Confessions of a Costumed Triathlete

This is an article I had published in Triathlete Magazine in January, 2007

I don’t mean to brag, but I won my division in every race I entered last year. Yes, at St. Anthony’s I won the Pirate Division, at Disney; the Rodent Division, Gulf Coast; the Cowboy Division, and at Ironman Florida; the IronNerd Division. Yes, much to my triathlete wife’s embarrassment I am a costumed triathlete.
It all started at Disney. Actually it all started at whatever triathlon I did before Disney that turned into just a long boring slog after a long hard bike ride preceded by floating in my wetsuit while doing occasional taste tests of the Gulf of Mexico. I needed a little levity and I thought what better place than the Magic Kingdom?
I hid my Mickey ears and my big overstuffed white Mickey gloves under my towel. (Next year I‘m going to try to slip on some big yellow fins and go as Donald in the swim.) As I came out of the T2 transition the reaction was bigger and better than I expected. Everyone cheers for the mouse! The number of athletes, fans, and volunteers that wanted to high four (for all you non-Disnoids, Mickey only has four fingers) was countless. The volunteer stations that gave me the “Hey Mickey your so fine, your so fine you blow my mind!” cheer made me forget my nearly Clydesdale physique.
I definitely realized something that day that would give me an ongoing rationalization to be a costumed tri-geek for life. Volunteers, family members and fans need a break from the hours of exaggerating the “Looking good,” and “Almost there!” mantra. Seeing a costumed figure does just that and it gives them something to laugh about.
Next came the idea that literally giving back to the fans would take it up another notch. So at St. Anthony’s I decided to go as a pirate and throw doubloons to the fans, especially the kids who should be rewarded for standing around waiting for their mom or dad to pass by three times in three hours. Hey, why not take it to an even higher level with a sign? Yes, on my pirate’s hook I put a sign that read “Surrender the Booty!” (Hey! I don’t know what your thinking, that’s Pirate for “Go for the gold! Argggh!) The reaction was raucous! I have to say I was definitely “hooked” now!
My wife pointed out one small drawback after looking at my splits. She was astounded that I had an eight minute transition! I calmly explained to her, “Sherrie, I’m not really a pirate.” I didn’t detail the broken eye patch, the earring that kept falling off, or the doubloons that kept spilling all over the place.
The coup de gras came when Ironman Florida arrived. It was the week before the race and I had given in to the conventional “You can’t wear a costume to do an Ironman!!” thought when my friend Dana stood me up for an open water swim (thanks a lot, “Mr. oh yeah call me anytime I’ll do whatever it is to help you train”). He said he was at a lunchtime run for state workers. Ahh, state workers! The vision of all these guys gathered at the starting line in khaki pants, white short sleeve shirts, black glasses and black clip-on ties was too much to resist! Yes, this was the birth of …The IronNerd!
At Ironman Florida I was like Clark Kent on a bicycle looking for a telephone booth. “Must…get…to…T2…” On the back of my jersey I had written, “Out of my mind, back in 17 hours!” On the front was, “Mathletes need love too!” I also donned my black clip-on tie and taped up glasses and rocketed from the transition area pumping my fist and yelling, “Whoo! Chicks dig the IronNerd!” As you can imagine the love fest between the fans and the IronNerd continued deep (really deep) into the night.
I only have two rules for costumed triathletes: First, respect the heat. Nobody wants to see the paramedics wasting their time on some idiot who decided to go as an astronaut by wrapping himself up in tinfoil and wearing a fishbowl for a helmet. My rule is this, wearing a costume is just as legally binding as wearing a “Do Not Resuscitate” sign.
Finally, if someone is avoiding eye contact with you because they are embarrassed for you, do not get closer and louder to prove how cool you really are. Non-costumed people somehow twist this around to reinforcing their opinion that you are the very definition of the opposite of cool. (Non-costumed people are just kind of strange that way.)