Triathlon is supposed to be the pure, untainted pursuit of excellence by the individual in isolation. One man, against the clock, over a prescribed course of set distance. So why do we give out awards?

Seriously. Awards rank people, fastest to slowest or highest to lowest or prettiest to ugliest. That's a complete disconnect from man vs. clock. And it's even more completely meaningless (if that's possible) because of the huge array of variables that go into triathlon racing.

Any sort of meaningful award should control for all external influences. So every competitor should have to confront the same weather at the same time - no wave starts where the first wave has a 30-minute head start. Maybe the wind picks up, maybe there's a chop in the water after half the field is done. Maybe it starts to rain.

Dividing people up by age is a start, but there's a lot more that determines individuality than time elapsed from birth. Family history, diet, work environment, it goes on and on. Mr. Rogers drilled it home that we're all different - every single one of us! and we're all beautiful because of it! - so it follows that our athletic abilities and potential will be different, too. Further, unequal distributions of wealth define society and create disparity.

Let's consider for a moment the bike. Have you ever watched a clip from an old Ironman showing Dave Scott or Scott Molina pounding down the Queen K in the early ‘80's? Chances are you stifled a chuckle - the equipment they were using looks absurd. Weird helmets, no aerobars, pedal cages, decidedly old-school clothes (you can't call it performance apparel by any stretch). Fast-forward to 2007 and every single triathlete on the Kona pier has a better bike than Dave Scott did - and with it an advantage over his ghost.

In 2006 I found myself in Cuba. One morning, out walking along the Malecón beside the Atlantic, much to my surprise I came across a duathlon. About a hundred athletes were running up and down the closed-off seaside road, completing loops while officials timed them with stopwatches. The bike portion was over, but the bikes remained in transition, which was merely a collection of 10 cones surrounding a patch of pavement. No bike racks, no fencing, no barricades, just cones and pavement. Even in Cuba, where Communism is meant to level the playing field for every citizen, the full range of bikes lay there - from old single-speed steel to high-end, tricked-out carbon. You can't get away from it.

What would a triathlon look like if it attempted to control as many variables as possible, in dogged pursuit of fair competition? You'd have to start with equipment.

Last week I decided to have some fun with April 1 - April Fool's Day to the unawares among us. I sent a newsletter to the City of Portland Triathlon mailing list explaining a new approach to the bike segment of the race. This year, I wrote, the event would be providing a complimentary bike for each athlete to use. The bike would come from the Portland Bike Company, a company that actually exists in Portland and which has submitted a bid to the city to provide a fleet of publicly-available bikes on the streets of downtown. Leave your bike home! I told participants - for we have a shiny yellow, 43-pound, single-speed, steel beauty waiting for you.

Each and every one of them identical, no modifications allowed.

The response to my note was across the board, though perhaps the biggest surprise was that seemingly everyone believed me. Some people were excited - no fees for bikes on planes! Some were intrigued, but worried - what if it doesn't fit me? Some were downright rankled and, much like Sports Illustrated after each edition of the Swimsuit Issue, demands for refunds quickly followed.

As a sociological experiment, though, the idea fascinates me. Why shouldn't everyone be put atop the very same bike? Control for aerodynamics, weight, components, material, and operability. There are logistical issues, of course - the race organizer (me) would have to round up 600 bikes, take care of their security, parcel them out to competitors, and get them back to drop stations after the race is done. And this doesn't take into account answering the million and one questions the charming Type A Triathlete would bring with him - Can I raise the seat? Clip on my aerobars? What if I get a flat? Do you have other colors? What if I can't find mine in transition? (They're all the same, silly.)

If you made everyone ride the same bike, you of course would need to eliminate wetsuits. Wetsuits are a farce if ever I did see one. You simply do not need the warmth of neoprene in most of the water temperatures that triathletes encounter. The wetsuit has become a crutch, allowing bad swimmers to participate and marginal swimmers to flourish. The beginner triathlete stands out like a sore thumb when he arrives at water's edge in merely a swimsuit - who's the new guy? But he's actually being truer to the sport.

Triathlon has fallen to the Curse of the Expected. It is expected that wetsuits will be allowed; it is expected that any amount of money can be spent on any kind of bike to improve performance. And it is expected that awards will be provided, ranking all sorts of people with all sorts of equipment in one big long list. When I was a wee age-group swimmer, after each meet the coach would hand out stacks of "best time" ribbons. If you improved your times, you went home with a fistful of recognition. Why do our philosophies of sport somehow regress as we get older?

Competition will always be with us. But someday I am going to run a triathlon with as many of these funky variables controlled as possible. Swim in your trunks, run with your Chuck Taylors, ride your Huffy. Entry fees will be optional, like the high school car wash: donation-only. Maybe I'm naive, but I bet it would be a hell of a lot of fun.

Jeff Henderson forsook the world of competitive swimming for triathlon in 1997. Since then he has busied himself competing, officiating, writing and race directing. He directs the Musselman Triathlon, the Fly by Night Duathlon and the City of Portland Triathlon. To stay sane, he cares for Ophelia, Dixie and Wyan, three charismatic yet remunerative backyard chickens.