderful example I was giving my children.

Fast forward to the afternoon.  We were going down the stairs and I said “my legs are mad at me today” since they were sore.  Dreamer responded: “that’s what you get for listening to the angel Mami, should’ve gone with the devil.”

“Don’t think the devil will get me to finish IronMan though.” That was the only comeback I could muster, and Dreamer was not impressed.

But I am happy I went out, even if for a little bit because this week I have felt extra tired, slow and heavy. I even began to think that maybe I wasn’t ready after all. Then I got this article:

Ah! When you read something that describes you at this moment it validates your feelings.   I am fatigued, and my run on Saturday left me feeling like there was no way I was going to finish the marathon.  Knowing these thoughts are common help me feel validated, normal, perhaps even understood (at least by some out there). So even if Dreamer thinks I should’ve listened to the devil, I remain strong in my conviction to at least try to do the right thing.  And when I finally cross the finish line in 2 weeks (OMG 2 WEEKS), I’ll circle back and tell him something witty about why you should always listen to the angel.  I don’t have it down yet … but I have 140.6 miles to figure it out.

Week 21 did not look like what was on my training plan but life is life.  This is what I was able to do:

Monday: OWS. Nice and easy.

Tuesday: STRENGTH at Fitness Together. Core and arms.

Wednesday: RUN – Tempo, fast for me.

Thursday: STRENGTH at Fitness Together. Core and more core. 

Friday: OWS. 2 miles

Saturday: BIKE 25 miles, RUN 13 miles

Sunday: BIKE 25 miles

How about you? How was your training week?

Why My Kids Have Cell Phones

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I don’t classify myself as a helicopter parent, but my kids are still young.  At ages eight and ten when the school bell rings to end the day, I am with them until they schlepp to school the next morning. Since they are always with me, or at least near me there was no need for a phone.  I mean a cell phone with a phone line which they can use to call or text.  Like every modern child, they have an electronic pacifier including MY phone.  They have begged me for phones. BEGGED I say, and I really never saw the need for it. But yesterday I buckled down, went to the store, and got them their own cell phones.  Here’s why and how.

We live in a gated community with it’s own basket ball court.  I told the boys to go play and come back in one hour.  As soon as they went down the elevator I thought: they have no way to communicate with me!  I wanted to go downstairs to check on them, but also felt like I needed to trust them. Enter the one hour of unease.

Are they okay? Of course they are okay. Did they make it? Sure they made it. Are they behaving? They must be behaving. They better be behaving.

After all what trouble could these two possibly get in?

After all what trouble could these two possibly get in?

Unsurprisingly they came back alive, well, and sweaty.  Just what I wanted.  It was actually quite perfect.  They got out of the house to be active and for the first time ever, I didn’t have to go with them. It was a window of liberty I haven’t had before … a glimpse of a future I simultaneously long for and dread.

So the next day they went out again, but they took my phone with them so we could reach each other through the land line.  I didn’t hear from them, and I didn’t call them either. But knowing I could was a relief.  After a few days of this, I no longer wanted to share my phone.

So we went to the AT&T store since that is the carrier I use to find options.  We were able to add two lines to our plan with unlimited text and phone at a reasonable price.  I can block data usage so they are only able to use the internet when on Wifi. But we needed to get two new phones.

We got Go Phones at $40 each!

We got Go Phones at $40 each!

We made a deal. These are the basic premises:

Each boy paid for their own phone from their savings and is responsible for it.  You lose it, you break it, you replace it. We would pay for the monthly fee to use the phone as long as the boys do their chores.  No chores, no phone.

They understand the primary purpose for having a phone is to communicate. Anything else they do … as in games, or watching music videos… is gravy.  No complaining if there is no Wifi available because they can still communicate.

When I was in college I learned a good negotiation is one where both sides believe they got a good deal.  I believe this was a good negotiation.

From my perspective I got:

  • Ability to let my boys be more independent
  • Teach my boys responsibility for something they purchased and owned
  • Put chores into perspective. I don’t believe children should be paid to do things they should be doing because they are part of a family.  I don’t believe you should pay a child for making their bed or cleaning their plates. We all have to work to get the things we want. I am teaching them how to take care of themselves but I am not really “paying” them to do it.  I am, but they don’t see it that way.

When I asked Dreamer what he got with the phone he said:

  • I can talk to my friends
  • I don’t have to hassle you for your phone
  • I can text people
  • I can have my OWN phone, my own space like it’s my phone and I can do whatever I want with it

Works for me.

They do read real books.

They do read real books.

We put our new found independence to the test.  Dreamer (age 10) wanted something from CVS.  I didn’t want to go.  CVS is two blocks away from us and across a major road with a stop light.  He said “I can go by myself mami, trust me! I have a phone.”

Unlike his brother, (age 8), Dreamer has a little more common sense and I let him go by himself.  My heart in my hand, his phone in his.

He called me from the store to ask me a question, and then he called me asking if he could stop at the condominium playground to play with a dog that was there. He came back about an hour later sweaty, dirty, and feeling independent.

I have a feeling this will work out for us.

Plus, now I can get texts like these ;)

Plus, now I can get texts like these 😉

Do your children have phones? How do they use it? What do I need to worry about?

Nothing Changes If Nothing Changes

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Nothing changes if nothing changes.

This is so logical and obvious but yet we often get we stuck in our situations and wonder why things aren’t any different.

We look at the challenges and mountains ahead and don’t even try.  We classify things as too hard, difficult or complicated and leave it at that.  It is easier to accept crap than try to change it.

I am in between homes (a long story) and am spending a month or so at an incredibly beautiful apartment right on the beach.  I wake up and look at the ocean.  Awed by its beauty, I look to the sky and thank the universe that through all the troubles that life has thrown at me recently … I have come out reasonably unscathed with two feet on the ground and an exciting road ahead.  And yet I let myself be bogged down by details and errands, by issues and pennies. I wonder why I’m not moving forward yet I am not taking a single step.

So this morning as the boys left for school, I put on my bathing suit and told the world to go do whatever it has to do, but I was going to the beach for one hour.

"My" beach

“My” beach

As soon as my feet hit the sand, I began to think about the myriad of details I had to take care of and plan how I would get them all done.  I had to tell myself to stop thinking.  I would look at the ocean, and wet my feet in the transparent water imagining some sort of magical cleanse only to continue walking and be lost in my to do list about two minutes later.

I toggled between peace and panic the whole two miles out and into the Bill Baggs State Park.  On my way back, I saw a park ranger and I knew what she was doing.  At this time of the year, on this beach, the Loggerhead turtle comes to lay eggs.  Along the miles of beach you see these protected areas and signs.

Key biscayne Loggerhead nests

How about that shadow?

IMG_2161

The Loggerhead are a threatened species.  The females reproduce every 4 years or so and nest an average of four times that year.  She lays 100 – 120 eggs in each of these nests yet only one in one thousand hatchlings live to adulthood. That is why the park as well as the Village of Key Biscayne go to great lengths to protect these turtle nests.  You can read more about the efforts here.

I looked down and saw these tracks, something I had never seen before and I was giddy with excitement.

IMG_2155

The bottom track is where the turtle came up the beach, the track on top was her return to the water.

I spoke to the ranger for a minute as she explained how she knew it was a Loggerhead and how she was going to put a screen on top of the eggs to protect them from raccoons.  As I thanked her for the information and for her hard work, she thanked me for my interest and thanked the woman who was with her: a volunteer for the park.

Bill Baggs State Park ranger and volunteer hard at work.

Bill Baggs State Park ranger and volunteer hard at work.

I was all smiles about seeing the loggerhead track and began looking at the sand to see what else I found.  I came across crab holes, and even saw a few of the crabs running into them.  I also saw loads of trash, left over from the beachgoers who enjoyed a beautiful Miami beach Sunday yesterday.

I juxtaposed the plastic bottles on the sand with the marked turtle nest.  What a shame, those bottles would end up in the ocean and hurt these same turtles.  So I picked up the plastic bottles and threw them in the trashcan which was literally twenty feet away. I continued picking up bottles the entire way back.  I left a diaper though (yuck).

FullSizeRender

The purpose of this post is not to give myself a pat on the back for picking up trash although I must say I felt so much better when I finished my walk.

If you read closely, all this happened on my way BACK.  That means, that on my way there I walked right past these same plastic bottles and it didn’t register that I should pick them up.

Nothing changes if nothing changes.

I can either go through life stuck in my never ending to do list and worried about the issues that I face, or I can look at the world around me and do my part to make it a little bit better. If no one picks up the trash, the trash will stay there.

I can make the change. I’ll take the latter.

IMG_2163

Race Recap: Bike Sebring

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Some women prefer to go shopping, others to a SPA, but I like to go on long bike rides. Therefore a twelve hour bike race sounded wonderful, and I signed up for Bike Sebring without really knowing what to expect.

This is how it works: you start at 6:30AM and ride three loops around the Sebring racetrack. Next you head out and back for 89 miles and return to the racetrack with 100 miles down. Then you ride on an 11-mile loop as many times as possible until time runs out. Whoever rides the most miles, wins.

It was going to be cold which made packing easy … I had to take everything I had to try and keep warm. I also had to run to the store and buy more winter weather gear.

I drove up with my friend Stephanie for an untraditional girls weekend. We got to the Chateau Elan Hotel on Friday night. It’s not what you expect; it’s neither a Chateau nor a really tacky place pretending to be a Chateau in the middle of central Florida. If you are going to do Sebring, spare yourself the extra trouble and just stay there.

The hotel lobby was filled with very fit looking men; I barely saw any women. I looked at Stephanie and we immediately realized we were completely out of our league. Bike Sebring is also a RAAM Qualifier – that is, cyclists race 24 hours alone to qualify for the Race Across America, deemed by some as the toughest race on the planet. I didn’t let any of it really bother me, my attention was turned to the freezing cold weather.

The next day, we were told to park our car with whatever supplies we needed on the grass in the “pit.” I still wasn’t sure about the details because the instructions assume you’ve been there before. Yet everyone was friendly, and helpful to the ambiguous level they could be. Or maybe I was just too nervous to understand what they were saying.

Since Stephanie and I are at different paces we said our goodbyes as we headed to the start line; I was surprised there were so few competitors. At exactly 6:30AM, Valentines Day morning, I started riding at the back of the pack.

It was dark and freezing cold. My feet immediately went numb, and the thought of “WTF am I doing here” crossed my mind within the first five minutes. I met up with Sheryl, a woman in her sixties doing the twelve-hour race which was on her bucket list. Since drafting is legal, we decided to ride together and take turns pulling.

It’s pretty cool to ride inside the racetrack. As the sun came out, you could see the black tire marks on the pavement and the turns that test a driver’s ability. I thought my kids would’ve gotten a kick out of that.

As we headed out to the 89 mile loop, we met up with another rider, Jarred from Texas. I thought: “this is great! We go picking people up along the way to form a pace line. This will be fun.” Unfortunately, it didn’t last. Sheryl fell back while Jarred sped ahead. I was on my own.

And it was perfect. Though my feet were frozen, everything else was fine. The sun began to shine and the ride was gorgeous through orange groves. There were some gentle hills that lasted forever, with a few shorter and higher inclinations but nothing difficult or unmanageable. It was the terrain I love to ride but seldom do. I couldn’t be happier.

There were barely any cars, and every once in a while you would meet up with a rider along the way. Though drafting is legal for the twelve hour, everyone did their own thing. I would mostly pass, with all due respect, older people. I was surprised at how many grey haired cyclists where out there and thought “when I grow up I want to be like them.” There’s hope.

I was accomplishing what I came to do. I wanted to ENJOY the ride without stressing myself out about competing, without exerting pressure on my psyche, to fall in love with this stuff again. And I am pretty sure I smiled the entire time.

Until I hit mile ninety. It was a busy road, with lots of traffic, and the shoulder where we had to ride had rumble strips. The choice was to either go through them or scoot into the road and into traffic. Admittedly I am a wuss, but this did not seem safe to me at all. And if I don’t do this in Miami, I certainly didn’t want to be riding along speeding cars in Sebring. All the wonderful feelings of riding disappeared as cars literally flew by me. At one point, I had to cross a short bridge with no shoulder, and a truck honked at me from behind. In these situations, there is safety in numbers, but I was on my own and facing a headwind to make things that much more miserable.

In the distance, I saw bikes getting back on the road from the raceway. I realized that I was approaching the turn to finish the long loop, but would be getting back on this road as part of the short loop. That was discouraging.

I made it into the raceway and finally it made sense to me. You rode along the pit with cars lined up on your left, then came a u turn over a timing mat, and you rode back out onto the short loop passing by the pit lined with parked cars, tents and people.

A word to any crew people reading this: YOU ARE SAINTS. I didn’t go with a crew, and I am not sure I would put my family through that. You guys sat there, waiting for your cyclists to come and bark orders. One guy in front of me yelled at his crew as he cycled towards the timing mat “protein bar and HEED.” This was not a RAAM qualifying super athlete, it was an older guy. It shocked me that he was so bossy; no “please, thank you, or hi.” And his crew had his stuff ready for him as he approached from the U-Turn. They gathered around massaging his neck and rubbing something on his legs. As much as I love my athlete friends, I’m not sure I could put up with that.

I headed out onto the eleven mile short loop with 102 miles on my Garmin, still as happy as I could be. You head South on that crazy road for a mile or two, then turn to ride along a lake, an orange grove, go up a steep short hill, and fly back with tailwind into the speedway. At 112 miles I thought “at least I don’t have to run a marathon now.” I had gone the distance I ride at Ironman.

The nice thing about the short loop is that you see many other cyclists and get looped by the RAAM qualifying beasts. On the long loop, you could go for miles on your own.

And then it came. My wall. I felt tired, and was no longer having fun.

The body achieves what the mind believes

I know how to get over the wall and continue on. I am trained to do that. But my thought was “Why?”

As I wrote here, I’ve been in a funk and my Doctor recommended I dial things back a notch and do things I enjoy for the sake of enjoying them; not to prove to myself, or anyone else, that I am capable. It was Valentines Day and my family was home while I was going to spend the night at a hotel in Sebring.

I was at a crucial point. If I went another loop I would be at 125 miles – further than I have ever ridden in one day. The couple of times I got to 120 miles I was not alone so this would really be a personal best and I wanted it. I took some reviving salt pills and headed out for another loop.

On that one, I realized that if I stopped at 125 miles it would still be early enough to make it home for dinner. If I went for a third loop, I’d probably miss my window to make it home so I might as well do the twelve hours. I had a choice to make.

Completing the race would give me bragging rights and a higher number of miles to add to my personal record. But I couldn’t see how that would be make a happier, healthier or better, individual.

Until that point I had an amazing day. Why not finish on a high note, where I got a personal best and still made it home for dinner. Wouldn’t that be balance?

Stephanie had finished the century with a hurt knee and since it was her wedding anniversary, she was okay with leaving.

As we drove out, we saw cyclists on the short loop. I second-guessed myself a couple of times but quickly got over it when Joe and the boys seemed happy I was coming home.

I checked the results and Sheryl finished her twelve hours. I couldn’t be happier for her, and as I snuggled on the couch with my family watching Shane for the millionth time, I couldn’t be happier for myself too.

I would absolutely do Bike Sebring again … but in a group. It gets lonely out there, and a group would be able to keep a good solid pace. The Rotary Club organizes the race and they do a great job. The price is right, the distance is close, and if you like riding … I wouldn’t hesitate a single second to tell you to go for it.

Dreamer Takes A Hike

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When I got news from my sponsor Got Chocolate Milk that I would be competing in Ironman Arizona, Joe and I decided to travel the week following the race.  I got some looks from the boys’ school, but most teachers understood travel is learning on steroids. They gave us the work that had to be done, and we set off to the desert.

On Tuesday I booked a half-day climbing trip with 360 Adventures. My boys, especially Dreamer, are crazy about climbing and are constantly tempting fate – both theirs and the tree they are on. The climb was not cheap, so Dreamer gave up hosting a birthday party when he turned nine in October for the chance to climb on a real rock. We live in Miami, with no rock in sight only a climbing gym and trees, both of which we do often. You can check my Instagram feed if you need proof!

The excitement Tuesday morning was palpable as we drove to the Tom Thumb trailhead near Scottsdale.  By Miami standards we were in the middle of nowhere, and would need to hike up about a mile to get to the rock the boys were climbing; something my post Ironman legs did not appreciate. Yet Dreamer was so excited I couldn’t help but smile and pretend I was as limber as a ballerina.

I liked our guide Bill from the moment we met. In addition to helping us get organized, he was extra patient when, after everyone finished going to the bathroom, Fearless finally decided he better go too … and took his time pooping.

Bill talked to the boys about climbing, the desert, and animals. He asked questions and treated them with respect. He cared about what each one said and answered all inquiries with equal importance.

Turns out Bill was an engineer … a rocket scientist really. He did work for private companies, NASA, the military and such. He began hiking as an adult when his son, then eleven, got into rock climbing. Though his son eventually lost interest in the sport, Bill kept on climbing and apart from his guiding at 360 Adventures he is also the Lead Volunteer at the Arizona Mountaineering Club. It’s easy to see Bill does not do this kind of work for the money.

Bill brought out the best in Dreamer. Let’s just say my third grader hasn’t been a walk in the park lately, as any of his teachers can attest to. And though he is incredibly smart and filled with potential, it’s hard for him to stay focused and excited about something for any length of time. He would rather be outdoors than inside, and up on a tree instead of on the ground. Dreamer was in heaven.

He listened to everything Bill had to say as a monk would’ve listened to the Buddha himself. As he soaked up the day he asked Bill:

“Do you have anything challenginger? I want to test my limit.”

My ears stood up, and not because of challenginger.

“Yeah, I want to know how far I can go.”

That was music. I haven’t seen that drive in him for a while, and if there is one thing I want my kids to be are boundary pushers.

Athletically speaking, I have been confined most of my life. Whereas I was never fearful of changing jobs, starting organizations, or taking leaps in my career my limits were reached rather easily when it came to anything physical. Running a marathon? Too hard. An Ironman? Impossible. These things weren’t safe, they didn’t directly relate to any sort of “success” in the life model I was brought up in. Even my mother tells me she is not sure where “I got it from.” She says she wasn’t raised with ambition, and she didn’t raise me with it either.

But there must have been something in the water then, because I thrive on challenge and whither in complacency. I am at my best when I set a goal just over my reach; and after each adventure my reach is higher.

Therefore to sit there (because I wasn’t moving much two days after Ironman Arizona), and listen to my son ask his guide to make things harder for him was validation.

In order for me to test my own limits, as a family we make sacrifices. I don’t have a steady job with an income stream, and I often miss movie night so I can wake up at 5:00am to ride my bike. But my hope is I am teaching my boys to look at seemingly impossible goals, shrug their shoulders, and rather than question their ability to reach them just smile and get to work.

Bill told me my boys were learners; he was as impressed as I was with Dreamer’s determination. He doesn’t know Dreamer in a school context, but he caught my son doing exactly what he is passionate about. He saw the best version of Dreamer.

We were heading to the Grand Canyon next, and Bill suggested a hike through the South Kaibab Trail to the appropriately named “Ooh Ahh Point.” And then go a bit further to Cedar Ridge for a total of three miles that would take us close to five hours to complete.

I have to admit I am not a fan of heights, and this hike is as straight shot down as you can get without a rope. The path is about five feet wide, plenty for a reasonable person to walk down without falling into the abyss. But Fearless was particularly jumpy, and I was unsure those five feet were enough to safely contain my firecracker.

Warning signs were everywhere.  They said not to go to down to the river and back the same day or risk death by exhaustion.  They warned there was no water on the trail, take more than you need or risk dehydration.  And the one that got to me: “Remember your trip with joy or regret … the choice is yours.”

Unfortunately, I saw a book as thick as an 1800s Russian novel about deaths on the Canyon. Every year, hundreds of tourists die doing stupid things … including falling off while taking selfies!

We started down the trailhead with caution. In fact, Fearless was in awe of the Canyon and had a respectful fear. He hugged the wall as much as he could and we all walked carefully down the mile to Ooh Ahh Point.

We stopped for snacks and careful picture taking. Yet Dreamer wanted something “challenginger” again. He wanted to get down to the next level, Cedar Ridge. However, the path to get there was more narrow and less maintained. Fearless was not convinced he wanted to go, and we all knew it took twice as long to go up than to go down.

I remembered: “joy or regret?” To whom would it matter how far down the Canyon we would go? Getting to Ooh Ahh was beautiful enough and gave us a joyful experience. Did we have to push it and go just a bit farther and risk ending this in regret with whiny, tired boys or worse, adding a page to the awful Death on the Canyon book?

“Dumb Miami Family Plunges To Death” could be our title.

Yet, I wanted to encourage Dreamer’s new found gusto for pushing himself so we decided on something in between. Dreamer and I would hike down further, to where the layer of soil changes from Kaibab to the beat red Toroweep. The trail also turned a bit and we would get a different view of the canyon. We promised to be back in fifteen minutes while Joe and Fearless hung out at Ooh Ahh.

We headed down, and instead of worrying about Fearless jumping off the canyon as he skipped down, I had to worry about an overconfident Dreamer billy-goating as if he had grown up in the mountains.

I stopped him on a bend on the way down, with the different soil and a spectacular view. We took a picture and began the hike back up.

Dreamer walked ahead … confident, focused. He said hi to every person cautioning “the way back is a lot a harder.” By the time we got to Ooh Ahh, his face was beat red and sweaty. It was a strenuous climb but I didn’t hear a peep. In fact, both boys headed up the Canyon as if they were on springs. I had trouble keeping up with them, resorting to shouting “hug the wall” as often as I could.

The path was not wide enough for hikers who were going up to pass those who were coming down at the same time. Therefore, when facing someone there is a momentary pause while the other party passes. At each encounter Dreamer chatted a storm: “how far down are you going today?” or “where are you coming back from?”

It was watching my kids at their best. I wrote Bill and mentioned our hike and Dreamer’s desire to push himself. He replied “He’s in that great age range when he just gets better and better.  I have to warn you that it doesn’t last; remember those teen years?  However, with patience, you will be absolutely amazed at the wonderful person he will grow into.  How can you not respect and honor children!”

He’s right. How can we not respect and honor the spirit inside each child? I forget that in our day-to-day stress of school, activities, homework, meals, etc. That is why travelling and having new experiences are so important. That’s when you find out what you, or your children, are really made up of.

And you might just be pleasantly surprised.

Race Recap: Ironman Arizona 2014

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Ironman Arizona (IMAZ) was not fun; I continuously questioned why I was even there, and whether I would ever race 140.6 again. I cried and cursed more than usual; the thought of quitting, though brief, crossed my mind. Even if I was not as well trained as I was for Ironman Florida (IMFL), my optimistic goal was to match my time of 13h43’ but I would’ve been thrilled with 14 hours. I wasn’t even close.

If there is one thing about Ironman is expect the unexpected. The distance is so great that plenty can go wrong in any of the three sports. And so it happened to me.

It’s not how the day started though. I felt calm and confident, having slept a full seven hours before my 4:00am wake up call. I set up my transition, and even found a port-a-potty with no line. A miracle in an Ironman start.

I had been lonely in Arizona, and thankfully the Miami crew took care of me. Joe and the boys would arrive on race day and knowing they would be waiting for me added to my determination to get this race done.

IMAZ is one of the few mass swim starts still left in the Ironman circuit. That means athletes are in the water, the gun starts, and everyone starts swimming at the same time. That made me nervous, and my strategy was to stay to the left (away from the wall, towards the middle of the lake) and closer to the front. I’m a decent swimmer, and even if I barely practiced since the Alligator Swim, I was afraid of getting stuck behind a slower group as in IMFL.

Waiting for the gun to sound, I was treading water when the area around me grew more dense. I knew as soon as the gun sounded, the guys in front would probably kick me while the ones behind might try to swim over me. Both thoughts were appalling, and a moment of panic struck. Yet as the gun went off, I began to swim and all intimidation was left at the start line. Someone slapped me, another pushed me to the side, and I became a defensive swimmer. Mess with me and I start kicking harder. Sorry – it was survival of the fittest.

Before I knew it I was turning and the predominant thought was: too bad the swim at Ironman isn’t any longer. This is going well, and soon I was done: 1h18’

For the amount of training I put in I was perfectly happy, still on target, and actually ran to the changing tent.

At IMFL, I took my time at transition. If they were offering coffee and a newspaper I would’ve stopped for both. This was an easy place to scrape off a few minutes. While many people wear the same tri kit for the whole race, I do a complete wardrobe change. I’d rather be comfortable. But to save time I pre-packed my cycling shirt with everything I needed and sealed it with duct tape. That way, all I had to do was put it on and was ready to go.

Heading out of transition was a blast with a ride through a narrow corridor filled with cheering spectators. You head into Tempe town, and after about seven miles you get onto the Beeline approximately a 2% grade incline for ten miles. The course was this 37 mile loop – three times.

The first aid station was around mile four. I didn’t see any bikes stopped so I decided to make a bathroom pit stop. That’s when I noticed I hadn’t started my Garmin. Shoot. I hit start, got on the bike and was ready to roll when a few hundred yards later I heard a pheeesh. I got a flat.

Really? Already? Fortunately, I was reasonably close to the aid station where Tribe Multisport had a bike repair stand. I decided it was probably faster to head there than try to go at it alone, so I began running back. A volunteer saw me, and offered to take my bike while I ran ahead, in my cycling shoes, carrying my wheel.

Mitch, from Tribe Multisport, helped me out and I was on my way. I thought, if I were going to get a flat in an Ironman; this was the way to do it.

Not even two miles later my bike felt weird again but it was so windy I couldn’t hear anything, and wasn’t sure what was going on. Then someone in their 70s passed me (no disrespect) and I thought “how?” I pulled over and there it was, flat number two.

I said “FU** me” apparently quite loudly and a guy ran towards me. I was embarrassed because I rarely curse and told him, “I didn’t mean that literally!” He introduced himself as Ben Stone and helped change my tire. Something was wrong with my wheel though, and after some banging and prodding he fixed it up for me. Though as fast, friendly, and efficient as Ben was, that took some time.

“There goes my chance for a personal best,” I thought. Yet instead of disappointment, much to my surprise, the thought was met with relief: the pressure was off. I wasn’t sure how much time I lost, but my Garmin reading put me at a pathetic average of 10mph.

I read somewhere there were about 600 flats that day mostly because the wind blew thorns from cacti and other vegetation onto the road. That should give you an indication that it was windy.

And that indication would be completely off. It was beyond windy.

Varying estimates placed the wind at sustained 20-25mph with higher gusts. To make things worst, the headwind hit you on the way up the Beeline. I put my head down and got to work, passing more often than I was passed.

I knew I could blow up my legs but the way I saw it was the run was going to suck no matter what, so I might as well rescue my bike. I inched forward, and when I finally turned around I got the tailwind. That was FUN, and coasting was a nice break. Then I remembered the accident I saw, with a man being placed on a wooden board pretty beaten up.

I hit my brakes. Joe and the boys were flying in at that very moment and we were going to head out on a one-week vacation after the race. We had been planning, talking, dreaming and looking forward for a year … if I fell, I would ruin it. My family had sacrificed enough during my training for me to risk getting hurt trying to make up a couple of minutes.

Except my Garmin told me my average speed had only increased to 13mph even after the descent. For someone who wanted to race at 17.5/18 mph that was a let down. I wanted to quit.

At that rate, I was afraid I would miss the bike cut off. In Ironman, if you haven’t gone a certain distance by a certain time, officials take your timing chip off and pull you out of the course. You do not finish. I’m nowhere near fast, but the cut offs never were a problem for me. I didn’t even know what they were. But at 13mph I thought I was at risk.

Fear led me to push hard on the second loop. The wind had picked up even more and the way up felt like a march of death: a quiet single file line. No one was smiling, cheering each other, or even exchanging any words. We were all too focused on pedaling and not tipping over. I did call out “hey cactus buddy” to any cactus buddy I saw. These are people from a Facebook group which I loved being a part of. We all purchased tattoos to wear during the race so we could recognize each other. Proceeds from the sales were donated to a local Tempe charity.

I barreled through the wind to the top, but on my way down I would control my speed and was often passed by people zooming by.

The end of the second loop I considered quitting again, this time much more seriously as the thought of enduring the wind again seemed too big for me. But I was racing for Brianna, an eight year old girl in my son’s class who passed away waiting for a heart transplant. I have been talking to her mom who lives in a constant disappointment, in a life that’s incomplete. I did not want to be another disappointment for that family. I imagined Brianna there with me, worried that this too will be a failure, much like her heart failed her. I did not want to carry that load. I told her “don’t worry sweet heart, if someone thinks I am going to quit is because they don’t know me.”

I asked someone if I was at risk of missing the cutoff and they said not by a long shot. I relaxed, and began heading up the hill. Miraculously, it felt better than the previous two times. I pedaled without compassion for my legs. They were doing okay, but my privates were screaming.  I would stop every 15 miles and apply a new coat of Vaseline, which I always carry with me. I lost all dignity, but gained much needed relief.

On the way back down, I looked at my Garmin, which said I was riding at 14mph. It finally dawned on me it was crazy as I knew I was going at least 20mph. I realized things were not great, but may not be as bad as I thought. I enjoyed second-guessing the numbers and riding in suspense. I was feeling strong, and at no point did I feel woozy or sick.

I came into transition, changed outfits as fast as I could and headed out for the run. Nine hours had gone by in an instant, and all hopes of finishing near my Ironman Florida time were gone. Yet I still had a marathon ahead of me, where the run is by far my weakest sport.

Somewhere, before the race even started, I knew I would be walking as I struggled on almost every training run. I began the marathon at my correct pace, but was waiting for the inevitable collapse.

I ran 4:1 intervals. Run for four minutes, walk for one; a strategy that works well for me. However the walk breaks didn’t always coincide with the water stations so I was a bit loose on the formula. Nothing really hurt, except my mind.

In my thoughts I wanted to walk more than I wanted to run. By then I knew I would finish, and my race time was blown anyways. I caught up to Mike, a friend from Miami somewhere around mile 10. He said he was struggling and I stayed with him a bit. He kept pushing me to go ahead of him, but what he didn’t know was that I was looking forward to a walk/run buddy. I would’ve stayed with him the entire time were it not for the thought that Joe and the boys were waiting for me and it was freezing cold for warm weather folks like us. I had to try to pick up my speed and with much regret, left Mikey’s company.

Soon enough, I was at the half way point and looking forward to getting a jacket from my special needs bag. That’s when I saw them. I heard my kid’s voices over a loud cheering crowd and a flood of emotions swept me. I hugged and kissed them, we walked together for a mile while I told them about the wind, bike, flats, and struggles. I wished they could’ve stayed with me longer but they were frozen. Joe was going back to the hotel, and would return to see me finish. I warned him it was going to take a while as I still had a half marathon and was about to slow down.

Seeing them did give me a boost, and all of a sudden I was at mile 15. My body was holding up quite well, I had some stomach troubles but the folks from BASE Performance took fantastic care of me. Between their salt and amino acid drink, and the grapes on the course I didn’t need as many gels and my stomach problems eased.

My legs were also fine. I’ve had runs where I was in so much pain I couldn’t take another step. It wasn’t the case that night.

But even if all systems were a go, my mind kept me from running. And in that frame of mind, no amount of salt, Gu, energy or music will get you running for any respectable amount of distance.

I would start chatting with someone, and tell myself “it’s rude to just leave them.” I knew Joe was tracking me, and figured he’d take his time to get to the finish. And so the last six miles went. I met up with other Cactus Buddies, chatted a while, ran a bit, walked a lot.

I passed the BASE Performance folks one last time, and they walked with me giving me the final encouragement I needed. With about half a mile to go, I was talking to a man from California when I heard “there she is!”

It was Joe and the boys again. I hugged and kissed them knowing it was almost over. I told Joe not to worry that I would never be doing that again (hmmmm – can I take that back?) and we walked together until the finish shoot where they could not go with me.

The finish line was incredible. It’s what gets you hooked each time. This one was very narrow, but loud and bright. I high fived every hand that was stuck out, and was smiling from ear to ear. It was over. I finished, with my hand in my heart, thanking Brianna for keeping me company this whole way.

A week has past since Ironman Arizona, and I have been traveling around the desert with my family. I’ve had plenty of time to think, and to come to terms with my performance. I earned that finish line, but I could’ve been better on the run.

Perhaps I could’ve come in fifteen minutes earlier? Maybe? In a race of fifteen hours it really isn’t that big deal. So it’s not the time that bothers me. The wind and flats took out any hope of fourteen hours. It was my mentally checking out that bothers me. Quitting was never an option, and Brianna helped with that. But I didn’t leave it all out on the course, and that is eating at me.

Until I put it in prospective and think … “holy cow, I just did an Ironman.”

And in the end, finishing is all that matters. Difficulties just make the finish line sweeter, and maybe Ironman Arizona was more fun than I originally gave it credit for.

Thank you to my incredible sponsors who helped me get there: Got Chocolate Milk, Ultrabikex Studio, TriVillage.com, See Me In The Dark, IRun Company and my training team Wolfpack Tri. You all rock!

Ironman Arizona Week 8: Heat and Hydration

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If I had to choose between training in severe heat or severe cold, I would choose heat. Hands down.

I ran in Vermont over Christmas break, in some ungodly cold weather. First I had to put layers upon layers of borrowed clothing items since I don’t own any. Then, the cold hit me in the face as soon as I walked outside and seemed to freeze my lungs as it hurt to even breathe. As I began to sweat, at first I would get too hot, but if I stopped the sweat seemed to get instantly cold and I would freeze again. It was miserable.

Which doesn’t mean that running in the heat doesn’t have it’s challenges as I learned, yet again, this week. I am from Brazil and I live in Miami. I can handle hot. But then again, I never did more than sit in a pool or swim in the ocean. Training for an Ironman takes heat issues to a whole new level. Last year, I was training for Ironman Florida during the summer, but I was away in Europe for over six weeks (boo hoo, I know, poor me.) So I guess I missed the brunt of it.

This weekend I had a seventy-mile bike ride. It started off in the almost dark, then got cloudy, then we had a storm with a downpour and then out came the sun with all its strength. It was hot but not hell. I made a mental note: “I need to bring salt pills for these.”

I sweat too much. It’s not a medical condition (I think) but when I workout and look at someone doing the same workout next to me, I am usually drenched in sweat and the other person is just starting to break one. I go through water bottles as if they were going out of style, and have to stop often to replenish. Yet if I sweat too much and drink too much water two things happen: first my stomach complains and begins to churn where I can feel the water slushing around. That is neither pleasant nor effective. But second, I get dizzy. My sodium levels have decreased too much between sweating and drinking too much water. In a sense, I am diluting my electrolytes.  I am not a doctor, so please don’t quote me on this. But it’s my experience, and so when I begin to get woozy, I take a salt pill. In a matter of minutes, 99% of the time, BING: I am revived. I gain my senses once again, and continue on my merry way as if nothing had happened. Later, I am very conscious of rehydrating at home. Weird huh?

Why don’t I take electrolytes with me you ask? I drink so much liquid that it’s impossible to bring enough Gatorade or the like as I need to refill my bottles constantly. In fact, my running courses are designed by access to water fountains. The salt tablets are easy enough, and I just pop one in when I notice it is really hot and I seem to be drinking a lot of water. But I am wondering if I should try a different strategy for Ironman Arizona.  I know there are several new products out there.

My long run on Sunday was a disaster. It was so hot, I needed so much water, that I was a dizzy mess by the end of my twelve miles.  Instead of making a mental note about those salt tablets, I should’ve put one in my running kit.  Instead, they were at home and doing me no good. But I finished the run, and slow as it was, I felt it an accomplishment given how I was feeling.

I got home feeling awful, and went straight to the fridge. I downed my chocolate milk, and then ate something that was heaven on earth. When I did the GEICO Road Safety Bike Tour with 400 miles in four days, I was taught to sprinkle coarse sea salt on watermelon. Things rarely taste as good as that. I devoured my watermelon while my kids looked on in horror. And magically, I felt better.

As for the training recap here it is.

Monday: REST – not really, but I took it.

Tuesday: SWIM – some semblance of a pool workout but not really. I wasn’t too serious or motivated.

Wednesday: RUN – 5 miles

Thursday: BIKE/RUN – Did the NYC Triathlon course at Ultrabikex Computrainer Studio, and then went on a 5 mile run with Carol. The only problem is that we BEGAN to run at noon, and it was very hot. I also didn’t have breakfast because boys were giving me trouble to get to camp, and did not fuel right before heading out.

Friday: SWIM – Ocean open water, 2 miles. I am fond of those.

Saturday: BIKE – 70 miles with middle 50 at tempo pace (most of the time)

Sunday: RUN – 12 miles. This is where the heat beat me up.

 I need to look closer at the hydration part of my plan especially as we still have some hot months with many miles. Any suggestions? What do you use to stay hydrated and healthy on your hot workouts?

From Tragedy to Triumph: The Aaron Cohen Life Protection Act

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Although I am an eternal optimist, at my old age I sometimes let cynicism enter my psyche. I refuse to get into politics on this blog, it is not the place for it though I have my opinions. Yet I remember while I was growing up in Brazil to an expat family, the United States sounded like the promise land. Each summer, I’d come to visit and was impacted by the hundreds of cereals to choose from at the supermarket.  And like the cereal, I believed the United States was a country of such abundance and intelligence that certain things would never happen here. Things that in a country like Brazil, with millions living in poverty and a broken legal system, could. I am not saying this was an accurate portrayal of either Brazil or the United States, but that is how I thought. I was sure that “XYZ could never happen in the US, because if it was getting close, someone would find a solution.” So there was no way a meteor would crash and destroy New York City, because someone would find a way out of it … it was the USA after all.  But time and time again XYZ has happened: from gun control to immigration things I thought we’d never get to are here. Regardless of what side of the aisle you sit on, there are reasons to be concerned. But not all is lost, and this is not even a post about the United States. It’s about a group of people who lived up to that idealism, and restored my faith that this is still a great country.

On February 15, 2012 there was a fatal hit and run crash on the William Powell Bridge which connects Miami to Key Biscayne, where I live. While Aaron Cohen and Enda Walsh set out on their morning bike ride shortly before 6:00am, Michele Traverso seemingly left a bar and was driving home to Key Biscayne. He hit the cyclists and took off to hide. Enda suffered several injuries, but Aaron died from his. He left behind a wife and two children under three years old.

At the time, I was just getting into triathlons. I had joined a team and we trained on that bridge, in the early morning, twice a week. Aaron Cohen was killed on a Wednesday, but had it been Tuesday, it could’ve been me.

The thought paralyzed me and I almost gave up cycling all together. You can read about that here. Then, after much talking with Joe, he convinced me that as long as I do everything in power to be safe, then I should ride my bike and not live in fear. I could have a car accident too, but I didn’t think about it every time I drove.

I listened and took my three pronged approach. First, I became an ultra conservative rider: I ride indoors often, stop at all lights, I rarely ride with people I don’t know, and never in the dark. Second, I co-founded Bike Key Biscayne to advocate for bike safety in my community, and third, I participated in the GEICO Road Safety Bike Tour to bring statewide attention to the issue. All this is documented under the “Advocacy” tab above (though you have to scroll down, this was a while ago!)

Though important, these were small steps. They remained individual actions and limited in their impact. Michele Traverso, the driver that fateful Wednesday morning went to trial and received less than a year in jail for his crime. Because he fled the scene of the accident and only turned himself in hours later, there was no proof he was under the influence. The law, the way it was, did not penalize you for lacking human decency by trying to get away with murder. The law used to carry a mandatory minimum four year sentence for a fatal crash ONLY if you were driving under the influence. Traverso, who lives in my parents building, knowingly or not, took advantage of that as he holed in his house for hours and got sober.

So, if you were under the influence and had a fatal crash, even if you stayed to help your victim, called 911, and whatever else you could do, you still had a minimum 4 year sentence. But if you ran away and weren’t busted for a DUI you didn’t have that sentence.  Let’s say you crash and you were under the influence. You know you are in a serious amount of trouble. It would be best to flee first, and then turn yourself in when you are nice and sober so you don’t get that minimum four years.

And that is what Traverso did. They could not prove he had been under the influence and so he served less than one year for the death of Aaron Cohen.

Traverso’s sentencing was met with indignation by many in our community, and that indignation turned into action.

My dear friend and teammate Mickey Witte, along with others namely Mary Walsh (whose husband Enda was also injured on that crash) began hosting meetings to do something about this. Unsure of where to go with it, the group decided to check into the legal system. From the many discussions, they came up with the proposal: change the law so that the penalty for leaving the scene of an accident is at least as grave as the penalty for a DUI.

And so their quest began. It took over a year and a half but they gathered signatures, spoke at club meetings, garnered support from local elected officials who then took the bill to the Florida House and Senate in Tallahassee. Mickey, Enda, and Cohen’s wife Patty took numerous trips to the state capitol to speak on the issue.

Do you know what happened?

They changed the law.

The Aaron Cohen Life Protection Act changes the law so that if you leave the scene of a fatal crash, you also get the minimum mandatory four year sentence. The law also describes a vulnerable road user: a cyclist, pedestrian, construction worker – people with a legitimate right to be on the road but not protected by metal. Granted, I know that if you are drunk, and driving, you don’t have the werewithall to think all this through. But if the message is loud and clear, then it will be one more reason for you to exhibit decency and stay at the scene of a crash. Just as everyone knows you get in serious trouble for drinking and driving, soon, everyone will know you get into serious trouble for leaving the scene of an accident.

I’m not a lawyer, so I might have some details missing. However, the point is because this grassroots group would not give up (there were plenty of setbacks along the way), yesterday, Governor Rick Scott was right here in Key Biscayne to sign the Aaron Cohen Life Protection Act into law.

Hundreds of cyclists gathered around to honor not only Aaron and his family, but all those who have died … and there are many. It is absurd how common hit and runs are.

I’ve watched the process from the sidelines and certainly was a cheerleader; I wanted to make sure my kids went to the ceremony. They know about Aaron’s story, but I wanted them to see the Governor, to see everyone there, the press, and to see how someone they know, Mickey, could be a part of this whole big thing and help put together something important. I asked Lilly, their triathlon coach, if she wanted to join us and she did … with another seven kids.

It was pouring down rain at 3:00pm, while our departure time was 4:00pm. The ceremony was held at the Crandon Park Marina about four miles away. The rain eventually stopped but the thunder didn’t. I debated, often, if we should ride our bikes and finally opted to go for it. Sometimes I don’t know why I do this to myself, I was anxious the entire time. Yet we wanted to have a good showing of cyclists and thought that having kids there, on their bikes, was part of a greater statement.

These kids know how to ride a bike in a paceline, so Lilly went up front and I took the rear. Back there I kept thinking … how stupid are we? We are sitting on metal while there is thunder outside in a pace line with nine children. Sure, the thunder was far away, but I was not at ease. The kids though, they were having a blast and insisted on going through every darn puddle the entire way.

I spoke to our young group about Aaron Cohen, the law and why it was important, but also that this came to be because a group of people wanted to change something. This was democracy in action. It wasn’t easy but it got done by ordinary people like you and me. Some understood more than others.

At the event was the Mayor of Miami, of Miami Dade, Congressmen, our State Senator and then came Governor Scott. I also met up with the Key Biscayne Chief of Police and our Mayor who both attended the ceremony. They all spoke their official words, and my boys were rather bored listening. Then came Patty Cohen, Aaron’s widow, and their two children who I believe are now five and three. I saw Fearless’ expression change, and Dreamer began to pay closer attention. I don’t know if they heard her words, but they certainly related to those kids and how they didn’t have a father.   They listened more, and closed in on me.

It began pouring down rain, but no one moved. As things wound down, some of the kids, aka Fearless, began to complain they were cold and wet so we decided to head home.

At dinner, I asked my boys what was important about today. Dreamer answered “Mickey was able to pass a law and that is really hard to do because it doesn’t happen all the time.” A far cry from everything I had explained  but I took the answer as a victory.

Because more than anything, what I wanted my boys to see was that change was possible. And to quote Dr Seuss:

I am hoping that Joe and I, and the village around us (because it sure does take a village to raise a child) are raising boys who not only care a whole awful lot but will have plenty of proof to believe that anything is possible.  Even changing the law.