Before I met him, I never rode my bike more than 15 miles. Today, centuries are never far from the equation. And Greg Patterson helped me become the athlete/monster that I am today. He was my first riding partner. In fact, the first time we rode together, we went 40 straight up and down the Suncoast Trail in Tampa. It was hell. He kicked my ass. Hard. I bonked like a newbie. And he was so patient. And understanding. About mile 30, I confessed to him I had never ridden this far/hard in my life. He laughed and gave me a hard time, “Welp, you probably should have told me that.” We would go on to ride and run and race together over the next two years. We even had the same bike, the guys at the bike shop used to make fun of us I’m sure. I drew the line at getting the same aero Rudy Project helmet as him though. He had the black one as you can see…so I got the white one. Big difference.
Yesterday, I learned that Greg passed away in a freak accident on the Courtney Campbell Causeway while riding his bike. Crap.
We met at the Y. I was swimming laps. He was guarding. He asked me if I ever did any triathlons. I told him I had just done one. We talked about triathlons for awhile that day and for the next couple of weeks. Basically, it was me picking his brain, and for those of you who knew him, he was more than happy to talk about his passion. He had been doing them for a few years before me and instantly became my tri hero. To me, he was such a badass. And he seemingly was able to balance it all...family, work, and triathlon. Something I one day hoped to do.
He was always competitive with whoever was around really. Even on those rare occasions we’d swim together. I’d see him trying to keep up with me (I’m a strong swimmer) and I’d dial it back just a little, because that’s what you do for your heroes. He was competitive on our rides. On our runs. And I loved it. He’d be quick to tell me when I wasn’t keeping up but he did it in such a way that it wasn’t prickish…it was just Greg. It was a competitiveness I hadn’t felt in over 10 years. It took me back to my swimming days and really fueled my love for triathlon. He showed me how great of an outlet for that sort of thing triathlon really is.
Greg was also there on my first crash. Well, kinda there. We were riding through St. Petersburg and I was TRYING (like hell) to keep up with him. Trying and trying and trying. I got dropped. A car came out of nowhere, made an illegal u-turn and crashed into me. 15 minutes later he came riding back, first giving me a hard time about not keeping up, and then realizing the mess I was, he got very, very concerned. My leg went though the spokes of the wheel, but he was quick to point out, “I think the rest of your bike is ok.” He rode back to his car and picked me up and took me to the hospital. I think I got some blood on his door. Sorry, Greg.
Eventually, the tables turned as I get more comfortable with riding, he became the one trying to keep up. I know some people might get a little prickly with this kind of situation, but not Greg. He was always supportive (and still very very competitive). In one breath he’d brush it off and blame it on not eating right the day before, but follow it up with, “Wow dude, you’re getting fast.” He was the first one to tell me I might have a talent here.
Yeah, eventually we went our separate ways. He went to Tallahassee to train, I moved back to Philly. I had a kid. He got divorced. Life happened. We texted here and there, but as time and distance do with so many friendships, we grew apart. Sadly. I’m trying to remember the last time I saw him and I can’t. That stinks.
When I learned about this tragedy, I immediately thought about his girls. He loved them so so much. On our rides, he’d talk about them often…that is when he wasn’t kicking my butt. I loved riding with him. I loved talking about the most random things as people who are riding miles and miles tend to do, but mostly I loved just seeing how fast we could go. We were like kids out there. Work didn’t matter. Home lives didn’t matter. It was just us and our bikes…our identical bikes. I miss you bud.
Yesterday, I learned that Greg passed away in a freak accident on the Courtney Campbell Causeway while riding his bike. Crap.
We met at the Y. I was swimming laps. He was guarding. He asked me if I ever did any triathlons. I told him I had just done one. We talked about triathlons for awhile that day and for the next couple of weeks. Basically, it was me picking his brain, and for those of you who knew him, he was more than happy to talk about his passion. He had been doing them for a few years before me and instantly became my tri hero. To me, he was such a badass. And he seemingly was able to balance it all...family, work, and triathlon. Something I one day hoped to do.
He was always competitive with whoever was around really. Even on those rare occasions we’d swim together. I’d see him trying to keep up with me (I’m a strong swimmer) and I’d dial it back just a little, because that’s what you do for your heroes. He was competitive on our rides. On our runs. And I loved it. He’d be quick to tell me when I wasn’t keeping up but he did it in such a way that it wasn’t prickish…it was just Greg. It was a competitiveness I hadn’t felt in over 10 years. It took me back to my swimming days and really fueled my love for triathlon. He showed me how great of an outlet for that sort of thing triathlon really is.
Greg was also there on my first crash. Well, kinda there. We were riding through St. Petersburg and I was TRYING (like hell) to keep up with him. Trying and trying and trying. I got dropped. A car came out of nowhere, made an illegal u-turn and crashed into me. 15 minutes later he came riding back, first giving me a hard time about not keeping up, and then realizing the mess I was, he got very, very concerned. My leg went though the spokes of the wheel, but he was quick to point out, “I think the rest of your bike is ok.” He rode back to his car and picked me up and took me to the hospital. I think I got some blood on his door. Sorry, Greg.
Eventually, the tables turned as I get more comfortable with riding, he became the one trying to keep up. I know some people might get a little prickly with this kind of situation, but not Greg. He was always supportive (and still very very competitive). In one breath he’d brush it off and blame it on not eating right the day before, but follow it up with, “Wow dude, you’re getting fast.” He was the first one to tell me I might have a talent here.
Yeah, eventually we went our separate ways. He went to Tallahassee to train, I moved back to Philly. I had a kid. He got divorced. Life happened. We texted here and there, but as time and distance do with so many friendships, we grew apart. Sadly. I’m trying to remember the last time I saw him and I can’t. That stinks.
When I learned about this tragedy, I immediately thought about his girls. He loved them so so much. On our rides, he’d talk about them often…that is when he wasn’t kicking my butt. I loved riding with him. I loved talking about the most random things as people who are riding miles and miles tend to do, but mostly I loved just seeing how fast we could go. We were like kids out there. Work didn’t matter. Home lives didn’t matter. It was just us and our bikes…our identical bikes. I miss you bud.