I have had a few posts brewing in my head, but something's happened over the past few days that has really sort of made everything else seem pretty silly.
Last weekend, at the Greater Cleveland Triathlon, a triathlete named Stan entered the water. And then he had to be pulled out. There were definitely strong waves. I don't know what happened. I don't think anyone really does. I wasn't there; I didn't know Stan. But I know that several fellow triathletes stopped racing to pull him ashore.
I know that Stan was 34. That he was married, with two young children.
That Stan and I probably had a lot in common.
I know that the swelling in his brain got to be too much, and I know that Stan passed away. And I know that the entire Northeastern Ohio triathlon community is mourning for him and his family. I feel like even though I didn't know Stan, he was one of us.
My heart is heavy for his wife and young children.
We always hear about these things happening to others and in other races, and I think sometimes we forget that a large body of water is just that: unpredictable, dangerous, and volatile. And every time we get in it, we are taking a risk. Stan died taking a risk and doing something that he loved.
Please send up thoughts and prayers for Stan's family and friends.