Triathlon: Philanthropic Style

First published in Santa Barbara Independent 2013

When our son asked us if he could participate in his first triathlon at eleven years old, we knew he was ready and wholeheartedly supported him. His thirst to compete had begun one year earlier when he’d discovered that his schoolmate was doing just that to raise money for Foodbank. Dario had wanted to join him, but as the event was just around the corner, he’d settled on running alongside his friend during the run portion of the race, which left him itching to compete with them in a full triathlon.

A year later, as the season approached, instead of fundraising on their own, Dario and his buddy partnered up and together set a lofty goal of $10,000. The venture exemplified the idea of “think global, act local.” Leading up to the triathlon, the boys meandered about Foodbank’s Table of Life luncheon, introducing themselves to potential donors, Jake with the savvy of a talent agent and Dario with the charm of a television personality. Halfway through the event, the duo addressed the crowd on stage by turns poised, factual, to the point, and funny. The event was a successful fundraiser for Foodbank and a tremendous learning experience for the young philanthropists.

Our family greeted the day of the triathlon with enthusiasm and apprehension, not least because the de Albergaria pack’s usual Sunday begins several hours past the rooster’s first crow. Dario’s twin sister was sporting an ankle injury from soccer and begrudgingly hobbled to the car where she joined the soon-to-be-triathlete, his new bike, two caffeine-infused parents, and her sleepy 7-year-old sister. We were already at the course when we discovered that Dario’s helmet was missing. Thankfully, we could purchase one at a nearby tent presumably installed for novice athletes or absent-minded parents like us.

In the minutes preceding the race, I felt proud of my son’s serenity, commitment, and focus. He’d completed the very demanding East Beach Junior Guards program a couple of months prior, which gave him an edge in the water and on his feet, but I knew he was daunted by the fact that he had not been on a bicycle for two years. “Buy me a bike!” he’d exclaimed as though it were some obvious cure to a malady. And so we did, just weeks before the event —a city bike. Another note to self: listen to your son when he insists on a racing bike for a triathlon.

This meant that our untrained son would take on the bike course solo in an unfamiliar town along unfamiliar streets, which we later discovered were partially open to traffic. But let us bask in the joy of what proved to be a flawless swim. The adroit trio took on the half-kilometer glide in perfect syncopation, shedding their fins like a reptile its skin as they emerged from the water, transitioning from tide to sand to asphalt in what seemed like one fluid motion. Heavy on our feet and breathless, my husband Bernardo and I stumbled through a maze of people toward the bike area, where we cheered the boys but soon lost sight of my son’s friend and father.

As Dario struggled to remove his wet suit —second note to self: practice before the race the laborious task of peeling off a wet suit, I felt a surge in the pit of my stomach when I realized that not only had we left his shirt at the beach with his sisters, who refused to be a part of their parents’ frenzy, but Bernardo had disappeared. I was gutted for I failed him. In desperation, I ran across that godforsaken sand to retrieve the shirt. When I returned, I noticed that Dario’s demeanor had changed; one by one, he’d witnessed nearly all the athletes he had so effortlessly passed during the swim mount their bikes and grip the course. With trembling hands, I attached his number to his shirt and sent him on his way, knowing that this leg of the race was terrifying to him. Without training or a chaperone, sheer determination was the only currency he had to complete the 15K course, which he did glassy-eyed on much of the exposed course, isolated from everyone.

He made up valuable time on his lightning feet, finishing the triathlon third in his division while raising nearly $13,000 for Foodbank with his friend. The experience was, at the same time, thrilling, laborious, rewarding, and exhausting. The venture left me oscillating between honor and shame as I pondered the question of whether I had become a fraudulent artist before a canvas of good when the media was clamoring to feature the boys' inspiring story. A few days later, I received an article that kept my cynicism kept at bay.

It turns out that my husband left us to purchase a helmet for a stranger who had also left his behind. After the race, the man left his name and number on Dario's bike to repay the "good Samaritan" in the story. Bernardo did contact him, but only to ask that he pay it forward. The man wrote a letter to his local paper editor hoping to thank the person who had enabled his son to see his father cross the finish line: "I identified the good Samaritan as Bernardo de Albergaria, a good man raising a good son." This small side-story is the one that speaks to me today, the one that prompts me to breathe. It is the one that gives me the gratitude of a monk for my loving family, community, and life.

Santa Barbara Independent November 2013
Edited for this blog on March 7, 2021
Photo credits:
Statue: Jasmin Sessler
Triathlon: Alina de Albergaria & Bernardo de Albergaria