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The sport of triathlon is not that big. By comparison, it is not nearly in the same league as
baseball, basketball, football, or soccer. Indeed, when the average person on the street is
queried about his or her knowledge of triathlon, at best, one can expect an answer such as,
“Oh, isn’t that the thing in Hawaii where people swim through lava?” Or,
“I know it must be more than one sport and I think they run but that is all I know.”
The public’s non-conception is understandable, given the young age of the sport and the
lack of big time media exposure. I am quite okay with that. In fact, I like the idea that
our “little sport” draws oblique images of pain-seeking masochists who exist on the
fringe of society. Of course, there was a time when image mattered to me, or at least to the
people who were paying me to be a fringe-dwelling fitness freak. I know better now.
What matters is in your heart, not on the sports page or on the Wide World of Sports. All that
said, the regular Joe would be surprised to hear that the sport of triathlon has not one, but
three, Halls of Fame. This interesting fact (so opposite the relative size of the sport) is
understandable when you realize that the average number of members totals five—not five
per year, but five in all!
It is even predictable when one considers the polarization of the sport. Triathletes are
individuals first and team players second. It is no accident that the opportunities for
multisport competition run the gamut from urban-based micro distances to three-day, off-road
adventure quests. (And given the self-absorbed nature of triathlon organizations, it is
surprising that there aren’t more than three Halls of Fame. But that is another story for
another day.)
The largest group is in the Ironman Hall of Fame. I think there must be seven people by now.
The World Triathlon Corporation, owners of the Ironman brand, only induct one person per year
so it will take a while before a 10,000-foot chrome and glass structure is needed to house the
artifacts of such an esteemed tribe. Currently, the Ironman Hall of Fame exists as a rolling
display brought out of a back closet for a week or two in October surrounding the annual
World Championship in Hawaii.
The second largest Hall is the Triathlete magazine Hall of Fame. Before this year’s
inductees, there were five members, all of which were inducted in the inaugural ceremony in
1999. As I recall, the “ceremony” came as a last-minute addition to the awards giving
at a local 5K. Or was it a 10K? I don’t remember, although I do recall somebody reaching
into the trunk of his car, pulling out a couple of paperweight pseudo trophies for the
“Founding Fathers” and saying, “Welcome to the Hall of Fame. Have a nice day.
Okay, on to the Women’s 50 to 59 age group.”
Needless to say, there were no sound bites on the evening national news. There is no physical
building where triathlete fans from around the world can go to see things like a Xerox copy of
the entry form from the first triathlon in 1974 or a finisher’s T-shirt from a nondescript
event in 1976. The founders of this Hall of Fame currently have no plans to erect a structure.
Quite possibly they are waiting until the number of members is much larger; like 10 or 12.
The final Hall of Fame is the smallest, newest, and most prestigious. It was created by Tom
Warren, a gentleman who won the Hawaiian Ironman in 1979. Warren, who for years owned a quirky
beachside bar by the name of Tug’s Tavern, is himself unique and iconoclastic in nature.
He is retired now, the bar a victim of soaring property values and yuppie taste for the
upscale. He competes for fun and has reached underground cult hero status among triathletes
in the know.
Several weeks ago, Tom Warren was finally inducted into the Ironman Hall of Fame at an industry
awards dinner. It was nearly midnight by the time the program finally caught up to the
presentation, a victim of too many awards and too many “look-at-me” speeches. But Tom
was unfazed. He took the microphone, looked out into the now sleepy crowd, and said he was
going to take this opportunity to induct a few of his friends into his own Tug’s Tavern
Hall of Fame. The crowd woke up. The people milling around the exit door took their seats. Who
was this guy, anyway, to shun the spotlight of his own lifetime achievement award to pay homage
to a few of his friends by putting them into his own Hall of Fame?
When he asked publisher Bob Babbit and me to come forth and accept our trophies—wooden
tugboats handmade by Warren himself—I was truly humbled. I’d known Tom for 25 years,
since the beginning of the sport itself. And I had always admired his courage to live life on
his own terms, swimming against the current in a time when conformity had robbed most people of
their indentity, if not their happiness.
I took the stage, looked at my wooden boat with the personalized inscription that only Tom and
myself would understand and knew that my life as a triathlete was complete.
Years from now, when the sport of Triathlon reaches levels never thought possible, and all of
the Halls of Fame (save one) have merged and are housed in a beautifully designed structure
that is a monument to itself, I will still have my wooden tugboat, perched on top of the
mailbox where it belongs. And though I will carry my pre-existing membership into that generic
Hall, above all I will treasure my association with one Tom “Tug” Warren. For it
stands for all that is good with
sport.
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