A letter to my fellow White triathletes
Is our sport racist? Can we change that?
In the two weeks since the murder of George Floyd, the United States has erupted into conversation and action to confront racism. From Nickelodeon to the New York Knicks, many companies and sports teams have followed the lead of Black youth and youth of color organizing in cities large and small to bring police violence against Black people into our news feeds and antiracist actions to our dinner tables.
The conversation has seemingly taken place everywhere, and professional athletes, many of them Black, have been vocal participants. Which is why the relative silence within triathlon has been so notable.
Ironman (World Triathlon Corporation), the flagship company of the sport, skipped #BlackOutTuesday. It waited until Friday, June 5, at 8:30 p.m. ET to post a statement — two hours after NFL chairman Roger Goodell, who has led a protracted 4-year campaign against players kneeling during the national anthem in support of Black lives, was led kicking and screaming to say something. To date, Ironman has not shared its supposed commitment to Black lives on its homepage, email list, and other social media accounts. The Slowtwitch homepage leads with a review of a new Shimano shoe and Zipp’s new 303’s. BLM protests have reached Paris, where DCRainmaker is based, but his site headlines a watch review, and the UK’s 220 Triathlon magazine has been mum. Not all have been silent. Racing company Rev3 sent an email Friday morning, many athletes have posted, and USA Triathlon issued a short statement on #BlackOutTuesday affirming that #BlackLivesMatter. The first comment responding to USAT’s post is a scolding instruction for USAT to “stay in your ‘swim lane.’”
Why the relative silence, the fumbling delay in speaking with conviction against racism, or the response that racism has nothing to do with triathlon?
Triathlon is an overwhelmingly White sport. Our Whiteness has insulated many of us as individuals from police violence and systemic racism, giving us the option of whether to engage in the conversation which, for many people, is not a choice.
Triathlon serves a collective role in Whiteness. As a space that is predominantly White, where people often possessing other privileges — cisgender people, people with wealth, class and educational privilege, people with able-bodied privilege — congregate, the sport’s ecosystem creates a refuge from the world outside, just as individual sticks leaned together into a cone gain structural strength. If we are to take Ironman’s CEO at his word that the delay was the result of genuine soul-searching about what can be done to make a place for Black people in the sport, it is worth noting that only 1% of American triathletes are Black — a staggering statistic.
I know from my own tri club that not all triathletes are White. One Black member, known as “The Legend,” has raced Placid all but a handful of times in the event’s history. But Whiteness is the norm within the sport, the default. And this is harming us all, triathletes and the rest of society. We might spend thousands of dollars on carbon wheels less frequently and direct more of our resources to people in need if we start talking about how our sport, and ourselves, fit into our society, and whether we’d like that to change.
Let me focus on who we is before exploring how we works. Modern triathlon was started by white people. White people initiated its most famous race in Kona. Professional triathletes in the sport’s 45 year history have been nearly universally white. Its star athletes are white. And its participants — us — are overwhelmingly white, with 85% of U.S. triathletes identifying as such. The sport is expanding globally, and its flagship company, is now owned by a China-based firm, but this does not change the U.S. demographics. It is also predominantly wealthy, older, and male-identifying. These facts are used to situate triathletes as ideal marketing targets. What they really reflect is power.
We as triathletes hold a great deal of power. A disproportionate amount of power. And we are responsible for how we use that power, intentionally or not, to uphold injustice.
There is a name for this injustice: White Supremacy.
White Supremacy is the system that upholds the status quo of racial stratification. It is the complex set of forces that makes it hard to imagine a white man coming to the same tragic end as was visited by police upon George Floyd or Breonna Taylor, or by vigilantes upon Ahmaud Arbery and Tony McDade. It is at work when armed white militias can force the Michigan legislature to close down without violence from the police, but unarmed Black protesters incur violence and arrest. By showing us again and again that this is the way things are, White Supremacy encourages us to believe that at some level this is natural, the way things should be. We may not be doing this intentionally, like the very real networks of people actively organizing to hurt or kill protesters as I write. But we are all at least passive contributors to harm — our intentions and the outcomes we produce can differ. Very often we are in between, harboring internalized racist beliefs while at the same time rejecting others. White Supremacy is not an individual act of racism, it is our environment, the water we swim in. And because it’s the water we swim in, it’s inevitable that we’ll swallow some of the water. (This, like most ideas here, is not an original thought of mine. I’ve drawn on many insights, most often shared by Black folks, such as my friend Michael’s Op-Ed.)
What is ours to own is what we do when we realize that we’ve been swallowing water with every stroke, that we’ve been impacted by a lifetime of training to devalue Black lives. When we realize that we’re continuously taking on water, do we spit it out? Or do we keep swimming? Can we dive deep in an effort to drain the pool?
I use “we” because I am very much in the disorienting process of attempting to stop drinking the water, not someone sitting in the lifeguard chair blowing the whistle on everyone else. I am not talking about you. I am talking about me. I am talking about us.
I am a former president of a 300-member tri club. I’ve done full distance races and my share of 5-hour trainer rides, placed in sprints, bonked in halves, bought a fancy bike (and fancy wheels), peed in my wetsuit, peed in my trisuit, and done all the things that mark this sport. If there’s a problem within triathlon, then I am a full-fledged contributor to it. And there is a problem.
Last week, two members of my triathlon club and I were texting about race and the sport we love. “I’m literally shaking with anger,” texted a white woman. “Ironman not only said nothing, but they are now actually silencing people.” She is part of a Facebook group run by WTC, Women for Triathlon. The group’s moderators had been taking down posts mentioning Black Lives Matter, but leaving up comments that reiterate the ground rules that politics are not welcome in the group. “Wow thanks for bringing this to my attention. While I literally sit here in my ironman shirt 😡😠,” responded the other, a Latinx man. “I’ve been longing to get rid of this idiotic tattoo my young self got. Now it’s going for real.”
The Women for Tri moderators, in removing BLM-themed posts, left only the messages appealing to the community ground rules against political speech or things unrelated to triathlon. These paeans to the apolitical are of course not neutral. They are rejoinders to posts affirming that Black Lives Matter. When affirming the sanctity of life is deemed political, we should question how apolitical we are really being. And the idea that Black lives are unrelated to triathlon makes clear my point.
Neutrality is the vantage point of those who have power. Privilege makes it easy to mistake our own experience for universal. It allows us not to see the things we take for granted, such as our very bodies not being perceived as threatening, something to fear or control (the women reading this might identify this sentiment among men they know). The idea that any space is devoid of racial politics is a figment of the White imagination. But “neutral” is not neutral. It is acceptance of the status quo. And the status quo in America is not neutral on race, nor has it ever been. I think this bears saying to my fellow White triathletes, because many of us have grown up seeing our race as apolitical.
But our bodies are inherently political in a system of White Supremacy. Ahmaud Arbery wasn’t attempting to make a political stance when he went for a run, but the politics of being Black in America found him. Christian Cooper, the Black man who had the cops called on him for reminding someone of Central Park’s requirement for leashing dogs, wasn’t attempting to be political, but White Supremacy decided his body already was. As a sport, our inattention to race is political, just as is our attention to it.
My club’s Code of Conduct, which I helped write, states that the club “strives to be a place where anyone in the [city’s] community can feel comfortable to pursue triathlon in community.” Yet the current movement for Black lives has caused me to reconsider what is required to truly enact this vision. For example, how can someone feel comfortable to pursue triathlon when she is subject to racialized violence in the public parks we train and race in, the same ones that Christian Cooper uses? If the status quo in the United States holds that Black lives are expendable, then how are we replicating that culture of White Supremacy within our club, especially when we do not actively work to address or change this norm?
One thing that’s clear to me: it is not just the responsibility of Black triathletes to “diversify” the sport. Triathlete Magazine’s piece this week, Here’s How You (and We) Can Help Right Now, highlights several initiatives within the sport, but they are all for and by People of Color, where it is also our responsibility as White people to engage in this work.
Yes, “diversity initiatives” are worthwhile; triathlon has high barriers to entry, which actively keep people out in a way the local 5K does not. Steps our clubs can take to break these down help make a dent into that 85% behemoth. USAT has made headway here with collegiate triathlon.
But diversity initiatives are not enough. USA Cycling’s statement (published only Monday, but on their homepage) focuses on “Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion.” But this framework only asks “how do we include Black people in the sport as it exists now?” rather than asking “how do we change the sport as it exists now to meet the needs of the more diverse membership?”
The “inclusion” frame is at work among the commenters to USAT’s statement, who were quick to point out the barrier or cost in triathlon as the key reason Black athletes are underrepresented in the sport. Sure, make races cheaper. And teaching Black youth to swim is a worthwhile end in itself. But removing barriers is different from making affirmative changes. It does not make the sport inviting or safe. And it does not interrogate the fundamental question of whether the sport’s DNA is designed for a privileged psychology, or if the institutionalization of the sport as a money-making machine has prioritized those pieces.
Here’s one example: Our events are generally staffed by police departments. The same police departments that some communities have learned the hard way to fear. The same departments we are now all seeing deploying violence. The same departments that many are pushing to demilitarize and defund. If the Minneapolis School Board can end its contract with the MPD, can our local races follow suit? Many municipalities require race directors to hire off-duty officers as part of the permitting process. But could race directors stipulate that they will not accept officers with any history of civilian complaints against them? I am not suggesting that cop-free races will be a game-changer. But it’s an example of the type of transformational thinking that we should engage in.
Speaking of the police, a word to my fellow triathletes who are also police officers. I believe your life is unique and sacred. I believe we agree that Black lives matter. These are not mutually exclusive, but only the latter statement is publicly in question. And I believe that your industry is used by a system that is hostile to the lives of Black triathletes. That is not your fault. But my guess is it will require you to make choices, and to keep your job, slowly attempt to pit you against some of the people you serve.
To those who agree with me but question whether this needs to be a priority within triathlon: We should recognize that it matters to the world that triathlon is White. Anywhere where people with privilege and power congregate that also excludes Black people dangerously perpetuates the entrenchment of that power. Redlining is now illegal, and country clubs can no longer discriminate based on race, but we are creating a de-facto White country club within the sport. And that has ramifications. My club is fantastically intergenerational. Athletes in their 20s mix with those in their 70s. Our network includes nurses, lawyers, architects, salespeople, curators, designers, publishers, public health professionals, and so on. Informal networks like these lead to benefits like jobs. Exclusion from this network perpetuates the mechanism of inequality.
And we’ve also recently seen the power that sports can have as a driver of culture. The contrast between the knee that Colin Kaepernick took and the knee of George Floyd’s neck has informed many on the reasonableness of escalations in protest. Our actions within sport are felt outside of it.
As I wrap up, I want to resist the impulse to provide a checklist of concrete actions people can take. I’ll follow up with another post in that direction, documenting some of the actions our local club will consider to fight racism. But for now, I’d like to pose some questions for honest consideration. Forgoing a list of concrete actions might leave us in discomfort. But if triathletes are good at one thing, it’s lingering in discomfort.
In the wake of the COVID pandemic, many of us had a sudden change in perspective about the luxury and tremendous gift of being able to train and race. What perspective shift is the movement for Black lives prompting? What might that realization be as we become not only non-racist, but antiracist triathletes? How will the sport grow to become stronger as a result, even if it means changing it in fundamental ways? What are the parts of the sport that should end? How can we help make that happen?
As I mentioned earlier, those reading this likely have a tremendous amount of power, whether they realize it or not. How can we take hold of this power and use it in a way that is accountable to our values? How much money do you spend on triathlon in one season, and how much do you contribute to causes you care about, and specifically to groups fighting against racism? Would you like to change this ratio? (If so, here’s a list that might be helpful in that effort.)
At the most basic level, what do you get out of the sport? Maybe it’s health, community, structure and order, accomplishment, meaning, weight management, friendship, all of these things. The decision to be in the sport happens at a personal level, but we can ask, “What are the larger system drivers that exclude people from having these things?”
Maybe those groups that already do advocacy for bicycle and pedestrian safety will add safety for Black people, Indigenous people and People of Color to their priorities, or expand the geographic scope of the bike lanes they push for to include areas where few triathletes live. Perhaps some of us will devote less time to training so that we can spend more time elsewhere, forego those new 303’s to continuously move resources or donate to local community organizations. Or maybe next time a Facebook friend laments the destruction of property by protesters, we will simply remind them of the destruction of life that prompted those protests and ask them to extend their concern there. Whatever it is, we should make the most of the morning of relative clarity that many of us are experiencing.
For me, I envision leaning into the spirit of freedom that I feel when in motion, the unencumbered-ness of being in flow, if even until I realize I’m there. That liberatory, embodied sensation is what I cherish about this sport. It’s where and why I hope to focus myself in taking antiracist action.
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Thanks to Sarah, Maurya, and Christine, who provided comments on earlier drafts of this.