My friend and former athlete, Shelley Probber
now lies in a bed in hospice, in the final chapter in her struggle with
Pancreatic Cancer. I thought I would
take a minute and share an afternoon I once had with her, high in the
mountains- just the two of us.
I met Shelley at a little, bohemian coffee
shop in St Croix in 2011. Shelley and
her husband Terry were sitting at a table a few feet away from us at this shop
and Shelley overheard the conversation I was having with Teresa on my
philosophy on training for long distance triathlons. She approached us, introduced herself and
asked me if I coached athletes. I said I
did. We traded email addresses and a beautiful friendship was born.
Shelley came aboard as one of our athletes at
IMJ Coaching soon thereafter. She was
meticulous with her training, so much so that she would find mistakes in the
yardages I listed for swims I assigned and would repeatedly let me know when my
3200 muscular endurance swim was really a 3600 muscular endurance swim. Details are Shelley’s bag. I love her for it. She made me a better coach. We had a unique communication style as coach
and athlete. I was tough and profane,
addressing her as “Probber” and was sometimes brusque. She responded very positively to this
style. I loved our straightforward
relationship. Shelley was raised in New
York. She is a diminutive woman who grew
up in a Jewish culture and by her own admission was afraid of her own shadow. That is not the woman I know. I know a woman who grabbed onto life with both
hands and was onboard for all this life had to offer. She trained hard all the way to her getting
sick. She isn’t one to take shortcuts. I
respect her work ethic and attitude. A
coach had to be careful with her because she would completely disregard any
pain or discomfort and train to injury, which happened more than once.
Shelley was a repeat guest at our training
camps in Boulder, Colorado that were 7-day, hard-nosed camps with plenty of
volume in all three disciplines to include some massive climbs up big
mountains. One of the classic climbs we
would take our athletes on was the iconic climb to Ward, a small town high up
in the thin air. The first year Shelley
attempted this climb with the rest of the campers, she was one of two campers
to not be able to complete the climb.
She had to turn around without summiting. Later that day the other campers were out on
our back deck having a beer and celebrating their day of training. Shelley and I sat at our kitchen table
exchanging small talk about the day. I
could tell she was disappointed in her performance on the climb to Ward. I shared with her that failing while doing
hard things is much better than succumbing to the enduring gravitational pull
toward mediocrity and not even trying something that might be beyond
reach. Probber looked at me and tried to
smile but started crying instead. I stared straight at her in my navy way and
told her that this stuff was hard and hard is ok. She blurted out in kind of a yelp that it was
hard and it sucks to fail. That was kind of like breaking the seal with
us. We ended that exchange with a deep
and authentic hug. It made it ok and brought
the moment to a close
A year went by and Shelley was back for
another camp. The day before the
traditional climb to Ward, I had a chat with fellow coaches Ben and
Teresa. We quietly constructed a plan on
who was going to take Shelley back down the mountain and where we would meet
after the others had summited and later descended down the mountain. Ward is a 17-mile climb and at the 14 miles
goes above 8,500’ of elevation which makes it difficult to recover if one puts
themself in the red zone with an inappropriate effort. On that day, I took the faster athletes to
the top and then descended half way back down the climb and found Shelley. She was laboring but doing ok inch-worming
her way up the mountain. She was in
difficulty but was riding above my expectation.
I rode in front of her setting a tempo to help give her a rhythm. Neither of us talked, we just pedaled and
climbed, pedaled and climbed. I could
hear her breathing starting to become labored and thought we should stop and
recover a bit. We clipped out and stood
on the side of the road. She put her
head on her handlebars and was silent. Her breathing started to recover but
because of the altitude, she was still short of breath. I was starting to formulate my plan on how to
get her safely back down the mountain. I
looked over at her and she looked at me.
We just stared at each other for over a minute. She began to cry. I continued to stare at her. It was at this moment I knew she had a real
chance to make it all the way to the top because I could feel her getting
pissed off. I sensed that she had it in
her to get to the top. She apologized
for crying. I said in a matter of fact
voice not wanting to make more of the moment than what it was, “no worries,
Probber-chicks cry. It doesn’t mean
anything. Get it all out because we are
going to click in and summit this fucking mountain. You ready to get to the top, Probber?” Shelley stabbed her cleat into the pedal, not
looking up- “Yep, I am FUCKING ready!”
Shelley and I climbed together for another 50
minutes or so. The first 30 or so we
were quiet. I rode next to her to allow her to ride her own tempo and not force
her to ride my tempo. We didn’t say a
word. It was just breathing and
pedaling-together. As we got within 3
miles or so to the top, the climb gets really difficult. Shelley slowed down to almost a stop, moving
just fast enough to keep moving on her bike.
She was really suffering. Her
entire body was rocking back and forth to keep the pedals moving forward. I encouraged her quietly- “come on,
Shell. Keep moving.” She couldn’t talk. She kept pedaling. She kept moving up the mountain but would
slow to the point where she would have to move her handlebars side to side just
to stay upright. I went in front of her
to give her a target to focus on. I
became more forceful now in my instructions as I was starting to fear she might
give up. “Come on, Shell! Come on,
Shell. Show me something, Shell.” I began a running monologue to spur her on as
she was responding. “Let’s go Shell,
show me something!” “Let’s summit this
son of a bitch! Let’s do this. It’s worth it!
Come on Shell! Show me
something!” We did this for another two
miles moving at a snail’s pace, but still moving up the mountain. I was getting excited, as I knew what this
would mean to her to make it to Ward.
She was in difficulty but still progressing. “Come on Shell”. “Tap tap tap, pedal, Probber. Let’s go! Let’s go, Shell. Show me something! Pedal! Tap tap tap!” We started to pick up a tempo. I could now see Teresa, Ben and the rest of
the crew up the mountain at the little store at Ward. They could see us and started to scream for
Shell. Shelley could hear them. She was getting really tired and was pedaling
squares but I now knew she would not quit.
Shelley summited and was so tired we had to hold her bike while she
unclipped her pedals and everyone hugged her.
The entire group was so happy and proud of Shelley. We all went crazy! We were all screaming and
celebrating. I quietly moved aside and
racked my bike at the little store. I looked over to see everyone hugging and
congratulating her. I kept my sunglasses
on, as I could not help but to cry. I
was so pleased with Shelley’s effort.
Her unshakeable resolve to finish what she had started moved me deeply-it
still does even as I type these words.
It was a truly impressive display of courage and pure force of personal
will for her to complete that climb.
I will forever remember Shelley Probber as
someone of deep character and enormous inner strength. I am a better human being for my time with
her. I will remember swimming with her, riding with her, running down Alii Drive
with her in Kona. I will remember how
relieved and happy I was to see her on Lakeshore drive late in the evening as
she completed Ironman Canada in Penticton.
I will remember her laugh. I will
remember, with joy, our afternoon climbing together… all the way to Ward.
My life is better for the space she occupies
in my heart. May God keep you in eternal
peace, Probber. I love you.
Shaka,
Jonser
