The Great Naked Triathlon

A bad day is when your brain stops working. An awesomely bad day is when your brain is working against you.


I started training in the sport of triathlon for one reason: I wanted to complete The Great Floridian Triathlon. I couldn’t believe there were people out there who can swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles, and run 26.2 miles consecutively and if they could do it, I figured I should give it a try. After two years of training and competing in shorter distance triathlons, I was ready to give it a shot. The $425 entry seemed excessive, but I wasn’t going to let it deter me. I had a $2,000 bike with $3,000 racing wheels, and a $450 wetsuit. Everything in this sport is expensive. The special triathlon optimized running shoes, the special pedals that require a special cleat, the special shoes that are compatible with the special cleat that hooks into your special pedals, the special triathlon suit, the special triathlon watch. Every stupid thing is specialized for triathlon, even things that make zero difference. But if it had an M Dot logo, I was just dumb enough to buy it. Thank God no one told me an M Dot tattoo on my forehead would increase my bike split by 10 seconds, or I would have one of those, too.


I had a workout buddy named Jason who was also training for The Great Floridian. Jason had a very strong swim background, was a strong cyclist, and a weak runner. I was a weak swimmer, a strong cyclist, and a strong runner. So he helped me during swim workouts, we both pushed the pace on the bike, and I helped him work on his running. Training for an ironman distance triathlon takes long hours, so we’d pass the time cracking jokes and making fun of each other. I’d go slow in the water, he’d make fun of me. He’d crack on the run and I’d make fun of him. On the bike, we’d push the pace so hard, neither of us had the breath to make jokes.


The day before the race, I traveled down to the West Orlando area to register and book a hotel room. I was excited race day was almost upon me. I walked around the expo in my brand new Ironman sandals checking out overpriced triathlon related gear I didn’t need. I set up my bike in the transition area and was impressed we had our own private changing area inside the tent. This seemed great! I wouldn’t have to wear anything under my wetsuit (which was usually a bit uncomfortable). I’d have that slight amount of extra room in my suit to make it a tad more comfy. I walked to the swim course still wearing my new sandals and suddenly I started to get some nasty blisters. “Stupid!” I thought to myself. A bad blister could be all it takes to prevent you from finishing a brutal race like this. So I took off my sandals and walked back to my car determined not to do anything else stupid that could ruin my race.


....


Back at my hotel room cleaning up the cut on my heel from walking in a parking lot barefoot, I was cursing myself for being so careless. The biggest race in my life and I was blowing it! The cut wasn’t too bad, but I had no idea what it was going to do once I started running on it. I was very concerned. I was also hungry, so I decided to eat at the Perkins at my hotel rather than drive around looking for another restaurant and risk doing something else I’d regret on race day.


....


Back at my hotel room throwing up the last of the Teriyaki chicken that apparently came with a complimentary filthy Sanchez, I was furious! Why did I eat at Perkins? I never eat at Perkins. Perkins sucks! I couldn’t imagine what else could go wrong. I was weakened by food poisoning, but I wasn’t going to quit. I’d trained for two years. They were going to have to haul me off that course in a body bag. I’d just go to sleep and since I was waking up at 3:00 AM, the earlier I got to bed, the better.


...


In my hotel bed unable to sleep due to the thumping sounds of a hip hop club that shared the strip mall with my hotel, I was livid. “Why did I choose this hotel? I never stay at Best Western. Best Western sucks! What else could go wrong? Is God plotting against me? Is this whole thing some kind of demented practical joke? Am I subconsciously sabotaging myself on purpose? With minimal sleep, I started getting ready at 3:00 AM. I was exhausted. The club shut down the thumping bass around 2:00 AM. That left all of one hour for me to sleep. I was going to do it. No matter what. I was seeing this thing through.


It was a quiet, tranquil morning setting up my transition and special needs kits. I put on my wetsuit and got a nice warm up swim in Lake Minneola. My heel didn’t feel so bad. My blisters were unnoticeable. My stomach was a little uneasy, but I’d survive. My eyes were very heavy. I was so tired. But I made it to the starting line. There was no turning back. My buddy Jason met me near the start and I vented about my rotten luck. Then he vented to me that he was coming down with a fever. He didn’t know if he could finish the race, but he said he’d complete the swim with me and then drop out of the race. It was good for me, though. He was going to swim my pace and let me draft off him. This was going to help me swim a much faster time than if I had to jockey for position with 200 swimming neanderthals.


When the gun fired and the men’s 18-35 wave dove in, I was right in the thick of things. I found Jason’s feet and paced him through the first lap perfectly. When we reached land, we had to run past a sensor and then back to the starting point and swim one more. Jason turned around and told me he couldn’t swim another lap. His race was done. He promised to wait and cheer me on through the swim finish and then he was going home. I thanked him for his help on the first lap and ran to the start and began my second lap.


The second lap didn’t go as well. One of the lifeguard boats was leaking fuel and I could taste it. My stomach was already sketchy at best and this wasn’t helping. At one point, I took in a mouthful of petrol water and started dry heaving. My concentration was thrown off. I was disoriented. I was getting really sick and I still had over half a mile of swimming left. By the time I made it to shore, I was a wreck. I threw up on the Channel 13 News cameraman’s feet. I staggered toward the changing area and tripped, falling into the sand face first in front of a group of teenage girls who worked as volunteers. I was out of it, but I figured I could just stagger to my changing room, sit down, rest, and recollect myself, but first, I had to pick myself up off the ground.


One of the ways the teenage girls, ages approximately 14-16, helped the exhausted athletes who had just finished swimming at full speed for over an hour and a half was by peeling them out of their wetsuits. All you had to do was lay down in front of them and they’d strip your wetsuit off for you. Panic started to set in when it occurred to me these girls were about to strip off my wetsuit and I wasn't wearing anything underneath. My slow motion shout of "Noooooooooooo!!!" went unheard, unheeded.


...


After dropping out of the race due to illness, exhaustion, and embarrassment, Jason told me "That was awesome! Those 14 year old girls liked what they saw. Did you get their numbers? You should race this course again next year . . . wearing only a trench coat, sunglasses, and a fedora."


"Should I grow a wispy mustache, too?"


Anyway, there are probably some teenage girls out there who I owe an apology...