After twelve weeks of preparation, I am taking on my first triathlon in support of the Cancer Foundation of Santa Barbara—carrying with me the encouragement of a remarkable community and one colleague who will be especially present in my thoughts.
Tomorrow, I will enter the Pacific Ocean to begin my first triathlon. What started three months ago as a personal challenge has become something far more meaningful—an experience shaped by discipline, generosity, friendship, and a cause that reaches well beyond the finish line. During twelve weeks of training, I swam in mountain lakes and rivers, the Mediterranean Sea, public and private pools, and our beloved Pacific Ocean. I ran through mountains, valleys, forests, vineyards, and along the Santa Barbara coastline. I cycled through the German Alps, across the Umbrian hills, and up and down the California coast.
The landscapes changed, as did I. I learned to ride a road bike, manage transitions, and pace myself. I also learned that readiness does not mean the absence of uncertainty. It means trusting the preparation and moving forward with purpose. The same is true in leadership. Meaningful progress is rarely the result of one dramatic effort. It is built through consistency, humility, good guidance, and the willingness to continue before the outcome is visible.
I am deeply grateful to Coach Dawn Schroeder, pictured with me above, for her guidance, encouragement, and belief. A remarkable coach helps us recognize what may already be possible within us. My thanks also go to my swimming companions, Team Gary, my husband, friends, neighbors in Italy and California, colleagues, donors, and everyone who offered encouragement along the way. Each gesture mattered.
Our story has even reached the airwaves through the Team Gary song on Santa Barbara’s K-LITE 101.7—an expression of what defines this team: serious in purpose, generous in spirit, and never short of heart. I have reached my fundraising goal for the Cancer Foundation of Santa Barbara. One of the most moving donations came from a stranger who heard about the cause and simply handed me money. No hesitation. No recognition required. Just one person choosing to help another.
Tomorrow, I will race for Eta, my music therapy colleague from Singapore especially close in my thoughts. She passed away from Stage IV Lung cancer on July 15, 2026, at the age of 45. This race is for her and all those who can’t. When the water becomes choppy, I will think of courage. When the hill becomes steep, I will think of perseverance. When the heat takes its toll, I will remember that strength is not always loud. Sometimes it is simply one more stroke, one more turn of the pedals, one more step. I may be wearing the race number, but I will not be carrying only my own story. The finish line will mark the end of the course. It will not measure what we have already accomplished. Tomorrow, we race with gratitude, with joy, and for something greater than ourselves.