Volunteering at the Lanikai Triathlon

On Sunday, I got up at the obscenely early hour of 4am and caught a ride with A down to the beach. We headed to the same parking lot as last year but soon realized we were in the wrong place and the race had moved one park over to Kailua's 1st park.

When I arrived, I was given a purple volunteer's shirt and sent over to the check-in area where I was given a big black pen and instructions on marking people with their numbers. The idea is to write the numbers on both shoulders as the person faces you. You need to be able to see the numbers as they run towards you. Also, start writing as high up on the shoulder as you can because the lower the number goes on the arm, the harder it will be to read as the person runs, swinging their arms.

So, the next hour or so flew by as I wrote on human skin. It's a very odd thing to get used to, but most athletes seemed to find it as amusing as I did. I even had a few people take my picture. At one point, I was writing on someone, and a flash went off. I paused, looked right, and saw the guy's hand holding a camera off to the side to get a picture of both of us. I looked up at him, he smiled, and I went back to writing. Ok, then. Another time it was a teenager's family taking the picture of him.

There were about 8 of us assigned to this, but I noticed something. A few of the volunteers were teenage girls, and I guess they're in that shy and afraid-to-make-A stage. While I and the other adults would loudly announce that we were available to do markings, they'd stand quietly, afraid to approach anyone. People had to ask them if they were doing markings. I remember that being me. I'm so happy it's not anymore.

It's fascinating to see all the different types of people competing in this. I wrote on professional athletes, a mom doing a relay with her sons (way cool), guys covered in so many tattoos that I wasn't sure the number would show, and people riding their a mountain or cruiser bike. There was even a big guy riding a small bike with huge, chopper-style handlebars.

Once we got hastly marked the last minute stragglers, four of us were handed timing machines and we followed the race director (also holding a timer) down to the beach. We lined up to the side of the first wave (male swimmers) and waited until the count-down. 3-2-1, and we had to hit the "start" button on our machine.

Running back to the check-in area, we dropped off the machines and got ready for the swimmers to arrive through the chutes. We had two chutes and one team of three was assigned to each one. In each team, there was an announcer, a writer, and a chaser. The announcer would read aloud the numbers of the people who came through "their" chute. The writer would write the numbers down, and the chaser would run after people whose numbers were missed (obscured, unreadable, whatever) to retrieve the number. I was the chaser, but I didn't end up having to run after anybody, so I mostly acted as a second pair of eyes/error-checker. I'm very happy I wasn't the writer because for a minute or two there it was a flood of people and that guy had to write FAST.

While it was really exciting to see everyone charging out of the water and into the bike area, it was also sad to see the DNFs, the Did Not Finish people. For whatever reason, something went wrong for them and they never even got past the swim. You feel so bad for them as they sit on the sand and watch everyone charge on without them.

Eventually the last person came in and we closed the chutes. Using the posts that formed the swim chutes, we moved them over to form the chute to guide people out onto the run course, and then we went over to set up the finish line. We were barely done setting up when the first finisher, Tim Marr, came through at about 50'30s. Holy Cow! The second place overall didn't come in for another four minutes!

My final job of the day was to collect the tags off people's numbers as they came through. My partner had the worst of the job. He stood in the chute after the finish line and pulled off the tag, a little perforated strip at the bottom of the number. He would hand the tag to me. The tag has a hole on one end, and I would thread them upside down onto a string with a plastic laminated number on the bottom. There were six of these strings, aka "spindles" and you start with number one. When that got full, the people doing the timing would come and collect the spindle and then I would start on the next one.

I was sooo happy not to be the one pulling the tags off people. Everyone was covered in sweat, and some were so exhausted, they weren't thinking clearly and would just try to push past. About half would get the gist of what's going on and pull off the tag before they reached us, but the rest we had to retrieve ourselves. My partner was probably layered in other people's sweat up to his elbows. Some people practically fell on him. I was grossed out just being handed all these soggy pieces of paper.

It's funny how all sense of decorum goes out the window. Many women had their numbers pinned across their chests, and had no problem at all with this guy reaching towards that area to get the tag. And men would practically thrust their lower sections forward to help us out. It's very odd to have your hands that near to certain areas on a perfect stranger (I had to retrieve a few myself when it got really busy).

There was another teenager with us. The idea was that when someone came in without a number, she would write down the number on one of a stack of blank tags and hand it to me, and I would put it in the proper order on the spindle. I think that was only needed about three times.

After most of the competitors had come in, we were able to relax a little and chat with people. I noticed the teenager whispering and giggling with a friend of hers. I followed their eyes to where they were looking and saw a guy signing an autograph. I must have looked clueless, because one of the teen's mother told me he was "The Bachelor." Apparently, the current guy on the tv Bachelor show is a Hawaii resident and a triathlete, and was standing about 8 feet away. The teens next to me were in a complete tizzy.

I turned my attention back to some incoming runners, and next thing I knew, the guy was standing right next to me. He thanked the girls for helping with the race, and then asked one of them her name. She was completely speechless, just stood there with her mouth open. Yeah, I'm sure that's the impression she wanted to make.

I missed the next part because of another runner (and me trying to hide my laughter) and then I hear "How about a picture of you with all the volunteers?" This came from a guy I'm calling "The Publicist" who was tailing the guy and taking pictures of him with anyone and everyone. I found out later he had sent the bachelor over to us to talk to the gawking girls. Since the guy was RIGHT next to me, I couldn't exactly refuse, so there's a picture of me (and a few other volunteers) out there with the Hawaii Bachelor. Watching him walk away, I noted that the numbers on his shoulders looked like my handwriting. I may have written on this guy and never even knew it.

It's very strange that although I don't watch the show, I've had close encounters with two different Bachelor guys, and I would never have even known it if someone else hadn't told me.

I stuck around for the awards ceremony, and I'm glad I did! The overall winner, Tim, received a prize package that included a $120 gift certificate towards new shoes at New Balance. Since he's sponsored, and already gets his shoes for free, he offered to give the certificate away. Shoko convinced him to have a jun-ken-po contest with the first two that came up. I was one, and another girl from the Boca HonTri group came up. I was a little startled to turn and see it was someone I knew. But we did it and I won on the first try with scissors. I thanked him later for the certificate and he was very gracious and friendly. Seems like a very nice guy.

It was actually a lot of fun, and I'm glad I did it. It was fascinating seeing some of the inner workings of how a race is put on.