Ironman triathletes are nuts, that's why

The back bumper of the gun-metal gray Hummer stretched before me, halfway up my car's windshield. If we collided, the length of my car's hood would wedge beneath this monster before its driver could hear breaking glass and sense my decapitation.

Have you ever noticed that Hummer drivers appear as if they're standing rather than sitting? No doubt after our collision the Weeble would wobble down from his behemoth's perch and expect what was left of me to apologize for driving a compact car.

But we didn't collide. Rather, the Hummer averaged 10 to 15 mph below the posted 45 mph speed limit on the rural road, double-yellow lined to prohibit passing. Entering a curve, I realized why. It was the fault of the car in front of the Hummer: A silver Buick sedan with a shock of wispy white hair barely puffed above the driver seat's headrest.

The Hummer's back bumper asked me, via a broad sticker, "Why not tri?" And it included the symbols for a swimmer, cyclist and runner beneath this question. Beneath that, the word "Ironman" appeared to throb in day-glo orange.

A silent sports sticker posted on the bumper of a Hummer? If only I could find something that rare with a lottery ticket. But after 15 minutes driving behind the Hummer and behind the lumbering Buick, with 12 miles to go, I felt compelled to come up with answers to the Ironman's question: Why not tri?

Foremost, I admire people who can complete a full triathlon. I respect their abilities as well as their perseverance, and perhaps I feel a twinge of jealousy. But in considering the persistent question, "Why not tri?" I could not escape the obvious word that dominated my thoughts about Ironman triathletes:

Nuts.

After swimming 2.4 miles amidst scores of other swimmers' flailing elbows and feet, the first thing a sane person does is take ibuprofen and a nap. Instead they then pedal their bikes in the hot sun for 112 miles. That's the least reasonable response to be found in the entire universe, right behind hitting oneself continuously with a baseball bat. And after cycling that 112 miles, after swimming 2.4 miles, rational people do not proclaim, "Let's run a marathon in the same hot sun!"

Unless, of course, they're nuts.

My Outdoor Sports television station often airs footage from Ironman triathlons in Hawaii from years past. It's a more tragic thing to witness than watching King Lear. Regardless of the race year, there is always footage of a competitor, whether an elite or novice, who sways deliriously a few miles from the finish, stumbling madly as if caught in a hurricane no one else can see.

And then there's the senior citizen, who should have stayed in his air-conditioned Buick, who finishes the race hours after the supposed cutoff time. He does so by crawling on his hands, knees and belly, eyes fluttering half shut, stretching his quivering fingertips toward the white line amid the concerned chants of, "Don't touch him or he'll be disqualified!" Whereupon touching that line, he is whisked away to an ER for IV infusions and hip replacement surgery.

Amazing, admirable. And, of course, nuts.

I know a fellow attorney who recently trained for a specific Ironman triathlon over an 18-month period. Upon my asking, she described her routine: Two to three hours of training before work; two to three hours of same after work. Six hours on Saturday, another six on Sunday. A day off every other week.

She could recount all this because she kept detailed notes on her computer. With all her exercise and healthy eating, all I could perceive of her was how utterly exhausted she looked, with darkened eye bags she could store change in.

Instead of training five to six hours a day with hardly a day off, she instead could average one to two hours of exercise a day. Wouldn't that, you know, keep her healthy? With the extra four to five hours per day left over she could also accomplish other things over those 18 months, like become a virtuoso pianist, build a Habitat for Humanity home, and recall what her spouse looks like.

Of course, attempting a full Ironman without adequate training would be a different kind of nuts. Regardless, a full Ironman is the act of taking three life sports and combining them to create a nonlife sport.

More and more we hear about people living reasonably healthy after their 100th birthdays. Those folks tend to talk about lives filled with friends and laughter, the luck of good genes, keeping an active mind, engaging in moderate exercise and sipping an occasional glass of wine. Comedian George Burns, as he neared his 100th birthday, remarked that the last doctor who told him to give up cigars died 20 years ago. But I have never heard centenarians proclaim that they owed their longevity to running 26.2 miles after cycling 112 miles after swimming 2.4 miles amidst scores of others' flailing elbows and feet.

To that, no doubt, they would ask, "Are you nuts?"

I already know there are legions of you Ironman triathletes out there ready to respond with the venom of a political right-winger railing against a left-winger to tell me exactly why it's great "to tri."

Please understand that while I was stuck behind the Hummer and Buick moving 10 to 15 mph below the posted 45 mph speed limit on a no-passing rural road, the bumper sticker demanded that I answer the question, "Why not tri?" So, to pass the time, I thought of possible answers.

That's all. Don't take it personally.

When the country road intersected another country road, the Buick and Hummer turned left. I turned right and soon got stuck behind a combine with one of those I-go-excruciatingly-slow triangles on back. The combine also displayed a large sticker of its own.

It read, "Sometimes it takes a nut to get the job done."

I had seven miles to go at 10 mph to think about that one.

Bruce Steinberg lives in St. Charles, Illinois, and inhabits South Kettle Moraine on his skis in the winters most weekends, skis the Birkie and other marathon distances. In warmer months he swims, cycles, and runs a pretty fair distance. Just not all on the same day. He can be reached at brucesteinberg6@aol.com.