#pinkpowertri

For a while now, I have been looking for opportunities to volunteer at a race. My only hurdle is I tend to compete in races that are close to me. This weekend, I finally had the chance to give back to the triathlon community. This time, I was not allowed to race (it was a woman’s only race and I do not have a womb). I could not do much because this weekend because I was supposed to teach 5 high intensity cycle classes (2 on Saturday and 3 on Sunday). My good friend Ruthie Burke runs Girls on the Run of Greater Richmond and she sent out a message looking for volunteers for the race. Honestly, I had not given much thought to the Pink Power Triathlon (mainly because I was not participating). However, that message from Ruthie caused the dim light bulb in my head to switch on. I said to myself “Duh you idiot, here is what you have been looking for”. I was already committed to teaching a cycle class at 8:45 AM and then another one 10:00 AM on Saturday. But I did not have anything planned after class. So I signed up to help with packet pickup. That did not sound too hard. I have picked up many packets and it all seemed simple. All you have to do is look up the number, find it in the stack, hand it over and wish the competitor luck the following day. Becky, my wife, was working Saturday, I “donated” Mason (my oldest) to go to the river for the weekend with his cousin, and I was taking Braeden with me. This is where it could get interesting. I figured Braeden would have a good time handing out race numbers to the girls or he would want to go home after about 10 minutes. It was a coin toss as to which Braeden I get that day. I ended up getting a nice mix. We got to packet pickup at 12:00 PM (I was actually on time and for those of you who know me know that can be a rarity). I was ready to roll and I had been working on getting Braeden excited all morning. We walked into 3Sports and checked in with the volunteer coordinator. I was told I would be useful at the shirt table passing out the race shirts to the competitors. I thought to myself “Cool, how hard can that be?” Well, apparently it can be tough for me. You see, men have one “style” of shirt and they come in standard sizes (S, M, L, XL, etc.). Then you have shirts for women. You have a cut that is more fitting, which I don’t know what it is called but was referred to as “junior”. Then you have the “ladies” shirt which is not form-fitting. Not that hard yet (but the risk of error just increased because I have a Y-chromosome and my shirts just have one or two letters on the tag). Rather than call the shirts “Youth” and “Ladies”, they called them “junior” and “misses”. REALLY!?! I did my best to try and remember which table had the “junior” shirts and which one had the “misses” shirts. By the end of the day, we were running out of the small and medium shirts (in both styles). This is where things got interesting. Try telling a woman (who obviously wears a small) that I have to give you a large because it is the smallest size I have and not be unnerved by the look on her face that can only be interpreted as “what are you ‘telling’ me by giving me this large tee shirt”. It should not be interpreted as me telling you that you are fat (in any way, shape, or form). So please don’t look at me like that because it makes me nervous and I don’t want my 5 year old to see his dad torn to pieces in the far corner of the store (where it would easily go unnoticed). As politely as I could, I would tell them if the shirt does not fit to please bring the shirt with them in the morning and there will be a shirt swap where you can trade it in for the correct size. There were three of us (all males) operating this table while the women passed out race numbers. Not really sure if that was the most efficient allocation of resources (see that economics degree is coming in handy). I would fold the shirt (as if I had retail experience, which I don’t and have a tough time folding my own shirts when I do laundry) and then every so often hand the shirt to Braeden and he would give it to the lady (after folding it one more time into a nice square). That worked most of the time. There were times where I wish he had never learned to speak. Before we got to the store, he asked if I was racing. I told him “No Braeden, this is a race for girls only”. He then proceeded to ask most people if they were girls. Even the ladies with short hair, which can be an awkward situation because as a man (and husband), I know the woman is asking herself “why did that kid ask if I was a girl? Isn’t it obvious? What does he ‘really’ mean?” AWKWARD!! I told him they are all girls in the race. Then, wouldn’t you know it a teenage boy with long hair walks up with his mom and Braeden asked him “are you a girl?” There were also times where a “larger” woman would walk up and he would ask her if she needed a large shirt. By that time, I really just wanted to climb under the table and not come out. Better yet, I wanted to stick him under the table and not let him out. Sunday morning rolls around and the alarm goes off at 4:30 AM. I told the volunteer coordinator I was available to help out in the morning but I had to be gone by 7:30 because I had to be back at Woodlake to teach my 8:15 cycle class. I get there at 5:30 (again on time) where I was expecting to help out with body marking. My wife had already given me a hard time about “drawing on the pretty ladies”. I gladly accepted the request to help out with handing out the timing chips instead. Sad to say I could not stay and help out more because I was having a great time at the event. I left and headed back to Woodlake for class. I then proceeded to teach two more classes after that one (one at the American Family Fitness in Chester and then another at the Swift Creek location). Overall, I had a great weekend. Not as restful as I would like it since I have a week packed with more training to get ready for OBX. Today, I can ignore my sore and aching legs because of the warm feeling in my heart that I was able to give back to a community that has done so much for me (both physically and mentally) in just three short years. Thank you Ruthie Burke for turning on the light bulb in my brain.