WEEK     JOB: RACE DIRECTOR

LOCATION: MARATHON, ONTARIO

I LIKE SMALL TOWNS. Small-town folks tend to be community-oriented and to welcome visitors warmly. I was invited into the small town of Marathon as the “celebrity” race director for the upcoming triathlon. Since my week as a florist when I’d received a lot of media coverage, the project had gained visibility each week as I entered a new city and websites would link to the site. I suppose the triathlon organizers figured I’d had enough coverage to warrant celebrity race director status. It was funny to be labeled a celebrity, but at the same time, I didn’t want people to think that I thought of myself that way and then approach me with attitude. “So why does the brochure say that you’re the ‘celebrity’ race director? I’ve never heard of you.”

Thankfully, the town of Marathon doesn’t have much attitude. What it does have is a population of 3,700 and a nice location three and a half hours east of Thunder Bay on the north shore of Lake Superior.

Most weeks I stayed with my employer or with one of my co-workers. It added so much to the experience because not only did I get a glimpse of their profession, but I also got to know my host outside of the work environment. They welcomed me into their family and I was able to experience each place as if I was living there—not simply as a tourist.

My boss this week was Pipin’ Joe McGill, a high school teacher, triathlon enthusiast, and bagpipe player extraordinaire. Joe’s friends Andy and Bev were kind enough to put me up for the week. Andy owns the pizza place in town, and each week during the summer he organizes a concert in the parking lot. While I was in town, he asked if I’d be the guest host and also invited me to perform. Although my musical ability is extremely limited, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to bang on a congo drum alongside Pipin’ Joe on his trumpet and bagpipes.

It was the second annual Penn Lake Pursuit Triathlon—a sprint triathlon that involved a half-mile swim, a 12.5-mile bike ride, and a 3-mile run, to be undertaken over two days. On the second day, it was a staggered start based on the times from the first day. The competitor with the slowest time from the first day started the race on the second day. Then all the subsequent competitors started the race based on how much faster they finished on Day 1 compared with the slowest competitor. For example, the competitor who finished first on Day 1 had a start time on Day 2 close to forty-five minutes after the slowest competitor. Ideally, this makes for a great race as all the competitors should finish in close proximity.

The day before the start of the race, Joe picked me up at 9:00 A.M. to prepare the course. We set up fences and racks for the transition zone, placed wood barriers that would direct competitors, ensured that roadways were clear of debris, hopped in the lake to remove any large rocks near the shore, rounded up some last-minute volunteers and timekeepers, and discussed the protocol for race day. I didn’t get back to Andy and Bev’s place until 10:30 P.M. I had some candy and a beer, took a shower, and then was out the door again with some triathlon volunteers to go to the bar. It reminded me more of a bingo hall, the kind of place where you’re just as likely to bump into your parents’ friends as you are your own. Just one of the many reasons why I appreciate small towns.

On the morning of race day, we made final preparations on the course, positioned the volunteers along the route, assigned duties to the timers, and set up water stations. The competitors soon arrived and began warming up for the first leg of the race, the swim. I directed them to the transition zone, where they set up their bicycles and shoes for the second and third legs, then fifteen minutes before race time I brought all the competitors together and briefed them on the rules and course (information I’d only learned the night before).

With the volunteers in place and timers armed with their stopwatches, the gun was fired and the race began. Luckily there were two of us to help manage logistics as the race progressed, and everything worked out great. The second day would be much easier, as everyone knew the routine.

After the race on Day 2 was completed, I finally had a moment to relax. I walked away from the crowd of spectators and athletes to the small beach of the nearby lake. Shortly afterward, a girl in her late twenties cautiously approached me. She was shy, and I gathered she’d thought twice about coming to talk to me. Her name was Elana. We talked about One-Week Job for a bit, and she asked me if she could take a photo of me for a photo-essay project she was taking part in. I said sure, not thinking anything of it, then headed back into the crowd to toss some burgers onto the barbecue for the participants and spectators.

A month later, I heard from Elana again. She sent me the piece that she’d written for her photo-essay attached to a long email that explained how our interaction had affected her.

I was surprised. To be honest, I barely remembered our exchange. As I thought back on that day, I hoped that she didn’t feel like I’d brushed her off. I was just so exhausted from the past few days of the triathlon.

About me she wrote:

I am a skeptic, so part of me wondered if he was really as he seemed, or if all of the media and attention had gone to his head. From our first “Hello,” I realized my fears were unfounded. He has a presence that is so infectious you cannot help but feel at ease. I got the sense that whether he knows it or not, the One-Week Job project is his “passion.”

While my vision of his future, and his vision of his future are more than likely on completely different scales, I can see him following in the footsteps of so many others who believed in something. No matter how unpopular or crazy it was.

My heroes are those who do not sit idly by and complain about what they see; they try to change it. Either through their own actions or words, they inspire others to do the same. They inspire people to take that first step, to turn something ordinary into something extraordinary, to make a change. What one single person does can make more of an impact than they might expect.

It is nothing I can fully articulate, but it is something that I feel deep in my core, that in these chance opportunities, something has changed … and that something … was me.

I remembered how Henri, the yoga instructor, was conscious of his impact on others and tried to make a positive difference through his classes. “When my students come into the class, it is my opportunity to impact the outer world through my inner studio,” he said. “If I can change their mindsets, so that when they leave here, they are feeling calm and relaxed, that will alter how they experience the rest of their day and the other people they encounter. In doing so, I am creating a ripple effect with implications reaching far beyond what I could ever know.”

But I’d never thought of myself that way. When I read Elana’s photo-essay, I learned that we can never be fully aware of the impact our actions have on others. Sometimes I can be so wrapped up in my own world that it’s easy to forget how I affect those around me. Every person who comes into our life, no matter how briefly, we have the ability to affect—through a kind word, a smile, a door held open. Each one of these simple interactions leaves us altered in some way—whether it’s positive or negative change is up to us to decide.

That day I learned that the most important thing to remember in life is that whether we’re aware of it or not, our ripples have an impact.