Race Day: Come and See Us!

It's finally here!

The Nautica NYC Triathlon date is finally upon us: this Sunday, July 18, 2010. We're excited as all get-out!

If you are in or around the NYC area and would like to come watch us do this thing on Sunday morning, we would love to see you. Seeing friendly & familiar faces cheering along the way will make a big impact on us!

For starters, the the NYC Triathlon people have put together a fantastic, really informative Spectator Guide, which you can download here. But here are some answers to important questions:

Where can you see us? The Spectator Guide lists locations where you can watch us for the swim and the bike if you want...but we're starting the swim between 6:30 and 7:30 AM and you'll never find us in our identical wetsuits, goggles and swim caps, and we'll (hopefully) be going by on the bike portion rather quickly, so you may want to skip these and wait to see us during the run. We run along West 72nd Street from Riverside Dr. into Central Park, so anywhere along West 72nd is a great place to catch us. (Plus, we'll still be relatively fresh!) From there, feel free to catch us at any other point in Central Park during the run, especially further north where there are likely to be a few less spectators than around 72nd. The map is enclosed in the Guide, but 90th and 5th is probably also a great place to catch up with us.

When can you see us? This is a little tricky; we don't have exact length times for each portion, we start at different times, and Jason is dealing with a foot injury that may leave him slower than usual. We also haven't done this before so we can't be sure of how long it's going to take us to transition from each individual portion. You should be able to catch both of us if you are on West 72nd Street by 9:15 AM. Jessica should be coming by at around 9:30 and Jason should be coming by at around 10:30. Again, these are very rough estimates and they could be wrong, but if you're on West 72nd by 9:15, it's unlikely you will miss us.

How do you spot us? There will be a lot of people in the purple Team In Training colors, but we're sure you'll be able to pick us out. Just scream our names LOUDLY so we hear you and can stop over for a wave and a (sweaty) hug. And cheer loudly for others, too, especially Team in Training triathletes! ("GO TEAM!" is the standard TNT battle cry.) As our friend Sarah says:

DON'T be apathetic in your cheering--a slow clap and a halfhearted cheer is a big eff-you to runners. DO make colorful, encouraging signs and lots of noise...just generally attempt to distract us from the pain for a few happy moments!

Here's what Jess plans on wearing, modeled beautifully at our Coney Island open-water swim last week:


And here's what Jason plans on wearing. (He may or may not have a mohawk on race day.)


How do you get in contact with us? We won't have our cell phones with us as we race. However, Jason's mother Marion is a good person to call to arrange getting together the day of the race, and we'll try to text her at transition areas if possible so she knows when to expect us. Her cell is (917) 837-2695. Backup cell: Gary at (516) 770-1101.

Can we hang after the race? Most definitely! There's a "Family Reunion" area by Naumburg Bandshell, mid-park between 68th - 72nd Streets. There should be signs, and if not, ask a staffer! We will be calling Marion from a call center as soon as we're done. And we'll be having a small celebration from 3 - 5 PM at our friend Raz's apartment -- you can either e-mail one of us this week for the address, or contact Marion on the day of the event.

Any other questions? Shoot us an e-mail or phone call (by Friday, please -- we hope to be off the grid by Saturday morning).

As always, thank you for your support and good wishes. We hope to see you on Sunday!

Our Hero

Often on Sunday mornings, I'll get up early, grab my bike, and head from Astoria to the other side of the George Washington Bridge. It's somewhere between 45 and 70 miles round-trip. Because I often do at least 30 miles of this trip alone and I don't carry an iPod, I'm left with a lot of time to entertain myself. Sometimes I'll sing, sometimes I'll make up word games in my head, and I do a lot of thinking.

Lately, I've been mostly thinking about you.

When Jessica and I signed up for this event in the beginning of January, we knew we had to raise, at a minimum, $2700 each. This is the amount Team in Training asks you to commit to in order for them to provide you with your training experience and donate a significant amount to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. $5400 total, which was more than either of us had ever raised before. It was a daunting number to both of us. One person even told me that they doubted we'd be able to raise our minimum in this economy.

As of today, we have raised $13,755. By the time some matching donations come in, we'll have raised over $15,000.

(Pause for reflection.)

Whenever I tell people what we're doing, they say two things. The first thing they say is "It's amazing that you're doing this triathlon," followed by "It's amazing that you've raised all this money." I want to break those down.

1) "It's amazing that you're doing this triathlon."

Okay, I'll admit that I too think it's a little awesome. But I also think that the hardest thing about doing a triathlon is making the commitment to do it. I have seen people of all different shapes and sizes in all sorts of physical condition put themselves to the test during our training sessions, and watched with pride and amazement as they've pulled themselves through. Case in point: in February, Jessica went for her first run and didn't get more than two blocks without turning around because she was too out of breath to continue. Now, she tackles six miles at a time, twice a week, often after working a 12-hour night shift on her feet AND after biking for a full hour immediately prior. This is a woman who once swore the only way she'd run was if chased by someone. With a knife. She is a machine (and, if I may say so, looks phenomenal).

If any of the above puts a little hint in your head of "maybe I could do a triathlon," I say DO IT! Because you can. And if possible, do it with Team in Training. It's a huge time commitment, but it's easily the most rewarding thing I've ever done. (If you're just curious at this point, I recommend this book, recommended to me by longtime friend, mentor and triathlete Mike Graffeo.)

Granted, I haven't done my triathlon yet, and I've certainly had my share of challenges along the way -- but I'm willing to bet the farm that even if things don't turn out exactly the way I want them to, I'll have walked away (limped away?) with an amazing experience.

So yeah, it's amazing that we're doing a triathlon. But again, I think lots of people can do it.

2) "It's amazing that you've raised all this money."

Unlike training for a triathlon, not everybody can raise all this money. Fundraising can be more difficult than training; you are asking people to open up their wallets and not only believe in the cause, but to believe in you and the time and effort you'll be putting into it -- often before you've really done it yet. You're asking people to take a leap of faith with you, and put their money where their mouths are. It's a risk on both ends. Many people struggle throughout the season to raise the money, and some have dropped out as a result.

But we didn't struggle. We never struggled for a second. And it has very little to do with us, and everything to do with you.

The minute we started sending out e-mails, the donations came pouring in. Almost instantly. The first donation came fifteen minutes after our announcement e-mail. (Actually, the first donation came from a friend who saw a very subtle change I made to my Facebook page, 6 weeks before I even announced it to anyone.) People forwarded our e-mails on to their friends. They shared our blog address and spread the news on Facebook. Friends I met at Who concerts 5-10 years ago popped up and made donations. A friend who (at the time) I only knew through the Internet donated and mentioned it on Twitter, resulting in further donations from complete strangers. Jen Gembs, who sang with us at our benefit concert, sent multiple e-mails to all of her contacts, resulting not only in significant donations at the show but a number of checks from her friends who couldn't make it. (Thanks, Jen!) People affected by the cause sent us money, and people who knew and cared about us sent us money. I went to a fundraising seminar early in this process, and the biggest advice we were given was to just ask for the donations -- to ask everyone -- because you never know who has a connection to the cause and who cares about what you're doing, even if you haven't spoken to them in years. I was skeptical, but they were right.

Fundraising can be difficult, but it's surprisingly easy when you have a strong support system. And we have the strongest support system of anyone we know. We're one of the top 10 fundraisers for the NYC Triathlon. I think we're going to win a duffel bag. :) Even more exciting, we've raised enough that we get to do another triathlon with TNT for "free," and so our training doesn't end here -- on September 12th, Jessica and I will be traveling to Washington, DC for the Nation's Triathlon. (Don't worry, we're not soliciting further donations for that event!)

So yes, it's amazing that we've raised all this money. But we're not amazing. You're amazing. You are our hero, because you stepped up to the plate in so many ways and helped us reach this point. Even if you didn't have the money to donate, but you wrote and sent us a supportive message along the way -- your words of encouragement helped us get through a difficult swim or that sixth mile running in the sweltering heat after work. And I think about you when I'm on my bike, especially during this one hill on River Road in New Jersey. It's a full mile up a very steep hill. It comes exactly 22.7 miles after I've left my apartment, and I start dreading it at mile 21. I try to get an idea in my head of how I'm going to tackle it, but it often goes out the window once I actually get there. So that's when I start thinking about the faith you've put in both of us to raise this money, to do this event, to find a cure. And it gets me through that mile and on my way for the rest of the ride. (Don't get me wrong, that mile still sucks. But it sucks a little less each time.)

If you haven't donated and you'd like to donate, it's not too late. You can make a donation at Jessica & Jason's Fundraising Page (http://pages.teamintraining.org/nyc/nyctri10/goharesgo).

Thank you for being our hero.

Jason & Jessica

The Spirit Cape

Once a week at our Group Training Sessions, the team gathers for two small moments together. The first one is our "Mission Moment," where someone speaks to the team about their connection to the cause. It's always touching and inspirational, and an important reminder that yes, we're there to learn how to do a triathlon, but there's a much greater reason and importance to what we're doing.

The second moment is the presentation of the "Spirit Cape," which is awarded to a member of the team who "exemplifies the spirit and mission of Team in Training." It's usually presented by a mentor, and last Saturday, my mentor Ashley presented it to me! I was surprised, honored and humbled to receive it, and in all honesty, I was also really, really proud. I had arrived at the Saturday morning session with mixed feelings; it was a Brick session (bike + run), and I knew I'd only be able to do the bike portion due to my foot injury. I always feel great for the first half, and sad during the second as I miss out on a part of training. But Ashley's dedication really touched me and made me feel fantastic. As I was biking through the park, other members rode up to me and offered me congratulations, asking me questions like "Did you really shave your head for the cause?" It was a great feeling.

I don't know if there's an actual cape in other chapters, but in our NYC Triathlon chapter, it's actually a large Team in Training Shirt. Each recipient takes it home and decorates it, either with writing or some sort of bling.

Front:

Decorated across the neck are silver letters that say "SWIM * BIKE * RUN." The "Y!" is representative of the corporate Yahoo team.

Back:

I love that quotation at the top.

I am not a visually artistic person. I'm terrible at this stuff. So I decided to keep it simple and wrote a lyric on the sleeve that a very important friend and I share with each other all the time. It's from an Indigo Girls song called "Pushing the Needle Too Far."

Down, But Not Out

I was never much of a runner.

I ran for a few years in college, but not with any athletic purpose -- I ran because a girl on my dorm floor freshman year invited me to go for a run with her, and I really wanted to make new friends. We wound up running through senior year.

I ran for a couple of months in the summer of 2000, back during a rough spot in my relationship with Jess and I did that thing where you try to better yourself so you can convince the other person that you're awesomer than they previously thought. (We may still be together, but I don't think this in particular necessarily helped anything. I did learn "Blackbird" on guitar though and that seemed to have a positive effect.)

Every once in a while in college, I'd have some foot pain, but nothing too significant. It went away within a week.

Back in November, when the triathlon was a distant (but present) thought in my head, I decided to pick up running again. After a week of treadmill running, I took to Central Park. I ran hard and fast, because I knew I had the cardio fitness to back it up (and in my mind, I was invincible!). I didn't have the feet to back it up, though, and around mile 4, I wound up with significant pain in my right foot. I limped all the way home and couldn't walk for a couple of days.

I saw a foot surgeon who took x-rays and MRIs and couldn't exactly find what was wrong. I went to a couple of physical therapists who gave me foot exercises to help strengthen them. (By this point, the pain had oddly spread to the other foot as well, which confounded everyone.)

My feet got a little better throughout November and December, and then in late January, I re-aggravated my right foot while rollerblading with some kids on a weekend trip. Once again, the pain was significant and it wound up spreading to the other foot. More MRIs and this time some acupuncture, and very little relief. At this point, Team in Training group practices had started. I could participate in swim practices (it was too cold for biking), but not run practices. I'd show up at each one to support Jess and do the recovery stretches, but would stand on the sidelines during the actual running. For an active and (presumably) healthy guy like me, it was difficult.

I saw a podiatrist in March who, after looking at my x-rays and MRIs and finding nothing, suggested that the problem wasn't something wrong in my feet, but something about the actual mechanics of my running -- the way my feet hit the ground -- that was the problem. He suggested some (expensive) custom-made orthotics, which I declined (I had only just started working full-time again), and decided to go for a high-end, over-the-counter pair, along with better sneakers (suggested by a running coach who filmed and analyzed my run style).

It took a few different models to find the right one for me, but when I did, I immediately felt better. My feet started to feel like they did before November. I began running with the team in April, going much slower than I was used to in an attempt to build up an injury-free base. After about six weeks, I had gotten myself to the point where every run was injury-free, and the coaches -- knowing my situation and my overall fitness level from swimming and biking -- naturally began encouraging me to pick up the pace and work at full potential. I got my mile time down to 7:24, which wasn't bad considering my background.

In early June, I went for a run one morning -- six miles. I felt great throughout the run and then, on my recovery jog home, experienced some foot pain. It wasn't the same pain as before, but it was reminiscent: the kind of pain that you know isn't just a minor soreness that will go away by "walking it out." Like in November, I limped home and could barely walk the next day.

I saw a (different) foot surgeon who diagnosed me with peroneal tendonitis. He suggested that I wear a removable air cast to stabilize the foot, so the tendon could heal. He suggested I finally get some orthotics that were a custom-fit for my feet. And though he knew there was no way he'd be able to stop be from doing the triathlon, he warned me against the impact running has on the feet.

Needless to say, this has been difficult on me. It was difficult on me back in November through March, but it's more difficult on me now. For starters, we're much further along in our training -- back in February and March, our runs were short and light. Now we're gearing up for triathlon-level running, and while I know I'm physically (and mentally) able to do it, I haven't been able to practice. Also, it's a touch heartbreaking to be injured, get better -- and to really revel in that improvement, to appreciate it every day because you know what it's like to be the other way -- and then go back to being injured again. And it's tough to watch all my teammates go through full practices when I can't. I still show up because there are parts I can do, like the biking and the swimming -- but I'm once again on the sidelines when it comes to the running.. We were all fairly anonymous in the beginning of the season, but now we're all friends. It's harder now.

So I've made adjustments. When everyone else is running, I get on my bike and do something else. I do core strength workouts. I swim. And I talk to myself. I remind myself that this is a setback, but it's not the end. I refuse to let it be the end. I am 100% positive there are ways to change what I'm doing so that I don't have these injuries. I'm exploring them. An orthotic is one way. I'll shortly be exploring a new type of running philosophy and training that has helped many people who previously had issues, and are now running injury-free. I just remind myself: I'm down, but I'm not out. Because I believe the true test of a triathlete -- of a human, really -- is the strength to take adverse situations, look 'em in the eye, acknowledge them, and find a way to overcome them.

That's why I'm writing this post today. I kept quiet about the injuries before because I viewed them as a sign of weakness. But I don't think it is, anymore. I think it's going to eventually be a sign of strength and power.

So what now? Well, I'm out of the air cast. The tendon is healing -- I've walked without the air cast for over a week without any foot pain. I've been doing physical therapy and stretches on my own almost every night since February. I'm reading a book on the running philosophy I mentioned. I just received my new orthotics and we'll see if they improve the running situation for me.

I've held back from running because I don't want to re-aggravate my injury so close to the triathlon. I'll be doing short, light runs between now and then -- no more than three or four miles at most -- and I'm confident that I'll be able to do the triathlon just fine. Maybe not at my 7:24 pace, but I'm not about competing at this point. I'm just about completing it. Always have been. Competing comes later, maybe. Or maybe it doesn't. We'll see.

Thanks for reading.

Melissa Riggio: Our Honored Teammate

Melissa Riggio was your average girl. She grew up in a pretty normal family, with two sisters and two parents. She went to school, was on the swim team, had an eye for style -- especially handbags -- and her favorite color morphed from pink as a little girl to the more trendy green or orange as a teenager. Melissa wrote beautiful poetry -- simple, clean lines from the heart. She was a wonderful friend, and made those friends easily. She wanted to go to college and get married. She was just like many of us at that age. Melissa did all of these things and more, and because she had Down syndrome, these normal things take on more meaning. That being said, she was much more than just a diagnosis, or a disability.

Being a lucky girl, she had a family that loved her and supported her, and they gave her opportunities that allowed her to fully blossom. She met some pretty amazing people and they, too, fell in love with her and her determination to live life as it was meant to be lived: fully, joyfully, and with a strong sense of humor. Her list of accomplishments by age 18 was also impressive: She wrote an article on Down syndrome for National Geographic Kids. She co-hosted a Down syndrome event at Barnes & Noble with Sesame Street's Bob McGrath. Two of her poems were put to music by singer/songwriter Rachel Fuller: "Love Is a Potion" and "The Ring."

I’m in the Ring outside
I’m following my belief
I’m looking at the sky
I saw God following my heart
I’m an ordinary woman

The Ring is falling down my way
The wind is blowing me away
The Ring is falling down,
down my way
The wind is blowing me away

And so I came back to
The center of the Ring
Am I just a broken angel?
God has sent me here to heal
To be an ordinary woman

Oh, and she was also crowned Prom Queen by her fellow students at Bernards High School. Surrounded by love, respect and admiration by those around her, she owned and overcame her disability, and had every intention of going on with her life just as her family had taught her.

At the age of 19, Melissa became ill, and she was diagnosed with AML -- acute myelogenous leukemia. It's not the most common of the leukemias, and it's quite uncommon to develop AML at such an age. (As a person with Down syndrome, Melissa was actually most at risk for ALL (acute lymphocytic leukemia), which is also the most common cancer in children.) AML starts in the bone marrow itself, and it grows cancer cells instead of blood cells like red and white ones. It's most common in people over 65, and pretty rare for people under 40. As you might expect, Melissa fought this too with courage and humor, but an infection ended her life at 20 years, due to the chemotherapy's suppression of her normal immune function. When she was only getting up to full speed in life, cancer took an inspirational and positive role model away from all of us.

Two words come to mind when we think of Melissa: love and luck. When you sit down to talk with Melissa's father, Steve, and you get to hear the stories of the people she met and the effect she continues to have on people's lives, you can clearly see how lucky he and the rest of the world feels to have had Melissa in their lives. It's easy to also see the injustice of her life ending so early. But we also heard something else in his stories: Melissa was very lucky, too. She had a family that loved her and supported her in every goal, and gave her opportunities to grow and develop fully into a young woman with poise and confidence. They appreciated her for who she was, and not what her diagnosis was. As a result, the rest of the world got to see Melissa as a person as well. And just like her family, the rest of the world loved Melissa. She is the epitome of the golden rule: you get what you give, and Melissa gave love.

So on July 18th, Melissa will be one of our Honored Teammates. We'll be thinking of her many accomplishments, the amazing life she lived, and the inspiration and legacy she left behind. And we'll remember the cruelty of leukemia, and why what we're doing -- and what you're supporting -- is so important.

Love is everything
Love is all around
Love is a potion
Love is passion
Love is devotion
Love is fusion
Love holds deeply inside
Love does not tear apart
Love is a potion
Love is passion
Love never fails
Love’s emotion

Love is everything
Love is all around
Love is not hopeless
Love is passion
Love will not stop
Love is an ocean


Click here to listen to "The Ring" and "Love is a Potion"

Click here to donate to our fundraising efforts

Eleven Hundred, or the Ballad of El Baldo

Jessica and I have definitely been lax in updating this blog, but we do have very good reason: as you can guess, we've been training most evenings (and poor Jess's night-shift work schedule has been oppressive, to say the least), but up until last week, we spent most of our free moments planning our benefit concert, KICK CANCER'S A**!

From the moment we heard we'd be attempting to raise a certain amount of money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, I knew I wanted to put on a concert. Playing music is my favorite hobby (cycling right behind it!), and though I certainly enjoy getting paid to do shows, I like the idea of being able to give something of myself for free and raise money for a good cause in return. Volunteering through music. It doesn't get any better than that.

The gig was all I could think about for three months: what bands should perform? How long should they play? What songs are going to get the best reaction? What do we call the event? What does the poster look like? How much do we charge? What's the best date and venue? Slowly but surely, all the pieces began to fall into place. I thankfully knew I could count on Michael Burke to join me for Acoustic '80s, and the guys in Evil Prince Ludwig quickly said yes as well. Dan Gottesman, drummer for the Hometown Sweethearts and a buddy of mine, dug the idea and the cause and agreed to join us too. I knew I wanted to make the Acoustic '80s gig special and different from our usual gigs, so I asked Jen Gembs to guest on six songs. The line-up was perfect. Our usual haunt, Wicked Willy's, agreed to let us have an entire Saturday night, and also agreed to waive their usual cover charge. I picked May 15th based on the amount of time we needed to rehearse, and because I knew that it'd be awesome to be on stage on my birthday (the 16th).

And so we rehearsed the hell out of both bands for a couple of months. In the meantime, Colleen Kesterson helped design a poster based on a concept I had, and over a weekend in Massachusetts, my friends Jeff and Rahul helped me do some refinements. Jessica worked with another wonderful friend, Colleen Houlehen, to make huge posters for the bar. Jess also took care of all the non-music logistics, i.e. the money and the receipts and the collecting at the door (thank you to Colleen K and Amy for your help!).

I warned all three bands that, in truth, I had no idea how the evening was going to go: I knew we were prepared to put on a good show, but I had no real idea of how many people would attend or how much we would raise. I had set myself a goal of $1000, which I knew was high, but I also knew from our fundraising efforts thus far that our friends were nothing if not generous. And nothing wrong with being ambitious.

Acoustic '80s opened the show strong, and I felt we had an engaged audience throughout our set. There were quite a few people in the audience who had specifically come to hear Jen sing, which made me so happy -- and she did not disappoint. We had a few feedback issues, but Jen nailed every song. Performing with her instantly takes me back to being 15 years old and recalling our first performance together. I've always felt Jen and I had a good vocal blend, and that never seems to change, no matter how old we get. She just rocked the hell out of every song and entertained the crowd completely. Acoustic '80s finished up their set with a bunch of our more singable hits, and we left the stage for the Hometown Sweethearts.

I knew the Hometown Sweethearts were good -- I had heard them play a gig back in February -- but I had no idea how perfect they were for our crowd -- song after song, they had everyone in the place singing and dancing along. I had told myself I was going to retreat to the backstage area to try and rest for a bit before the Evil Prince set, but I couldn't help but join everyone in singing and dancing.

Until it was time to shave my head.

I had mentioned this briefly in an e-mail before the gig, but I'm well aware that I ramble in e-mails and that nobody makes it down to the bottom (seriously, are you still reading this?): I planned on shaving my head at the gig. An anonymous donor offered me a substantial donation if I did it. Truth be told, I've always thought about doing it, but figured I never had a good enough reason to fall back on if it looked bad. This seemed like the perfect excuse. And I thought: if you're gonna do it, why not do it in front of everybody? Go for broke!

The first thought was to shave the head right down to the scalp, Mr. Clean style -- but it was an elaborate plan to enact in the back of a dark bar, with hot water and razors and shaving cream and moisturizer, and I couldn't find a barber to donate their time to the event. So a good friend of mine lent me her clippers for the evening. She even had the blades replaced. I was nervous as all hell. See, as a kid, I had a real egg for a head.


I had tried numerous times to envision myself without hair, but I just couldn't imagine it. I just had a feeling it was going to be bad. Anyway, off we went, with my mother-in-law doing the honors.


Note on the right, how there's still some long hair to be shaved. Isn't that creepy? You can see on my face how nervous I was about it, but I absolutely trusted my MIL to do a good job.


After a while, our triathlon training buddy Jason joined in to give a hand. He's been shaving his head for many, many years -- I trusted him completely as well.


And then it was done.


And surprise, surprise -- I actually liked it. Not sure if everybody else felt the same:

But she eventually came around. And second surprise: Jess liked it as well!

And so then it was time for Evil Prince Ludwig. We originally had two separate sets of approximately 45-60 minutes planned, but we decided to capitalize on the audience's energy and play the whole thing in a row. We've never played for two hours straight before. It was definitely an endurance event of its own -- I was sneaking protein bars in between songs -- but I think the audience really enjoyed our performance. And as we played our encore, the clock struck midnight and I turned 33. On my birthday, I was standing on a stage in front of an enthusiastic audience, playing music with my friends, and raising money for an important cause. It is without hyperbole that I say it was the best birthday of my entire life.

I don't actually know how many people attended or who gave what -- I'm sure that information is somewhere in Jessica's notebook -- but when we stumbled home at 2 in the morning and counted the money, we found we had raised $1105 -- $105 over my original goal.

So I want to thank you. I want to thank you if you were there and donated. I want to thank you if you weren't there but sent your best wishes to us. And I want to thank you just for reading this, because we know you're out there and you have our back. Thank you for once again proving to us that we have the best, most dedicated Support Team in the world. We are lucky and grateful and humbled and we love you to pieces.

There's more to come: more training, and a couple of very special posts about the people we're honoring with this event. Stay tuned!

The definition of "endurance event."