The Adventure of Buying a Women’s Triathlon Wetsuit

Last updated on October 6th, 2023 at 02:37 pm

Imagine your favorite thing to shop for. It could be gorgeous high heels, that perfect outfit, or goodies at a gourmet pastry shop. That’s how I feel when I walk into this sporting store: my heart rate quickens, and my excitement surges. I begin to mentally spend money almost as soon as I lay my eyes on everything I adore, all shiny and new, beckoning me to take them home with me.

Turns out, going to a sports store to acquire a wetsuit is as challenging as my triathlon training.

I have never tried on a wetsuit. I’ve seen people wearing them in photos from triathlon events and have read enough to understand the immense benefits they offer for swimming in open water. My dear husband is a master diver and well-versed in the joys of squeezing into neoprene.

Once in the dressing room, as I pulled the suit to my knees, I began to doubt my newly developed arm strength.

I received detailed guidance from one of the store owners, an accomplished triathlete himself, regarding the length of the swim, what sensations to anticipate once I was in the suit on dry land, how it would adjust in the water, and the optimal method for putting it on without risking any damage.

What was his valuable piece of advice for donning a triathlon wetsuit? “If it takes less than 10 minutes, you’re doing it wrong,” he says.

All right! Now, I won’t feel rushed, and I’ll be able to relax and assess the situation…

A triathlete-specific wetsuit is a purchase that I’ve hesitated to invest in, but after several conversations with experienced triathletes, I am convinced of its convenience. It’s a suit designed for all three stages of a triathlon: swim, bike, and run.

However, no one bothers to tell you that putting on a triathlon wetsuit is akin to what I imagine it’s like to squeeze a lot of sausage into its casing. The neoprene casing of this type of wetsuit possesses just enough stretch to instill the hope that it will effortlessly glide onto your body until you encounter a wider section – like your calf muscle – where the entire process grinds to a halt.

The advice I received was to pull the suit up an inch at a time. This advice was indeed helpful and prevented me from pondering until the store closed how getting into it was supposed to work. I gently grasped and pulled the thick material, using the pads of my fingers rather than my fingernails to gradually inch the suit up to my thighs.

Progress!

The crotch area found itself stuck somewhere around mid-thigh; my tri-suit was compressing my thigh fat, which is always a charming look, and I barely managed to get it up to my hips. Resolute and sweaty, I clung to the advice that it would fit if I could get it this far. That is, until I glanced down and spotted the zipper in the front. It’s supposed to be in the back.

I had to remove the wetsuit and start over.

I managed to wrestle it off, now even sweatier than before. This proved to be more laborious. Starting over, I successfully pulled it up over my calves, inched it up my thighs, and finally got it securely onto my hips. Now, just the arms, and we’re set.

I handed my wedding ring to my obliging husband, fearing that I might inadvertently tear a gaping hole in the suit. I slipped my hand into the left arm and attempted to pull it all the way up. Along the way, I twisted, tugged, and pushed until I could see my hand, only to realize that the wetsuit was now strangling me at my neck.

Was it meant to be this tight? I decided to withhold the question for a moment as things were beginning to heat up inside the suit. I thought picking up the pace to get it all the way on would be the best move.

Fully ensconced in the wetsuit, I exited the dressing room to show my husband the outcome. It started to feel like I was cooking inside it. He assisted by zipping me up, completing the encirclement around my neck, and pulling it even tighter.

I managed to gasp out the question, “Is it supposed to be this tight?” to which both my husband and the helpful shop owner nodded in agreement.

“How’s the range of motion?” seemed a somewhat silly question since I felt like the official mascot of the Michelin tire company, “Michelin Man,” regarding physical agility. Or maybe more like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.

“Raise your arms like this,” was their next command. I extended my arms straight overhead, making my mobility less constrained. “Now try this,” came next, so I bent my arms with my hands pointing downward, meeting near my chest. That seemed okay, too. “And now like this,” came next. I snapped back, “Are we heading to the YMCA?” It had to be a regular joke, as it elicited a chuckle from the shop owner.

As wisps of steam emerged from the constricting neckline, it was time to take the wetsuit off. It had started to turn me into a slow-cooked dish. Down came the zipper, bringing with it a welcome breath of fresh air. Heading back into the changing room, the next few minutes were devoted to a comical battle with myself as I tried to peel the wetsuit off.

The advice I received was to turn it inside out as you remove it. I can attest that this is only marginally less challenging than putting it on. It didn’t occur to me until later that day that this entire process would need to be repeated publicly on every single triathlon race day.

I’ll save that impending panic attack for another time.

I had anticipated trying on multiple suits to find the right fit, so I was ecstatic to have found one that worked on the first attempt.

Along the journey toward our dreams, there are many instances when we take things far too seriously. Acquiring a wetsuit for triathlons was a significant task, but I can honestly say that the process became a lot more enjoyable once I had a good laugh about it looking at my photos.

I think you’d agree.

Let nothing stand in the way of your dreams, even if it feels like a tight wetsuit.