I was born in San Francisco - you know that city on the Left Coast where all of the nuts go? Mom and dad were immigrants from Europe...mom from Germany and Dad from Switzerland. Having parents from a foreign country is kind of cool. I got to eat really cool food growing up, I was more well traveled than your average adult by the time I was 10, I got to speak two languages from birth and I was able to teach my parents the English language on occasion. I mean, how cool is it to be a 5th grader and be able to correct your parents when they speak English?
I grew up in a neighborhood in San Francisco's west side - for all of you Kansas Cityians, think Brookside houses on a hill perpetually in the fog. Cold, windy, wet, dreary but kind of cool nonetheless. We played football on the streets, played basketball in an old schoolyard and played baseball in our cramped yard (and broke every window on the back of our house in the process). My best friend was a guy named Johnny Onken. Johnny and I were buds - we did everything together - played sports, saw movies, played video games, watched TV, basically all the stuff that two red blooded American kids do to stay out of trouble. Johnny died of leukemia when I was in 6th grade. Incredibly sad, I know, but he was the inspiration for me to start participating in endurance athletics.
Like Kansas City, schools in San Francisco suck. My parents saved their money and sent both my brother Thomas and I to private school. Yup, stoplight red sweaters, white shirts and grey cords - that was me. I played soccer (and sucked), I played basketball (and sucked) and I got really good grades (yup, I was kind of a nerd). When I moved onto high school, I was still a nerd. At St. Ignatius (SI for those in the know), my nerdiness was a good thing. I kicked butt in class, but I still sucked at all things athletic. My freshman year, I ran track - blissfully thinking that by coming from the same gene pool as my athletic brother I would have some innate athletic ability that just needed to be uncovered. Um...nope. I still sucked. I was the guy at the back of the pack that got yelled at by my coach. For the longest time I thought that the words "Get your ass up there" were part of my name. Yup, I was a crappy runner.
Fast forward to adulthood: I had done the adult thing and moved to the suburbs, bought the house and lived the boring life of singledom in bedroom community about 20 miles east of San Francisco. Since I wasn't married and didn't have a serious girlfriend and I was done remodeling my house, I decided I needed a hobby, so I took up cycling. I bought a road bike, clipped myself in and started pedaling. After a few days of dodging cars and being fearful of becoming a very large piece of roadkill, I got the hang of it and really got into the sport. I rode most days after work, I rode every Saturday, I hung out with my cycling buddies, I finally found a sport that I was good at. I was the cool dude on the bike.
Fast forward a few more years: Its 2003. I'm engaged to my now wife Christy and we move to Kansas City. We finally get settled into the new house on Halloween. Between tearing out walls and rebuilding our house, I get antsy and feel like I need something to do. Since its colder than hell outside, I know that I can't ride, so I go to our local running emporium and spy a flyer for a running club called Runner's Edge. I pick it up, give it a quick read and think - "Hey, running! That sounds like fun - I'll meet some new people, I'll get into shape AND I can do it in winter!" Yup, that was it, that flyer was the catalyst to becoming a runner and ultimately becoming a triathlete.
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