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Triathletes and runners are kindred spirits. They also differ dramatically in some ways. For many runners, any down time is injury-related. The off-season for triathletes gives them a brief respite from the intensity of high-level training in three sports. It can be a time to reflect. As this columnist awaits the first results of the season and contemplates the chronic back problem that threatens his own future participation in the sport he loves, it's a good time to ponder some of the more unique aspects of triathlon. In my own eleven-year tenure in the sport, I have been asked all sorts of questions about triathlon by students, colleagues, and runners who I could never hope to keep in sight on a course of any length in any of triathlon's component disciplines. Many are fascinated by the notion of the physical and mental challenges of my chosen sport. Why do a triathlon? There are many gifted runners out there who can best most of their competition, especially if they show up at the "right" 5K or five-miler. It's often not about that interindividual competition for most triathletes. Rather, triathletes are typically absorbed by the infinite array of personal challenges that face them. That was true of me as I fantasized about doing the first Ironman as a young researcher at the East-West Center in Honolulu toward the end of 1977. It applies equally to many first-timers today. They know this sport is different somehow. Many initial participants were inspired by a remarkable series of television productions on the Hawaii Ironman. That race is the stuff of myth and legend. There is something inherently compelling about contesting an event that would take even the most gifted athletes eight to ten hours to complete. Few events have shone as brilliantly as the finish to the women's contest in February, 1982. ABC television had carried the event into our homes since 1980. Viewers saw women's leader Julie Moss, after a full day of racing, come within several hundred meters of the finish only to collapse from extreme glycogen depletion. Repeatedly Moss struggled on-- by sheer will-- until she could no longer. Finally, Kathleen McCartney passed, finishing first in front of an eerily-hushed crowd. Still, the remarkable Moss persevered, ultimately crawling the final 10 meters across the finish line into second place, history, and the hearts of those who viewed her struggle. Moss' redoubtable courage touched deeply-held values of the US audience and thus caught the attention of Hollywood producers who created a film account. Over the years literally millions have witnessed some version of her dramatic finish. Although many triathletes may be less-talented, the sport clearly offers them the opportunity to struggle against the vicissitudes of equipment failure and difficult course venues and the twin tortures of self-doubt and physical pain. All triathletes have tales to tell. One of my own most challenging triathlons came during my first full season in the sport. I had collected sponsorship money to contribute to the Make-A-Wish Foundation for its triathlon in Bethany Beach. We made it a family occasion as, for the first time, relatives other than Bean (my wife) came and stayed with us to watch me participate, among them Bean's aunt who passed away two weeks ago. Dawn broke to a brutally churning surf in the Atlantic, the swim venue for the day. A massive tropical storm (hurricane?) well off-shore was working its magic from a distance. RD Rob Vigorito changed the swim course so that the swimmers who had to essay the 0.93-mile would have the strong current with them--if they made the first buoy about one-eighth of a mile out. A jet ski supposedly there to protect (and rescue) swimmers was lost in the maelstrom of surf. Literally scores of superbly-conditioned athletes bagged it, refusing to enter the water. Having seen athletes in earlier waves swept off-course past that first buoy, I entered the water one-eighth of a mile up-current from the marker. My phenomenol geometry told me that that would put me on the legal side of the buoy. Four times I entered the water. Each time I was thrown under and back toward shore, dashed against the rocky outcroppings below the surface of the sea. Emerging from the water, legs bleeding badly and bruised, I was crestfallen. How could I let down the people from whom I had collected money (not to mention family)? I pleaded with Vigorito to let me complete the event as a duathlon. He refused. "This is a triathlon," Vig said. "It's about TRY-ing." He then talked me into the railing sea, urging me on as I dove under successive waves, emerging, at last, on the legal side of the first buoy (unlike many of the other finishers). How strong was the current? Fellow triathlete Steve Mathis characterized it as a "point-and-float" course. Despite entering the water five minutes (or more) after the rest of the swimmers in my wave, I was credited with a 21-minute swim. (A number of the better swimmers finished above world-record pace). Many of us were swept so far up the beach as we swam in from the last marker that we had to run back one-quarter of a mile (or more) along the beach to get back to the bike corral. What a remarkable feeling of accomplishment to finish that race. It was a feeling that most mid- and back-of-the-packers rarely experience. As things turned out, it was my fastest time ever (my PR to this day--by light-years) in an international distance event.
