This post is for you triathletes out there in need of a little humor. I’ve told the story several times, but it never gets old. And of course we are all competitive, so a competition fits the bill here nicely (see my Group “Wolf’s Monthly Tri Topic” for details).
In 2011 I was teaching A&P, Ex Phys and more at Pinnacle Career Institute, so I decided to broaden my horizons and enter the Triathlon for the KCCC (bad jokes a par for my blog). Super short, fun and heck; I was going to Kona in October so–um ya–I should do well against people who get suckered into participating just to get a point for their company.
Making the pot even sweeter, it was on the same day as the now deceased Kansas 70.3. That meant the stronger athletes would likely be showing their guns on a bigger stage, leaving me to be a bully at the smaller race in my backyard. Sweet!
Lining up for the swim, indeed I could tell the odds were in my favor. I could probably win the thing and my company would think I’m the coolest. Boom! I like feeling cool. So I do what I always do before I race. I pointed at something.
I have dozens of pics of me pointing. What can I say? I like to point.
The swim went fine. I’m what I like to say a “good bad swimmer”. I swim bad, but I do it good (well). Went on to the bike and really hammered it. I knew if I could come off the bike with a 2 minute lead there was no way anyone would catch me. It’s not like Kevin Denny was in the mix. 🙂 The plan to hammer the bike went well. Came off and that’s when things got interesting….
I ran over to my spot at T2, tossed my bike on the empty rack and went to grab my shoes…wait. They aren’t on the towel where I usually put them. Weird? How amateur. “I must have left them in my bag,” I chuckled to myself. A bit flustered I open my bag and the shoes aren’t there! What the hell?
I look around my area, I look at my kind neighboring transition mates…nothing. No shoes. Dude!!!! Now I’m frantic and I calmly and politely asked a volunteer if she’d seen my shoes. Okay I pretty much shouted at her but DUDE WHERE THE HELL ARE MY SHOES!
One minute goes by. I’m not sure what I was doing aside from pacing and setting a new HR threshold for T2. Finally I decided to go over to the music guy/race announcer and ask him if he’s seen my shoes? He makes an announcement “Hey has anyone seen a lost pair of shoes?”
Announcer to me only: “What do they look like?”
Me: “Orange and Yellow”.
“They are orange and um…*clear throat* yellow?” He shrugs at me while addressing the crowd. Great this is pointless.
So I saunter over to my area, barefoot, no chance of being a bully anymore, and not happy. Now I just can’t believe I didn’t have my shoes. Maybe I left them in the car? No I warmed up in them. Are they by the water? Why would they be there? I don’t know WHY AREN’T THEY HERE!!!!!!!!!!
I call my superstar supportive wife (shameless I know…but she is) Tricia, who was cheering our friends on in Lawrence. Man I wanted to be there, not in this T2 shoe eater at SMP.
In the middle of me reiterating my T2 shoeless tale, a volunteer walks up with this young guy holding my shoes, 15 minutes after they’d gone missing. “I gotta go” I said and hung up.
“Hey! Those are my shoes!” I said excitedly. I didn’t know who this guy was but I loved him! He saved my shoes!
Guy with my shoes: “I couldn’t find mine so I took yours!” he smiled back at me.
Oh that’s nice…wait. WHAT!
“You what??!!” I didn’t know who this guy was but I hated him now.
“Ya I couldn’t find my shoes so I took yours. It’s not a big deal…” declares the shoe-stealer.
“NOT A BIG DEAL” I yelled, interrupting as steam poured out of my ears. “What the F*$% is wrong with you!” I’m not one for using my fists to express emotion. I’ve never hit anyone. I still haven’t but man I came close.
“FOLLOW ME” I snarled. “You need to be disqualified.”
As I walked for a minute I started to piece things together. The guy was part of the duathlon, so he went off earlier then me and got to T2 before me…and had to walk a football field over and stumble upon MY shoes. Lucky me.
And he really had no idea he did anything wrong!!! (Or as my friend Newland put it: “or any human decency”). Damnit. If I get him disqualified I ruin two days instead of one. While I’m mad and was pretending to be a bully, I’m not. And this is just Corporate Challenge. It doesn’t really matter (and really does any triathlon matter that much? We’re not pros here). Damnit again.
“Just get out of here. Leave.” I huff in his direction. That’s about the nicest thing I could say.
Well. What now? I guess I’ll run it. Get a point for PCI. Oh well. So I did…and came in 22nd in my division, 100th overall. Luckily nobody took my bike while I was away running because they couldn’t find theirs, right?
It was the only Triathlon where my T2 was LONGER than my run. Looking back it is kind of funny, and one heck of a story. This blog post wouldn’t be as good if it was “The day I bullied my way through the KCCC Tri and took first, making me look really cool for PCI”.
At the end of the day, all races are reduced to stories anyway. The race where “you lost the goggles”, “your shorts ripped down the butt on the run”, “got hit by a deer” (sorry Bart couldn’t resist)…so on and so forth. I just happened to get a good one here.
And, of course, I got a medal to add to the others. I think? Or did the moron shoe-stealer run off with that too…
Have a good story to tell? Post it below. Best story wins a pair of my shoes.