My Faith in Humanity...Restored

Sometimes life is tenuous, isn't it?

One moment, you're soaring along effortlessly at 25 miles an hour on your bike, breathing in the fragrant eucalyptus and picturing the faces of the people you will help by doing Ironman in two weeks.

The next, you are flying over your bike, with your handlebars sheared clean off -- effectively erasing your ability to steer. After a few seconds airborne, you slam down on the pavement so hard that your breath doesn't come back to you for half a minute.

That is what happened to me today. Worse yet, as I crashed, I heard car brakes squealing behind me. The first thought that bolted into my mind was: "Please, no. Don't let this car hit me. I am a dad. I can't get hit."

In moments when we face our own mortality, I think our most precious priorities reveal themselves. Clearly, my 5-year-old daughter -- along with my wife -- are positively everything to me. My love for them flows through every vein in my body. I live for these beautiful ladies. And, I couldn't get hit, because I need to take care of them.

I immediately popped up and checked head-to-toe. Some gruesome road rash, with gravel embedded in the wounds. But nothing structural. Remarkable. I should have shattered my collarbone with an impact like that, but I was ok.

After two minutes of recovering, I looked up -- and there sits this red pickup, stopped sideways in my lane with its hazards on. I found that curious. The driver knew I was ok -- and most people would have just continued on.

But, this car sat there. Waiting. I hobbled up and inside was this striking Jamaican man. He said: "My God, bruddah, are you ok, mon? You were doin' so well, and then all of a sudden, you were flying through space!"

It felt like a dream. The adrenalin coursing through my brain made me foggy. I honestly could not discern if this was reality.

His name was Trevor. He offered to help me. I put my bike in his truck and off we went. It was surreal. It was 7am. No drivers are ever on this road at 7am -- and there was Trevor.

I am not a particularly spiritual person. But this felt like much, much more than coincidence. It felt fated. He arrived just as it happened. He was the right person to help. He even had the perfect car to take my bike: a pickup with an interior so worn that he didn't care about the blood that got on his seats. All he cared about was if I was ok.

He was on the way to his son's soccer game; and, he was late. He said: "Where are you going?" I said: "It's too far out of your way." He insisted: "I am taking you all the way home, mon."

I was floored.

In life, I never ask for anyone's help. I feel like I've been given a blessed life -- and it is incumbent on me to help others. Here I was, in an exceedingly rare position: helpless. 30 miles from home, in the middle of nowhere with a bike that couldn't go a foot.

I made it home. My wife patched me up. I got a new bike. And, I finished the 6-hour ride.

We make important choices each day at proverbial forks in the road. And, they largely determine our destiny. Here, I could have packed it in, but one thing keeps me going through all of the backbreaking training and the Ironman races...

...no amount of pain can match what a hungry child, or an abused, marginalized woman, feels. I owe it to them not to back down from this CARE/Ironman quest. I owe them my best. My very best.

Thank you, Trevor. You helped me when I needed it most. I will pay it forward to three people -- who will never meet you, but your kindness and generosity will change their lives.

Sometimes, life is beautiful, isn't it?