The Wishy-Washing of Ironman

I was standing at the counter of the coffee shop. They were unusually slow in their barista activities so there had accumulated a little bit of a line. I was in front. There were maybe four or five folks behind me, no doubt tapping their feet, checking their blackberries and acting curiously antsy despite the fact that they hadn't yet gotten their morning caffeine fix. But that's what people usually do in Los Angeles coffee shops, they act jittery and rushed the moment they step in the door. Caffeine is just an excuse.

It was somewhat of a cold day - or at least cold in terms of Los Angeles standards (keeping in mind that we have very low standards). The temperature had dropped down to a frigid 57 degrees, just cool enough to dust off the light sweater or throw a long sleeve on top of your sun-tanned arms. I was mighty happy that a chill was in the air, reason enough for me to wear my Ironman finisher fleece. Any excuse to gallivant in my Ironman fleece is good enough for me.

Whenever I wear my Ironman fleece, my pride collides with my embarrassment. It all revolves around the back of the fleece. There, stretched from shoulder to shoulder, are eight very large letters, shining forth in bright red stitching. It says: FINISHER.

In my mind, the eight letters mean so much more than the sum of its parts. If you read between the lines of those letters, what it really says is, "Look at me, I'm important. I'm better than you. And, by the way, your mama wears army boots."

Honestly, I just doesn't feel right to cop that attitude. I'm not comfortable with overt arrogance. The fact is, I'm not better than you and I'm not that important (though I'm pretty sure your mama does wear army boots).

At the same time, I suppose there's a fine line between arrogance and pride. The fact is that I am damn proud to be an Ironman finisher. I had dreamed of finishing an Ironman and, gosh golly, I want to share my excitement with the entire world. Being an Ironman finisher makes me feel special. It makes me feel like I joined an elite club. This fleece cost more than money, it cost hard work and perseverance and a fair bit of pain. For goodness sakes, I earned the right to wear this fleece.

So, anyway, there I was in line at the coffee shop ordering some sort of hot beverage to warm my fleece-covered bones in this God-awful frigid weather. The happy helper took my order and informed me that I may want to get a bank loan to pay for my flavored water. I declined and handed over my Ironman credit card, because in Los Angeles we use credit cards for everything. If gumball machines took credit cards, I'd be spending my days chewing. As for the reasons I use my Ironman credit card, its pretty much the same as the fleece. I earned it, goddammit.

As I'm waiting for the receipt and my expensive cuppa joseph, I casually glanced behind me. The line stretched back into the store, but my eyes stopped at the people who were standing right next to me. It was a man, about 45 years old and slightly paunchy. Overweight might even be a better term. Sure, maybe he jogged a few miles every now and then, perhaps lifted some weights in the gym, but he didn't look like the endurance type of athlete. Next to him was his wife who definitely doesn't exercise - and if she does, it's not working.

The thing that really got me intrigued, though, was the fact that they were pushing their child in a stroller. A yellow stroller. A yellow stroller with a great big IRONMAN logo on the side.

I stared at the Ironman logo, partially in disbelief, partially in an emotional bond. I looked back at the parents, almost expecting to see the Ironman glow in their eyes.

There's no way, I thought. I mean, sure, you don't have to have six-pack abs to finish an Ironman, just look at me, but.... This just didn't feel right. If they had really completed an Ironman wouldn't they at least say something to me? Here I am standing not but 2 feet in front of them, with the big bright red letters of "FINISHER" smacking them in the face. Wouldn't it be natural to strike up a conversation? Isn't that what we do in this exclusive Ironman club of ours? We enter into conversations with other Ironman finishers about random Ironman events.

Which Ironman did you finish? we say to each other. Oh, I hear that's a great event, we inevitably respond. I've always wanted to do that one, we continue. There's an unwritten script that we follow in Ironman introduction conversations. It's required. It's like a secret handshake.

But these people - these Ironman phonies - they didn't even bother to say anything to me. Not a hello. Not a "when did you race that one." Not even a simple smile of recognition.

I turned my back slightly to make sure they saw the back of my fleece. I wanted to blind them with the brightness of my FINISHER stitching. That'll get them to talk. That will weed out the true Ironmen from the posers.

I waited for their comments, but there was nothing.

Clearly they can't be Ironman finishers. I felt disgusted. These people are wannabes. They are stealing the Ironman logo from those that have earned it. Don't you have to qualify to buy one of these baby strollers? Don't you need a finishing time? These people, they're thieves, robbing me of my pride. I can't stand them. I want to rip the M-Dot logo right off of their baby stroller and expose them for the fabricators they are.

I grabbed my coffee and huffed out the door.

What has become of Ironman? I think to myself. What was once a select club of the most fiercely determined athletes, is now just another logo in the marketplace. Do you remember when the Ironman was recognized as the most difficult one-day athletic event in the world? What became of that? Where did it all go to?

As people flock to Ironman events like it's another weekend road race, the power in the symbolism has begun to fade into banality.

Ironman merchandise abounds. There are Ironman bikes, Ironman sunglasses and Ironman watches. Ironman scales and medicine balls and jump ropes. For $1100 dollars you can by an Ironman elliptical trainer on eBay and for only $450 you can pick up the Ironman recumbent bike. The World Triathlon Corporation just announced the new Ironman coffee. I don't know where it's going to be sold, maybe in the Ironman section of Target. Or perhaps it will be next to the Ironman baby strollers crammed onto the floor of REI.

When I raced Vineman 70.3 this year, the finish line announcer was calling people Ironmen. "Joe Schmo," he'd say as they crossed the finish line. "You are an Ironman!"

Wait a minute, you're telling yourself, Vineman is only 70.3 miles. And you are right. But Ironman is no longer a distance, it is an attitude.

Since 1978, the Ironman brand has stood for endurance and passion, dedication and perseverance. It has represented the best and strongest. Ironman is inspiration.

Unfortunately, the great irony of the Ironman brand is that, as participation in the sport popularizes, the power of the brand diminishes. If everybody claims to be "elite," than nobody is.

Ironman is no longer simply a 140.6 mile event, it is a symbol of determination. It is no longer an endurance event, it is a consumer brand - and one that generates a butt load of money. Ironman is about determination, and now, for a few dollars, anybody can buy in.

We are in the midst of the gentrification of Ironman. Today it is much easier than anytime in history for anybody to experience the Ironman attitude. You don't have to swim, bike or run. You don't have to train for 7 months - to sacrifice family and friends. You don't have to battle the physical pain and emotional destruction. You don't have to bring your body to the very edge and confront the demons burning inside you.

All you have to do is open your wallet.

As somebody who is highly passionate about the sport of triathlon, I want everybody to feel it's power. I want the sense of accomplishment to spread like a virus and fuel the fire of inspiration in all corners of the world. I want everybody to experience the joy of triathlon. At the same time, I want to feel special. I want to be an Ironman elite.

Ironman is a dream.
I hope our dream doesn't get sold down the river.