Might-y Might-y Man. I want to be a Mighty Man. (Continuation of the email exchange)

Thanks Trevor. I like your quote. I've amended it a just a little for me:

Face your fears, live your dreams, wear something "so nice".

Allow me to be upfront here. This is my first tri of any significance. I am an accomplished regional surfer and have come to learn that swimming/biking/running in succession is exactly like surfing ("NOT") and in fact a whole hell of a lot harder. That being said, I have two goals: one is to at-all-costs beat my friend Derek who also is competing in the Mighty Hamptons, and two is to finish in under three hours.

To that end, I'll be sporting a very minimalist swimsuit (see stock photo attached). Normally I wear boardshorts, so you can imagine my fear of exposing so much skin. Still, to beat Derek this is what I must do. Just want to get your OK Trevor before I get there.

Btw, I'll be coming in from California. Can't wait. I've heard very nice things about Long Island and the Hamptons. I have not heard that the surf is any good there, but you can't have it all, can you? I'm attaching a picture of the wig, too, just so you get an idea of what I'll look like during the run. See, you can't tell its me.

Again, thanks for your help,

Ted
aspiring MightyMan

Ps...I'm the one in purple. Dave, the guy whose pants are too short, will not be doing the tri. He's actually in great shape from two-a-days with PX-90 or something of the sort, but alas he won't be traveling for this tri. I know what you're thinking - what an interesting home. Yes, that's a picture of Yankee Stadium. Two of my many many surfboards in the background. Why is there an inflatable mattress? I don't know. And the praying Buddha, well, what can I say.

Mighty Hampton's response....

Ted,

Thanks for your inquiry. The dress code for the race basically requires that you cover the "standard" body parts. Wigs are not frequently sported, however if your identity must remain anonymous, so it will be. Mighty Man- "Face your fears, live your dreams."

Respectfully,

Trevor
EventPower

Suggested attire for this party? Sent to Might Hamptons Tri:

Hello...

Wondering if there is a dress code for the swim and run portions of the race? Are speedo's/skimpy suits ok for the swim? Can I wear a wig during the run (so i remain anonymous). Thanks for any information you can provide.

Ted

Here's my theory on why I'm going to win. By Derek.

Here's my theory on why I'm going to win this thing despite my 88% body hair coverage and my "going problem": There is only one man in this race, and I am him.

My opponent may be a charming pleasure boat captain and a strong swimmer, but he is not yet a man. Today, while I was applying the second coat of joint compound on the drywall I had to patch up after I tore my kitchen wall down...WITH MY BARE HANDS...., while I putting up moldings with my NAIL GUN....BAREFOOT, while I was chatting with the Home Depot employee men in Hardware and plumbing about a way to secure the front lip of my sink that I dropped into the hole in the soapstone countertop...THAT I CUT, WITH A SAW, my opponent was no doubt googling and twittering and occasionally spreadsheeting when the boss came around, all the while looking forward to "Pau Hana", maybe a Cosmo at that new wine bar across the street, maybe some rock climbing or parasurfing or some other leisure activity meant to distract him for his 48 free hours from the fact that he deep into his thirties and has no male heir, just a stylish dog is considering moving to Hollwood after he got on the cover of the "Metrosexual" section of the LA Times.

While I was working, in the true sense of creating something, with my hands, I was looking forward to my leisure time, a six mile run down to the pier at Mt. Sinai Harbor, then back along Cedar Beach. My legs felt stronger than ever, the shoes I fashioned out of some discarded linoleum flooring and some wire ties held up quite well, the bluefish were biting, and when I felt weak for a moment, I reached into another man's 5 gallon bucket (we know one another by scent), pulled out a cocktail snapper, and took a bite. I ran off, shouting "Thanks, bro!" with a mouth full of scales, blood, and bluefish flesh, rejuvenated and happy as the clams he was using for bait.

After my workout, I held one of my male sons and let him spit up on my bare chest as I fixed a gin and tonic WITH ONE HAND!

Yesterday, while biking to QUOGUE!, I got a flat tire around mile 8 and was distressed to see the air compressor at the Hess at Wading River Road was out of order. Being a man, I first called MY WIFE to let her know that she shouldn't wait up, then I went into the ACE Hardware store to find a solution. I came out with a caulking gun, a tube of silicone, and a garden hose. 75 minutes later, I was at the jetty by the Shinnecock inlet, SPEARFISHING!

Tomorrow, my day off from training and renovations, I'll be "Cross training" (as my opponent calls his Thighmastering and Pilates and mall walking and morning quickies with his "partner") by drilling holes on a roof at Dix Hills. I'll meet Neil and Roberto at 7, we'll probably ride to the job together so we can cruise the HOV lane to get back home before dark so I can put on the third coat of joint compound, the wake up early Saturday to prime and paint. Do you see what you are dealing with?

"32 miles from home. High as shit on endorphins. And now this!" ~ Derek

Your guess is as good as mine. I have no idea what he's talking about. ~ Ted

A Picture Speaks a Thousand Words

But I can explain if necessary:

What's the difference between me and you?

About 5 banks accounts, 3 ounces, and 2 vehicles.

WANTED: The Outlaw Heavy D

Posse's on your trail bitch.

Follow @BeatDerek on Twitter

Want to know the latest? You can follow me on Twitter as @BeatDerek:

http://twitter.com/BeatDerek

Updates to include training regiment, diet, tactical ideas for wining the tri, and anything tangentially related to beating Derek.

Staring at the Sea - By Derek.

Derek here.

Perhaps I want to beat myself, since yesterday, on my day off from training, I smoked a cigar while walking 9 holes with Jack at Nissequoge GC, then ate fried clam platter washed down with two pints of Blue Point and two Camels at Nick's Clam Bar, and five Oreos at home.

Not surprisingly, I feel a little shaky this morning as I stare at the Long Island sound and contemplate today's workout, my first "ocean" swim. Swimming in the ocean is like walking blindfolded in a bad neighborhood. I'll be going out beyond the roped off area, exposing my still soft underbelly to the curious, potentially hostile sea creatures below. The dangers are real and they are many. A crab could latch on to my nether regions. A man o war could ensnare me. A school of bluefish in a feeding frenzy could take off that last 10 pounds I need to lose in a matter of seconds. If I swim too far out, a Long Island guido on a jetski could run me over just to make his nasty fiance smile. If I swim too close to shore, a surf caster could hook me, reel me in, knock me in the head with a rock, dangle me by the ankles and post a picture of me on Noreast.com. A white fisherman would release me, at least. If one of our many pescaderos caught me I might not be so lucky, as they keep and eat everything they haul in.

So, I'm anxious, as well as frustrated, due to the fact that I got on the scale today and was back above 200. 201 to be exact. In triathlon terminology, that makes me a "Clydesdale". I don't want to be a Clydesdale. I don't want to pull wagons full of bad beer down muddy, rutted roads. I want to run free in the bluegrass with the thoroughbreds. After losing 27 pounds by counting calories on my Iphone with "Lose It" this year, I have run into a brick wall exactly at the 200, the Clydesdale line. Past of the point of the triathlon was to forget the counting and just train ridiculously hard so I could get down to 189, where I would no longer be technically overweight, by BMI standards. Since I last weighed myself on Friday morning (198.5), I swam 1.2 miles (Fri), biked 29 miles (Sat), and ran 5.3 miles to meet my sister for 45 minutes of tennis (Sun). The problem can be summed up in how I spent my 45 minutes between running and tennis: while waiting for a court I ordered and devoured a Nachos Grande from Salsa Salsa. Calories: uncountable. Result: Clydesdale.

If I'm going to beat Ted, and not beat Derek, this is going to have to change.