You spent how much???!!

This was my initial reaction when I learned my wife signed me up for the Multisports triathlon camp.  What the heck would I be getting for that much money.  Doesn’t she know how much cool stuff I could have bought for my bike.  Or what we could get if I spent it on shoes, clothes, trips, heck even groceries or the electric bill.

But my check cleared and there was no going back, -- I was bound for my first camp since Camp Pokakekauna, some 20 years ago.  I wondered if there was going to be camp fires, ghost stories, songs, and crafts – after all I made a really cool key chain necklace thingy that I cherished for years.

But this was different, instead of a cabin on the banks of Lake Mosquito, I was checking into the Courtyard Marriott, in the epicenter of triathlon, San Diego, CA.  The scenery was a lot better and I was at least going to get tiny mints on my pillow at night.

Thoughts of how expensive this week was began to dissipate at the opening session.  Sure I have heard of Roch Frey and Paul Huddle, -- they are the irreverently funny dual who star in  the dos and don’ts video for Ironman events, and I think one is coach or something.  I might learn something. And then the room began to fill.

As they began the introductions of the weeks instructors, Ironman world champions Lori Boden and Heather Furher walked to the front of the room, – they still looked tan from their time in Hawaii.  Then came Danny Alaire – who is a foot and running form specialists of everyone great.  John Duke an early sport pioneer who now publishes Triathlete, the magazine I read on my flight out ( the one with Lori on the cover!), Jimmy Ricotello – a major biking and Tri stud. Up walked Mike Pigg, wow -- a major league butt kicker known for his ferocious racing style and training. ( I loved the legends of that guy – he would work out until he would puke, then stand up and go another hour)  Then more and more people came forward, a former world record holder in the marathon, two other pros training for New Zealand.  The front of the room was getting crowded.  

Wow… was the only adjective I could use to describe the collection of talented people they had assembled to work with our group.  That night I googled the names and was in awe at the accomplishments of these people.  Forget the key chain art and crafts – I only hoped they would talk to us.  Even a passing glance – and this week would have been great.  Maybe they would let us serve them breakfast.

Then came the panic – I hope they don’t see me run—oh gosh, I hope I don’t laugh when they see my pace on the bike, or maybe I would get dropped in the first ten feet of our rides and I won’t get in their way.  How bad would it be if I messed up the World Champion’s training ride?  Would they kick me out of the camp?  I could always go sightseeing until my flight home.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.  Not only were they telling us they were there to work with us, but they proved it – time and time again.  From Jimmy leading an unscheduled bike ride, Duke allowing me to tag along on an early morning jog, to Pigg pushing a fellow rider up a hill with a “Domestic- like” hand on the back or riding along side teach us how to ride in a pace line.  Not only were they friendly and accessible, you could tell they enjoyed sharing their knowledge and helping us define our skills.  Heck they even got into the swimming pool and did drills and workouts with us. You know, no one likes to get in the pool and do drills.  But there they were.

Very quickly, what originally were seen as legends on a pedestal, became Lori, Heather, Jimmy, and Mike – fellow campers who happened to be wearing cool multisport tri gear… We all ran, biked, swam, stretched, ate, and shared war stories together. At Camp Pokakekauna, you weren’t allowed to address a counselor unless first spoken to. This was a different experience.

Instead of arts and crafts, we created training plans.  Didn’t sing songs, rather learned about nutrition and Max Heart Rates.  No Ghost stories, but Pigg did show us tricks on changing tires, fixing derailed chains in motion, and bits of wisdom gathered from years of racing.

This wasn’t lake Mosquito, this was beautiful San Diego.  We rode over mountains, ran through canyons, and on the beach. The week was filled with bike fitting, easy runs, training drills, transition practice, bike skills, more runs, swim practices, and tempo rides.  In bed by 9:00, wake up at 6:00.  In the end it wasn’t the workouts that was exhausting, it was keeping up with all the knowledge that was being passed to us. Just when you thought the triathlon dream couldn’t get any better, it did. 

Each year Competitor magazine has a banquet awarding the top of the sport. As we were waiting to get into Sea World, you couldn’t swing a water bottle without hitting all the stars of the sport.  On the left was Mark Allen, on the right Jamie Whitmore (she was also at our hotel), Greg Lemond and the rest of the 1984 Olympic Cycling team were behind us somewhere.   Best of all, we felt like we belonged.  Heck, we were there with our friends Lori, Heather, and Pigg.

Can’t tell you how surreal it is to watch a video of the top accomplishment of the 25 years of Ironman sitting across the table from Paula Newby Frazier.  When Mike Pigg was inducted into the Triathlon Hall of Fame, we watched with pride; not only at the guys amazing accomplishments, but because it was someone you called a friend. 

Later on I was talking with Lori Bowden, about speeches and what the audience sees as important. (Ha-I never thought I would ever say that sentence)   I told her the race wins and championships are what gets the audiences attention, but it is the little things that people find interesting and would take with them.  The little things I took home with me could fill pages, the advice I received boundless, and the knowledge I learned laid the foundation for what I expect will be a great year.  And like that credit card commercial says, the experience was priceless, no matter how much I spent.

Can’t wait to sign up for next year.