Fashions ebb and flow among the triathlete tribe. With a world-wide membership, there are always new perspectives and opportunities for cross-fertilization. In the ’80s, the dominant Americans favored bright neon outfits and oversized, wrap-around sunglasses. In the ’90s, Europeans brought their Speedo banana-hammoock look to the sport. The ’00s featured the advent of compression clothing. And now we are in an era of cycling speed-suits, skin tight hip-huggers which show off every bulge and bump. And of course there is always something new appearing on the technology front: aerobars, heart-monitors, power meters, space-age nutrition solutions.
Every year, people gather in Kailua Kona from all over the world to race, to be among the racers, to market to the racers, and generally just to celebrate the joy and camaraderie of our sport. As the race became internationalized in the ’90s, Europeans brought their style into the mix. Women wore bikinis and men wore tiny speedo type bottoms with cut-off tops. While preparing for the race, they would nonchalantly saunter all over this little resort town in outfits which might get you arrested for indecency in parts of the US. And some guys just had to show off their heart-rate monitors, leaving the straps around their chests after running or cycling, shopping in an outfit which might be normal backstage at a fashion show, but a little odd out in public.
In 1998, three Kona athletes were going stir crazy a couple of days before the race. Juicy with energy and a strong sense of irony, they concocted a training activity to express their attitude towards all the excessive Speedo wearing they saw going on. Wearing only bright white briefs, with wide trucker hats, they showed up at the pier early Thursday morning and trotted down to Lava Java, where they posed for photos and attempted to explain themselves. Here is the list of rules they had prepared for that day:
1. Any version of white “mommy underwear” (also known as tighty whities, y-fronts, briefs, etc.) is permitted. Good sources include Duofold’s performance briefs made with Coolmax Alta or any variety of cotton three-packs available at Wal-Mart and other fine stores.
2. No boxers, long underwear, or stylish Euro-bikini briefs permitted.
3. Route must be completed by running, walking, or crawling. Heart rate monitors, black or argyle socks, bad hats, and earrings are optional.
4. While this event is considered a “moderately paced parade” rather than a “race”, pacing strategies are up to the participant.
5. No awards will be presented.
6. No aid stations will be provided.
7. Other rules to be decided as issues arise.
8. Rules committee (Tim Morris, Slice, Huddle, and Roch Frey) reserve the right to make things up as they go along.
9. All are welcome regardless of age, species (dog’s welcome), gender, race, religious beliefs and/or nationality.
“Huddle” is Paul Huddle, an accomplished age-group triathlete, coach (MultiSports), raucous wit, and husband of 8-time Kona winner Paula Newby-Fraser. Roch Frey is his coaching partner. Tim Morris is one of the original three runners, along with Huddle and
“Slice”, aka Chris Morris, a Richmand, Va. resident who now owns a tavern and sponsors local tris. With the MulitSports connection, they quickly spread their satire to other venues: Penticton, BC for Ironman Canada, Lake Placid for Ironman Canada, and beyond. By the turn of the century, the UPR had become an insider’s joke, something hip triathletes went out of their way to be a part of. If you did Ironman, you earned points by knowing about the UPR, and even more cred by actually running along.
Now, it has morphed into an institution. Huddle still leads the parade, running next to a fedora topped Frey. They have a website, sponsors, entry fees, tee-shirts, and a set of local Kona charities to give all the money to. After all, part of the reason for starting the thing was to apologize in some way for bringing the Ironman to town, particularly the (in their minds) insensitive effetes who foisted their (nearly) naked bodies onto the community. Last year, they attempted to make the Guinness Book of World Records with the most people in one place wearing underwear. Nearly 3,000 folks showed up, but they still didn’t make it. Nonetheless, they had, as usual, lots of fun.
The run leaders were chanting “Hup! HUP! Hup!” as they SLOWLY trotted down Ali’i. To the tourists photographing the spectacle, they shouted out, “You idiots! Put down your cameras and JOIN us!” Little kids, moms with strollers, young ladies with body suits (the kind that make your look naked), old guys with hairy pot bellies, along with more six-packs then you’d see in a Budweiser warehouse, filled the entire 1.2 mile out and back route. Literally; the lead “runners” finished the race before the final stragglers had started out.
I’m not a UPR kind of guy. I don’t really do Halloween and other costume events. I have a hard enough time just being myself, much less pretending to be someone else. But the UPRunners all enjoy the celebration, and love being silly. It’s happening right now, as I write. I guess I’m an idiot for not doing them?