If you have ever seen a “raging Peer face” on the Sports pages, you know our children are fiercely competitive. It’s totally our fault. We raised them that way. The training began early when as young parents we realized that gamifying chores lessened the reluctance to do them. We had gold stars and charts, points and prizes, but the most effective method was the simplest. All it took was one sentence, “Come on, I’ll time you.”

We’d make a big show of looking at our watches and saying “Ready. Set. Go.” We timed them cleaning their rooms, loading firewood, retrieving items from the basement freezer, and getting ready for school. No arguments and the chores were done, it worked like a dream. Until it didn’t.

While our focus was to accomplish the task at hand, our children’s was to “win” the game. Cleaning their rooms became stuffing everything under the bed, and if one skipped putting on underwear, he could shave valuable seconds off his dressing time. As the older children figured out the system, they tested it out on the younger ones. The most memorable was Chloe calling Quin from the other end of the house to bring her the remote that was just out of her arm’s reach. “Hey Quin, I bet you can’t get me that remote in under 3 seconds.” That experiment did not end well. So much for avoiding arguments.

What our parenting technique did instill in our children was a love of contests, a drive to compete, and an intensity that coaches love. So after years of watching her father complete the Tupper Lake Tinman, the Lake Placid Ironman, and a few others, it is no wonder that Chloe wanted to compete in a triathlon too. This spring she did it, finishing the Keuka Lake Triathlon with flying colors.

There is something inspiring about your child taking a risk with something new, working toward that goal, and succeeding. Just like everyone who gets Ironman fever, something stirred in both Bill and me. Bill is contemplating competing in the same race as Chloe next summer. Me? I know my limitations. But, on my first true day of retirement as I watched the sunrise at Fish Creek, I set my own immediate goal. I would complete a campground triathlon to begin my next stage of life.

I began with paddleboarding on a perfectly still Square Pond. The high clouds were mirrored in the lake, and it felt as though I was paddling through the sky. I was gliding at a good pace and already anticipating how quickly I could accomplish this feat when a “Good morning!” rang out from shore. It was my sister-in-law Patty Martin. The quick greeting turned into a pleasant chat, and 30 minutes later, I headed on my way. The water was a bit choppier now and my target goal was shot, but what a nice way to begin the day.

Back on shore, I began to run the loop in campground Fartlek mode. Run hard for 10 sites, let up for 10 sites, repeat. I felt swift and svelte until I saw my shadow. If only I could be like Peter Pan and lose mine, then I could maintain my illusion of fitness.

The bike loop was the final event. Piece of cake — I was ready for this, but about halfway around I realized that I was also ready for a cup of coffee. A quick stop into the Trading Post yielded a piping hot cup of Joe, which I managed to balance on my brake lever as I rode. By now my definition of success had morphed to delivering my coffee to my site without completely spilling it or burning my hand.

By midmorning, I finished, quite a bit later than I had planned. But sitting at the site, watching the ducks swim by, sipping my coffee, I was content.

A few days later, while paddling up the creek a smug man in a pedal kayak passed me. He turned and said, “You should get one of these, they are faster.”

I replied, “But, you know, it isn’t always about the speed.”

And, for once, I am certain that I’m right.