Triathlono Manifesto

Listen, I know I'm not the first person to raise this issue, but what is going on with the sport I love? My friend Juli emailed me when she noticed that the 2008 Nautica NYC Olympic Tri has a registration fee of $225. $225! Now I’ve never done this race or even talked to anyone who has (so I'll concede that it might be postively fabulous), but that’s a lot of money for an Olympic tri. A lot. I poked around their website and found that “Champions Club” entry is still available for $500 but otherwise the race is sold out. It sold out in 22 minutes. Registration started at midnight a couple of nights ago. The race is at the end of July. Help me with the math here—$225 for an Oly race that sells out in a matter of minutes in the middle of the night nearly 9 months in advance? Nevermind Ironman selling out a year in advance (that’s another Oprah)—did I mention this is an Olympic distance race?

Tell me about the early days, grandpa. Okay, so I remember a time when I first got into the sport (late ‘80s) when there was serious discussion about whether “just anyone” should be able to complete a triathlon. Ironman was the only true triathlon and you weren’t a true triathlete unless you went the true distance. People actually tried to make the case that it was bad for the sport if more people could do it. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed but now, even as the sport is booming with new participants, a different kind of exclusivity is creeping up. Money.

$12.5k for a frame/fork (BMC)? $3.5k for a disc wheel (Zipp)? $2.5k for an aerobar (Oval Concepts)? What is happening here? My goals for any race these days are twofold and simple: (1) a high age-group finish, and (2) catch and pass someone riding a disc wheel. Where is all this money coming from and do people really think they’re buying speed? Half the folks I see riding disc wheels would probably be faster on something else. Yes, the aero TT rig you paid $8k for weighs only 17 pounds but you’re 40 pounds overweight. Besides, you’re folded onto that thing in such a way you couldn’t generate power even if you had it to generate. Invest $150 in a professional fit and you’ll have a better chance of hauling ass.

Now I’ll freely admit that I’m a tri-consumer so maybe I’m part of the problem. Yup, I own a pair of $600 custom shoes and my raceday 606/Powertap setup, while a useful tool, is a luxury. I get it. I’m not making any national teams or reaching the podium at any race of consequence. I’ve spent years of training and buckets of sweat moving from being a fast slow guy to being a slow fast guy. (You may have to read that twice, but I wrote what I meant.) Anyhow, I earn my money and I should be able to spend it as I want—so should the next guy or gal. More power to us all.

But it feels like it’s getting away from us a bit. Juli and I taught a tri class for true beginners this summer. It was incredibly rewarding to introduce people to the sport. They showed up on bike fit night with hybrids and mountain bikes. There were a couple of road bikes but no aerobars, disc wheels, or aero frames. The participants learned the sport, did the training, and became triathletes—and they loved it. At the beginning of class, most folks said they just wanted to do one triathlon—just to see if they could do it. After they completed a race, most of them were looking forward to the next race. But one of the lessons we felt compelled to teach was this: “do not be intimidated by anything you see in the TA—you can’t tell how fast someone is by looking at the shape of their body or the bling-factor of their equipment.”

I’m thankful for the opportunities we have here on the front range. From the family feel of the Loveland Lake to Lake or the newly rejuvenated Tinman to the party atmosphere of Thursday night Stroke and Strides to the world-class fields at the Boulder Peak—we’re pretty lucky.

Love your sport and do your part to introduce your friends to it. Lend them some equipment or give them your old stuff. We all got into this for our own reasons but remember when you were young and poor (or maybe that’s today)—would you have gotten into this sport if it cost $225 to race? Volunteer at local races, throw away your empty Cliffshot packets, and stick around after you finish to cheer in the folks going 5 hours at an Oly. We may not be able to keep the costs down, but we can still keep the love of the sport in the sport.