Triathlon History: Personal Perspective by Ironman Inductee

By Bob Babbitt
Publisher Competitor Magazine
Ironman Hall of Fame Inductee

Okay, I admit it.  I had absolutely no idea we were supposed to finish the whole damn thing in one day.  I remember thinking, when I found out, that these people were absolutely, positively out of their skulls.

The year was 1980, there were only 108 of us in Oahu for the start of the third annual Ironman Triathlon, and who would have figured that EVERYONE would try to swim 2.4 miles, ride 112 and run 26.2 one right after the other?  My plan was to hopefully dog paddle my way through the swim, ride to the other side of Oahu, maybe 60 miles or so, then camp out.  I’d get up in the morning, ride the rest of the way back to Aloha Tower and then run the marathon.  Now, doesn’t that sound more sensible?  It sure did to me.

Before I left San Diego, I had racks put on my $60 police auction Centurion with the charred rear triangle (hey, why do you think it was only $60?) so I could hang my newly acquired panniers on them.  Inside would be my sleeping bag and provisions.  I was totally set up for the road.  A red Radio Shack radio mounted on the handlebars and held in place with a bungee cord, solid rubber tires to prevent those annoying flats (you had to wax the rims to get those babies on) and a little black electrical tape to cover up the charred stuff.  I was ready to roll!

But when I got to the starting line that morning and met my support crew (everyone had to have one), they suggested that they carry the sleeping bag and the rest of my goodies in their Fiat convertible.  Since they were going to be close by, I thought why not?

Ned and Me

The day before, my roommate Ned Overend, who went on to become a Mountain Bike Hall of Fame Inductee, and I were standing on the balcony of a hotel overlooking the stormy Pacific in Waikiki.  The race organizers had called us together for a pre-race briefing.  As Ned and I watched wave after wave hammer by, we both suddenly realized that the chances of us getting through the surf of the Waikiki rough water swim course in storm conditions were somewhere between slim and none.
 
So when the race director announced that the Ironman swim was being moved to Ala Moana Channel, Ned and I were ecstatic.  The deal was this.  ABC was over in the islands to film cliff diving on Sunday.  If this Ironman thing went off on schedule on Saturday, ABC could film it.  If the weather forced a delay to Sunday, there was no way Ironman would make it on TV.  So they moved the swim to Ala Moana Channel, which was protected from the surf.

While Ned and I were excited to be given a chance to get out of the water alive, the hard-core swimmers weren’t happy at all.  “What a pussy event,” they grumbled.  Obviously, those dudes hadn’t done all their swim training in a 120-lengths-to-the-mile condo pool like Ned and I had.  The biggest wave we ever had to deal with was when the Curran kids cannonballed into the pool at the same time one day and almost propelled us out onto the deck.  But that’s another story.

When I finally came out of the water on Ironman Day, I was just slightly ahead of Olympic cyclists John Howard, who spent half an hour washed up on the coral.  I ran to the shower and, after waiting my turn behind a father and his son (who just happened to be in the park at the time), put on a wool cycling jersey, my tennis shoes, jammed enough Hawaiian sweet bread into the pocket of my shirt to feed Guatemala, mounted up and took off.

The Incredible Huck

On the second of two laps of the channel, I’d seen one of my all-time favorite Ironman characters walking his way through the swim.  Yep, John Huckaby, known to himself and a few others as “The Incredible Huck,” was actually strolling his way through the 2.4-mile bay swim.  He’s probably the only Ironman competitor in history to be treated for blisters on his feet after the swim.
 
Incredible was in his late 50’s at the time, and had an impressive running resumé.  The guy knew long distance running.  Unfortunately, he was allergic to swimming.  There he was, right at the shoreline, in waist-deep water, walking along and actually stroking with his arms as he walked.  After getting out of the water and working his way through the bike, Incredible set out on the run course.  During the middle of the night, he disappeared.  His crew searched for him frantically, not knowing that the nickname Incredible also described his appetite.  About 2:30a.m. the mystery ended when Huck came strolling out of a Waikiki diner, napkin in hand.  When it’s time for breakfast, it’s time for breakfast, ya know?
 
I, on the other hand, was actually starting to get into this long-distance cycling routine when a member of my support crew set up on the side of the road for a food hand-off.  I’d seen this sort of thing in the Tour de France.  I readied myself, reached out with my right hand and, before I knew what hit me, became the proud owner of a white bag with golden arches on it.  How did I know that a Big Mac, fries and a coke weren’t on the Ironman diet?  It sure tasted good to me.  At mile 80 my crew followed up with a root beer snow cone.

By this point, I’d given up the notion of making this a two-day adventure.  My crew was so into it I couldn’t imagine pulling over and setting up camp just yet.  And anyhow, I was enjoying the heck out of myself.

The Way to Transition

When I pulled into the transition area at Aloha Tower, my crew had a major surprise waiting for me:  A full-on oriental massage, complete with soothing music and massage oils.  They laid me down on a bamboo cot and proceeded to give me the best massage I’ve ever had.  Twenty minutes later, I started out on the run.
 
I trotted through Waikiki and out onto the Honolulu marathon course. They had a rule back then that if you lost 5% of your body weight during the race, they would pull you from the event. They had scales set up every few miles to make sure. Remember, I had been eating Hawaiian sweet bread and drinking Gatorade for the better part of the day. When I got to mile four of the run, I stepped on the scale and heard the following over the walkie talkie:
 
“That number has got to be wrong. The guy has gained four pounds. You can’t GAIN weight doing this thing!”
 
For the better part of the marathon I took turns walking and jogging.  All of a sudden, though, just past 20, I felt this urgency to pick up the pace.  I ran through the Hawaiian darkness silhouetted in the lights of my support crew’s car.  Those last six miles just seemed to fly by. I started thinking about the finish. Would they have a band, a big crowd? Surely there would be something cool awaiting us.

Suddenly, I came upon a white chalk line drawn across the street. I slowed and looked to my right. In the park, underneath a light bulb strung from a telephone pole, sat an official-looking guy with a pad of paper in his hand.

“Hey, are you in the race?’ he yelled.

 “Yeah!” I replied.

 “Well, you’re done.  Good job,” he said.

I walked towards the voice and sat on the grass for a minute to catch my breath.  There were four other finishers lying there chatting with their support crews.  No one was moving or saying much except one guy who, for some unknown reason, was doing hand-stand push-ups.  After the official wrote my name down, my crew poured me into the back of the Fiat and took me back to the hotel.
 
I trudged up the stairs to my room.  I vividly remember the moon coming through the window and illuminating the red-as-a-lobster scorched outline of Ned’s back.  I asked him how his race had gone.
 
“Well, Pam [his girlfriend – now wife – and support person] had a hard time getting through the traffic in Waikiki.  She didn’t catch me for awhile,” Ned said.
 
“When did she catch up to you?” I asked.  “Mile 80,” he laughed, ”I was drinking from a sprinkler on the side of the road when she caught me. Then she lost me again in the marathon!”
 
I can’t believe that my first Ironman was 28 years ago.  It seems like only yesterday.

— 30 —