A Thought For Competitive Dads
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You are an Ironman. It was July 27, 2014, and I ran across the finish line in Zurich, Switzerland at my fourth full Ironman triathlon — which is 2.4 miles swimming, 112 miles on the bike, and 26.2 miles on the run in one day. I had made it through a tough day after having to drop out near the end of a race just about six weeks before this moment. I wasn’t going to fail again.
I wasn’t going to fail again. That’s the first lie I believed.
You see at some point I went from being proud of myself for doing something that I’ve never done, to getting frustrated with myself when I didn’t do better than the time before. At some point, a 5k wasn’t enough, so I needed to do a half marathon. At some point, a sprint triathlon wasn’t enough, so I needed to do a half Ironman. Then a full marathon, then a full Ironman distance triathlon. And every time I raced, I felt disappointed if I didn’t outperform the last one.
Is this just a sign of a great competitor? Maybe in part, yes. But maybe there’s more to it for me.
Becoming human again
I crossed that finish line in Zurich, Switzerland just six months before my son was born. I was probably in the best shape of my life, I was able to outrun and out exercise most guys that I knew, and I was convinced I was forever on a trajectory of outperforming myself over and over again now. I remember thinking about the influence that I would have on my son by showing him just how hard I continually push myself.
But then once our son was born, I became human again. I had only enough of me to focus on being a dad, building my business, and providing for my family. It genuinely pained me to let go of racing until recently becoming more okay with that.
Fast forward, and as I write this, my son is almost 4 years old. We’ve been on quite the journey with him, and he’s had to overcome a lot of obstacles. One of the challenges has been his development. Every kid develops at a different pace, but in the medical field, he’s considered globally delayed. He’s smart as can be, but he has to work a lot harder than a lot of his peers to get to where he needs to be when it comes to his speech and every other developmental aspect.
Now as a competitive dad, someone who always played sports, and as someone who is still reasonably athletic (minus the dad bod); I struggled early on wondering if he’ll be able to do what I was able to do. Before he was born, I remember talking about how I’m going to raise him to be an Ironman triathlete. I pictured my little athletic mini-me. And I was putting expectations on him to be able to do what I could do — and more.
But as we began to see significant delays in each milestone, I began to shift from thinking about doing triathlons together to just celebrating each little milestone that so many parents just come to expect their kids will be able to do, and especially by certain ages. It was such a big deal when he was able to walk because it happened so much later than all of his peers. It wasn’t until this year that he just started to have the ability to jump. And I was so proud of him about a month ago when he finally was able to pull apart and put together large LEGOS.
I know these seem like little things, but they are huge signs of progress for our son — things that we didn’t know when we would expect to see them happen. And the other day as I watched him fearlessly attempt every drill at swim class, I began to wonder if I would still see the little progress with as much gratitude and excitement if his development were above average or even average? I started to wonder if I would have taken the little things for granted?
What really sparked these thoughts was when I overheard a fellow “competitive dad” as he was evaluating every move of the coaches, questioning if he’s pushing his son hard enough, and wondering if the 30-minute classes will be enough for his son to excel in swimming. The kid was maybe two or three, so it made this guys perspective seem even more ridiculous to me at the time.
But then I wondered if that would’ve been me?
What if Lunden came out of the womb above average in all areas of his development and showed early signs of being a child prodigy in a sport? I am convinced that I would begin placing unfair or unrealistic expectations on him. I am confident that my competitive nature would’ve had me trying to push him harder than I should. And I’m convinced that my unhealthy view of competition would’ve been something that would be instilled in him.
But instead, I’m so grateful that I’ve been given this incredible gift called Lunden. And as a father, he’s taking me on the most unexpected journey where I am being made better by this tiny human being. You see, with our son’s development, there is no 3 year, 5 years, or 10-year list of what we can expect and what milestones will be hit at different points. We have been forced to take it day-by-day and one step at a time. For someone who likes to control things, that’s been hard. But because of this journey, I’m learning to approach everything with Lunden with anticipation for progress, instead of unrealistic or unfair expectations for specific outcomes for him.
Most importantly, it’s forced me to be patient and be present.
Being present
Every week when I take him to swim class, that is the only thing that has my focus for those 30-minutes. I’m not checking email or Instagram, I’m not texting clients, and I’m not chatting it up with the other parents. For those 30-minutes my eyes are on my son as I sit with anticipation getting ready to celebrate how hard he tried, and the littlest sign of progress he’s about to make. By being present, it has afforded me the luxury of noticing the small things. I didn’t miss the first time he went under water. I didn’t miss the first time he was able to pull himself out of the pool. And I didn’t miss every moment in between those moments. I have been able to see the incremental progress that he’s making week by week in a way that I think would be impossible if I started each lesson with a preconceived idea of what he should accomplish.
Regretfully, I can’t say that I’ve always been present to the degree that I am learning to be now.
When I’ve been able to let go of unfair or unrealistic expectations, I am able to be fully present in the moment and see what’s happening right in front of me. And I never leave feeling disappointed because the progress that my son made that day was at his pace, and not based on my desired outcomes.
Being patient
I heard Los Angeles sports psychologist Michael Gervais say, “The former professional athletes are rarely the dads on the sidelines yelling at their kids when plays don’t go right. They know that it’s just one play, and if their kid is going to master the sport then it takes a lot of time — it’s a long process. They know that the only way that their kid can have the endurance to master the sport and sustain themselves through the process is if they love the sport.”
There’s so much in that statement, but at the core, it was such a great reminder to me for what my role looks like as a dad. My job isn’t to hurry the pace and progress, but rather protect it. It’s not my job to be hard on my son when things don’t come together right, it’s my job to remind him that it was just one day and we have many more.
When I look back at my best race times, it was achieved by following the process and not rushing progress. I can remember painfully slow runs while I was training, and I kept thinking I need to be running faster. But it was those slow and painful runs that set me up for my best race times. Early on with my son, I can remember some of the same feelings thinking this should be happening more quickly. But this journey and my son have given me the gift of patience that I didn’t have before. That patience is allowing me to enjoy the process and hopefully set the right example my son.
Redefining competitive
As you read this you I want one thing to be clear; I still have a competitive drive. I’d even go as far to say that I’ll raise my son to be the same, but it looks much different now. I think a real competitor is someone who knows they gave it their best each time, each chance they had, and with each day they are given. The worst thing we can do is confuse winning and losing with competing. They aren’t the same.
For many years I measured my race results through the lens of wins and losses — not the effort and progress. Even when I dropped out of Ironman Texas in 2014 at mile 17 of 26 on the run portion of the race, I remember only feeling failure. But the reality was that I had given it my best effort. And on that on that day I had already completed a 2.4 miles swim, biked 112 miles, and ran 17 miles. Pretty sure that’s not anything to be ashamed of.
But that day there were dozens of people who had come out to support the small race team that I had put together to raise money for The RCK Foundation, the foundation my brother started for my niece Rori who died of Trisomy 18 in 2010. Guess what? Not one of them cared that I didn’t make it all the way to that finish line. They were there for something greater than my race results, and they were proud of me regardless. But my feelings of failure robbed me of embracing their support and enjoying the moment with them as other friends crossed the finish line that day.
And yes, my disappointment is understandable. But the point isn’t that we would never feel disappointed and to become someone who just accepts defeat. The point is that we can’t let the disappointment and feelings of failure keep us from being present and measuring what matters most.
I want my son to know that what defines a competitor is someone who gives it their best every time and regardless of wins or losses they can measure what matters most. What matters most is measuring the effort you put toward the opportunities you have, measuring the gratitude you have for the people in your corner, and being grateful for the opportunities that you have.
My truth doesn’t have to be yours
It’s possible that 95% of the dads that read this will already have come to the same conclusion that I am arriving at now. I know it’s also possible that this is my truth and it doesn’t have to be yours. But regardless of where you’re at on the journey of fatherhood, I hope you always remain a competitor for your kids. Because your child needs a dad that will give it his best every minute, every day, and with every chance that comes his way. And your child deserves a dad with a mentality that knows that competing for your child’s success doesn’t mean pushing them to their max — it means loving them and supporting them to your max.
I am grateful for my son and the lessons that he’s teaching me. I see endless possibilities for him, and I know that God has something huge for his life. Had it not been for the challenges he’s had to overcome; I don’t think I would be as present and as patient as I am now. I’m grateful that he has helped me redefine what it looks like to be a competitive dad.
Thanks for reading! If you liked this post, please consider sharing it. Pardon the typos and any grammatical mistakes. I hope my raw and unpolished thoughts challenge you to rebel against complacency, comfort and conformity each day.
