The Heart O' Dixie Triathlon

The sport of triathlon began in October of 1979 in Hawaii. On the second day of August 1980, this brand new challenge landed on the mainland of the United States in Louisville, Mississippi.

I was there.

I was one of the original triathletes.

This is my story.

An article announcing this unheard of event appeared on the front page of the Greenwood Commonwealth. It might have been June, maybe May. Contestants would swim a half mile in Lake Tiak O Khata, cycle 27.5 miles down Highway 15 to Philadelphia, Mississippi, and then run seven miles to the Neshoba County Fair finishing the thirty-five mile odyssey on the dirt race track at the fair. For me, it was love at first read.

That was before the internet. In those days, you wrote a check, licked a stamp, and mailed an envelope. The very next day my check was written, my stamp licked, and my envelope mailed. I was as excited as an eight year old on Christmas Eve. 

Not knowing what a triathlon was, I certainly didn't know how to train for one. I figured I needed to swim some, so I secure permission to take dips in my wife's aunt's pool. I would run over to the Cooks' on Popular Street from our home on West Monroe early in the mornings and do a few laps in the small pool. It was maybe ten or twelve yards meaning I did literally a few strokes, turn around and do a few more strokes.

I didn't even own a bicycle. A friend, Danny Collins, loaned me his which I rode to work every day and out Money Road once or twice. I assumed the race organizers would supply bicycles, and I was really going to drive over there expecting them to have me a bike. It was my dad who disabused me of that idea. I wound up purchasing a real bicycle from a now defunct shop in Indianola. I paid $300 for a steel butted framed, aluminum parted, small tire bicycle that was equipped with toe clips. I was in business and in style. Instead of purchasing biking shoes, I took a power saw and cut a groove in my running shoes to clip in on the bike pedals. It worked.

If you were alive then and if you worked outdoors, or perhaps even if you didn't, you should remember that 1980 was the hottest year ever. People who saw me out running in the 100 plus degree heat would stop their cars and watch in amazement. No joke. The race officials even said they were going to weigh us before the race and after the bicycle portion and pull us if we lost (I forget how much) too much weight. But the heat wave had broken by August and that weighing stuff was dropped.

Race day arrived finding me on the banks of beautiful Lake Tiak O Khata as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. What had I gotten myself into? We had to supply the race directors with an estimated swim time which I did honestly. They lined us up in rows according to our estimated times to swim the half mile. I told them 20:00 minutes which is about what I actually swam it in. To my dismay, I found that many participants lied about their times. There were maybe three rows of people ahead of me who could not swim a single stroke of freestyle. That meant I was boxed in on the front side and had people literally swimming up my back. In those early years, the Heart O Dixie swim was a struggle just to stay alive. I am not exaggerating. 

Even now, forty years later, I wonder how ten or twenty people did not drown on that first swim. Somehow we all made it, and today the swim runs as smoothly as my truck going to the bank on payday. With a staggered start  (swimmers entering the water every six seconds), there is safety and no frustration as we have room to swim to our full potential. And now, forty years later, I swim the half mile in 12:00 to 13:00 minutes instead of the 20:00 I started with. How about that?

That first HOD I finished in 3:09. As times go, that's not a good one, but like children, that one was mine and I was proud of it. The run after the bicycle ride was and remains particularly tough. The course is hilly for a delta boy and shade is only a wish out there. When you cross that finish line, you know you have done something, and you deserve some ice-cream. The feeling of accomplishment is strong.

There were more people who finished ahead of me than behind me, but I had fun, and I wore that T-shirt like it was spun of gold by the world's to fashion designer. As soon as the race was over, I was already planning my training for the next year. I knew then what I needed to do. Or at least I thought I did.

Another thing that was different then and better was the fact that the race was during the second week of the fair. The stands would be full of people watching us come in. Now it seems that only family members of the contestants brave the heat to watch the weary finish their journey.

With forty years of hindsight, I continue to be amazed at the moxie of the Philadelphia Sertoma Club to put on this event the first year when nobody even knew what a triathlon was. As a point-to-point race, the logistics are complex, but their passion for excellence is astounding. And this year, the 40th running, has me once more exciting. The race is this Saturday. I am minimally trained, but maximally stimulated. I want that feeling of crossing the finishing line one more time. I want that T-shirt that I don't need. I want the training effect and the satisfaction of doing it one more time. I want to face the temptation out there on the run, the temptation to quit. I want to win that battle again.

I started this sport forty years ago. I hope one day to be the oldest finisher the HOD has ever had. Maybe if I can live that long, I will actually place there. That will be my crowning athletic experience.