Written by Rob Gray
I founded the Southern Utah Triathlon Club for selfish reasons. I had moved to St. George from Pennsylvania about ten years ago, and after several years of running marathons, I wanted a new challenge. So I purchased a bike and some swim goggles, and I registered for my first triathlon. What I needed just as much as equipment, though, were training partners, and since there were no organized groups in southern Utah, I created my own. I advertised the Southern Utah Triathlon Club through a gym I managed, and we quickly grew to over 300 members.
My elation at our enrollment numbers soon faded, however. Although we became the largest triathlon club in Utah at the time, few — sometimes only three or four people — attended our workouts. I had made the crucial error of not charging for membership. I should have learned from my father. He owned a car repair shop and would always charge an amount, one dollar at times, for even the simplest repairs. He told me that if people aren’t made to pay something, they would not appreciate the service.
One of the most dedicated new members was Brian Burgener. Already an avid cyclist and runner, he concentrated on improving his swim. He spent countless hours at the pool swimming laps by himself before gaining confidence enough to join our open-water swim group. Brian’s goal was to complete the Kokopelli Triathlon at Sand Hollow Reservoir, his first triathlon. The triathlon club met one Wednesday evening to swim and bike the Kokopelli course, and to my surprise about 10 members showed up. Since I knew Brian was anxious about this swim, I stuck with him. He swam the first 350 meters of the 750 meter course with no problem. In fact, I struggled to keep up with him. He had become a very strong swimmer; his hours in the pool had definitely paid off.
As we reached the midway point of the swim, heading north between the shore and the island, I looked to the side, and Brian wasn’t there. I stopped and sighted him. His goggles were perched on his forehead, and he was backstroking toward the beach. I swam to him and pleaded with him to continue, but he was frazzled and wouldn’t. He reluctantly agree to try the swim again with me the next morning, however.
At 6 a.m., the reservoir was glass. It was just light enough to see with an orange glow at the horizon, hinting of the morning sun. The only sound was the slight splash from each swim stroke. As Brian and I reached the halfway mark, I knew he would finish. There was no place for anxiety on this peaceful morning. But when I heard the splashing and cursing, I realized I was wrong. Brian had freaked out again. I swam between him and the shore and told him I wasn’t going to let him quit. That’s when he told me the ugly truth, the reason he stopped in the same place both times: his teenage son had drowned in that exact spot the previous summer.
Brian and I swam the course three more times together. All with the same result. He could not get past the location in the swim where his son had died, and in life he could not get over his son’s death. He told me of the previous year: the depression, his family problems, the occasional thought of suicide. He thought a triathlon could bring him out of the funk.
I called Brian two days before the Kokopelli Triathlon. He still hadn’t registered, but he said he was planning on it. To further convince him, I said I would see him at the race.
I was training for another triathlon, so I wasn’t competing in the Kokopelli, and I had no faith Brian would show up to the race. But I rode my bike to Sand Hollow to support other club members who were competing. When I arrived, the swim had already begun. A huge timer sat by the dock, showing everyone the swim times. The crowd erupted when the first guy from the water posted a 13-minute swim. I thought the fastest triathlon club member would swim around 16 minutes, so I waited for her to emerge. What I saw took me by surprise. The first Southern Utah Triathlon Club member out of the water was Brian Burgener. My mouth hung open as he ran by toward transition one, giving me a high-five on the way.
After Brian completed the race in a very fast time for a first triathlon, I had never seen him look so happy, so alive. I asked him what made him show up, what pushed him by the spot where his son had drowned.
“I had to,” he said. “My wife paid the $65 registration fee.”
Since I passed the reins of the triathlon club on to another, there have been three club presidents. The club now has fewer than 100 members because of a $25 annual membership fee, but up to 50 people attend some training groups. While I’ve still participated in triathlon off-and-on since my time as president, I have not trained with the club. But it’s time to reinvest. I was given a lifetime club membership for my efforts in founding the club, but I won’t be using the waiver. This year, I’ll pay the 25 bucks.
Rob Gray teaches creative writing at Dixie State University. When he is not working with students, you might catch him running or cycling trails and roads all around southern Utah.
