Triathlons aren’t for everybody
by Pete Cunningham
*As printed in The Newspaper: UofT's Independent Weekly, 2/09/2006

On February 11th the Hart House will be hosting an indoor triathlon.  Everybody knows that participating in a triathlon is a grueling test of athletic ability and endurance. What many don’t realize however is how humbling an experience participating in these races can be.  I participated in a triathlon two summers ago and it is one of the most rewarding athletic experiences I’ve ever had.  In an effort to encourage participation in the upcoming event, I thought our readers may enjoy a recount of my most humbling of experiences.   

The story begins on a brisk July morning.  With the dew still wet on the grass and the sun peaking its head slowly above the horizon, I arrived at the battle ground ready to embark on this most colossal of endeavors.  Prior to the start of the race, the masses were herded like cattle into a registration area where we had various logistical measures taken care of.  Amidst the registration process, I noticed not all the participants fit the prototypical triathlete mold.  There were men and women of all different shapes and sizes.  Some people had six packs which you could bounce a dime off of, while others looked as if they had spent their last dime on a six pack. 

The age range of the participants also baffled me.  There were kids registering who had to be dropped off by their parents, and others who sported WWII veteran license plates on their 4wheel drive off road SUVs.  One particular participant stood out to me as I sized up the competition.  She stood about 5 feet 4 inches high and must have weighed in at about 200 pounds.  I’m not one to tell someone they can or cannot do something, but for the sake of this poor women’s well being I prayed that she would forfeit her triathlon goals and perhaps fulfill her competitive desires by joining a Saturday afternoon bowling league.  We’ll return to her shortly.   

After much anticipation, the race finally began and I embarked on the initial leg, a half mile swim.  The herd of cattle which had previously occupied the registration area quickly became a stampede of Pamplonian proportion.  In a matter of seconds my goals of winning the triathlon had been traded in for the simple wish of surviving the next five minutes of my life.  It wasn’t the exhausting swim, but more so the elbows, knees, and dunkings being freely offered by my fellow competitors which made the swim so grueling.  No amount of laps in a pool can prepare you for the downward stroke of a 43 year old 215 pound accountant who, according to the tattoo on his chest, was more than willing to offer you his firearm if you "pried it from his cold dead fingers."

Although the swim was very crowded, it could have been a lot worse.  Different age groups and sexes started five minutes apart so that the almost 300 contestants wouldn’t all be in the water at the same time.  Besides opening the swimming lanes for me to doggy paddle in a sorry effort to catch my breath, this also provided me with my next bit of embarrassment.  Remember the rather heavy set women who I referred to earlier?  Besides having about 60 pounds on me, this woman apparently was about 15 years my senior making her part of the age group that started 5 minutes after me.  This did not stop her from exiting the water in front of me. 

How did I know the ages of these participants you ask?  In an effort to keep all age groups organized prior to the race, everyone’s age was written on their calf large enough for judges (and trailing participants) to see.  I suggested to the coordinators that next year they put how many children the women had on one of the calves so as to remind me of another inadequacy that may have slipped past my radar.

After exiting the water, I progressed to the bike stage of the triathlon where I was confident I could make up some ground.  I did no such thing.  I did however learn that triathletes are very nice when they’re passing you and notice a look of death upon your face.  One extremely nice 51 year old grandmother (whom I also had a 5 minute head start on) encouraged me with “you’re doing great, keep it up!” as she easily passed by me during a hill stage.  In the spirit of her good sportsmanship (and also because I couldn’t have caught her if I tried) I elected not to throw a stick into her spokes.

A positive aspect to the triathlon was that my family came out in full support of my efforts and was there to witness me puke upon crossing the finish line. 

They asked why I was so dead, while my friend Max (aka Achilles), was energized at the end, finishing with a blazing sprint. Max quickly informed me and my family that the only reason he was sprinting was due to the fact that a female senior citizen coming around the last turn had so courteously questioned if “that was all he got?” and then called him a name which no doubt would have gotten her a date with a bar of Dial soap. Does she kiss her grandkids with that mouth?

At the end of the day the oldest person I lost to was 58 year old investment banker with 7 grandchildren and mean breakaway speed.  The most stunning of my defeaters, and there were plenty to choose from, was a guy named Ryan Tamm who ended up beating me by thirteen minutes and finishing 5^th overall in the 255 person event.  Ryan’s posted a stunning 6:11 mile running pace, and a blazing 22mph average bike speed.  Ryan, by the way, was 16.

Ass kicking grannies, teenage robots, and obese Lance Armstrong protégés aside, triathlons are a great way to find out how far you can push yourself.  Unfortunately, it’s also a good way to figure out how much further others can push themselves.  W  hether it’s to take home the gold or just to put another check on the things to do before you die list, come out to the Hart House on February 11^th for the annual event at Hart House.  I guarantee it will be nothing short of a life changing experience.