In 2007, in a fit of sweat and frustration, and with a touch of melodrama, I swore I would never, ever run again. Seriously. I’d just spent months shedding weight, determined to reclaim my health, and running seemed like the next logical step.
Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.
My first attempt at running ended with me doubled over on the sidewalk, lungs on fire, legs like jelly, and thinking I might redecorate the neighbor’s lawn with my breakfast. I limped home with my tail between my legs and declared running dead to me.
Some people have a “runner’s high.” I had a runner’s existential crisis.
But here’s the thing about life: it doesn’t care about your carefully crafted storylines. Progress isn’t a straight shot from point A to point B. It’s a series of detours, wrong turns, and unexpected invitations. Sometimes, the very thing you swear off comes back around not as a punishment, but as an opportunity. And if you’re willing to take the scenic route, you might just find yourself somewhere you never expected to be.
A few months later, I was back in my comfort zone: swimming laps at the local fitness center. I’d been a strong swimmer since childhood, so getting back in the water felt like second nature. One day after a swim workout, the on-duty lifeguard stopped me. She complimented my stroke and said, “You should try a triathlon.”
I had never even heard of a triathlon. She explained: swim, bike, run.
I loved swimming. I was pretty into biking. But running? That was the thing I’d sworn off, remember? Still, the idea stuck with me. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was ego, but I decided to sign up for a beginner triathlon class at the facility just to say I’d done it.
From Reluctant Runner to Triathlete
I figured I could tolerate the run if it meant I got to swim and bike competitively. The class was challenging but fun and interesting and I made it through. When race day came, I found myself standing at the starting line of the Mighty Wolf Triathlon, a small-town event that’s long since defunct but will always hold a special place in my heart.
I remember how silent everyone around me was as we corralled for the start, and as a first-timer, I couldn’t tell if that was a good omen or a bad one. The surge of adrenaline hit the moment my foot touched the water for the swim, and then it was fight-or-flight chaos with arms and legs flailing everywhere as I tried to carve out my own space and keep my heart rate under control. Rushing out of the water, I transitioned into my shoes and helmet then jumped onto my bike, grateful for the change of pace but still buzzing from the swim. And then came the run: my legs felt impossibly heavy, as if I’d strapped on cinder blocks instead of shoes. But crossing that finish line, I felt unstoppable — like I could accomplish anything.
That day, it wasn’t just a race; it was the race that changed my life: I didn’t just survive the run, I actually enjoyed it. Something about the combination of disciplines, the camaraderie, and the challenge flipped a switch in me.
That first triathlon was the start of a new identity. I became “the triathlon guy,” and, to my own surprise, “the running guy.” Within a year, I completed an Olympic-distance triathlon. Over time, I would go on to compete in more than a dozen half-iron distance triathlons, and countless shorter course tri’s. Eventually, I ran a 50-mile ultramarathon and more than a dozen full marathons. The thing I’d sworn off became a passion.
Becoming the Coach
Not long after, the coach who led the “intro to triathlon” class moved away… and the fitness center asked if I’d take over. So I dove in literally and figuratively. I researched, experimented, and developed a 12-week beginner program that was progressive, adaptable, and approachable for anyone, from couch potatoes to weekend warriors.
Teaching that first group of twelve novice triathletes was eye-opening. I learned more about triathlon, about people, and about myself as a coach than I ever had on the course. Watching others struggle, adapt, and succeed reminded me that everyone’s journey is different (and rarely a straight line).
Learning by Teaching
Here’s the thing: coaching didn’t just make me a better athlete — it made me a better learner. Breaking down the sport for beginners forced me to see triathlon through fresh eyes. I had to question my own habits, rethink my assumptions, and get creative about problem-solving. I found myself learning right alongside my students, rediscovering the basics, uncovering new training hacks, and realizing there’s always more to master, no matter how many races you’ve done. Teaching became a two-way street, and it kept my own passion for the sport alive and evolving.
Lessons from a Nonlinear Life
Looking back, two lessons stand out:
Don’t let a single bad experience close a door forever. The first time I tried running, I hated it. Then the second time… I still hated it. But triathlon gave me a new context, and eventually, I fell in love with running. Sometimes, the things we resist most are the very things that can transform us if we’re willing to give them another chance.
Teaching multiplies impact. Coaching wasn’t just about my own growth — it was about helping others discover what they were capable of. Watching someone cross their first finish line, seeing their confidence grow, and knowing I played a part in that transformation was more rewarding than any medal. The ripple effect of sharing what you love can reach further than you ever expect.
The Ongoing Journey
It’s been a few years since my last triathlon, but the fire’s still there. Now, in my mid-50s, I see new possibilities. Maybe even a shot at the podium. But whether or not I race again, I know this: life isn’t linear. Progress zigs and zags. Passions evolve. The finish line is never really the end — it’s just another checkpoint on a winding, unpredictable course.
Your Turn: Take the Detour
So here’s my challenge to you: Think about something you’ve written off. Maybe it’s running, or swimming, public speaking, or picking up a guitar. Maybe it’s something you tried once, hated, and swore you’d never do again. What if that thing isn’t your enemy, but your next great adventure?
Don’t let a single bad experience be the final word. Give yourself permission to try again, but this time, do it differently. Find a new context, a new community, or a new teacher. Or flip the script entirely and become the teacher. Share what you know, even if you’re still learning yourself, by coaching or mentoring a beginner. You’ll be amazed at how much you grow when you help someone else take their first steps.
Life isn’t linear, and neither is growth. Take the scenic route, embrace the detours, and see where they lead. The finish line might be closer than you think… or it might just be the starting line for something even bigger. The only way to find out what’s possible is to take that first, uncertain step. So go ahead. Surprise yourself.
You never know — the detour you’re avoiding might just be the road that leads you home.