Julie Ann Gerhard Ironman — Swimsuit Spectaculaavi

Kevin, startled, inhaled a pint of lake water, coughed, and then, inexplicably, grinned. He flipped onto his back and started a surprisingly smooth backstroke. Julie Ann had that effect on people.

The first swimmer approached the dock, a pale, shivering man named Kevin whose shoulders had already seized up. He looked like a drowning otter. Julie Ann Gerhard IRONMAN SWIMSUIT SPECTACULAavi

Next came a pair of sisters from Minnesota, both wearing matching pink caps. They were laughing, which in the grim world of the IRONMAN swim start was akin to a miracle. Kevin, startled, inhaled a pint of lake water,

She wrapped her own dry towel around Helen’s shoulders. Then she stood up, struck a final, dramatic pose that made a nearby volunteer drop his stopwatch, and pointed to the bike transition. The first swimmer approached the dock, a pale,

“Alright, team,” Julie Ann announced to the five bewildered volunteers she had commandeered. “The first wave is out. We have exactly fourteen minutes before the age-groupers hit the first buoy. I need the ‘GO JULIE’ sign at twelve o’clock high, and the air horn primed for the crying guy in the neon-green cap. He looked like he needed encouragement.”

She stood on the VIP dock, a vision in a custom-made, rhinestone-encrusted swimsuit that could only be described as “Spectaculaavi.” The suit was a gradient of electric pink to solar flare yellow, with a thigh-high cut so daring it made the lifeguards blush. A matching visor, glittering like a disco ball, shielded her eyes. She looked less like a triathlon fan and more like the ghost of an ‘80s aerobics champion sent to haunt the lake.

Her husband, Ron, had warned her. “It’s an IRONMAN, Jules, not a halftime show.” But Ron was currently on a lawn chair, eating a turkey sandwich and reading a paperback. Ron didn’t understand that an IRONMAN wasn’t a race. It was a stage. And every stage needed a star.