by Lorraine Slattery & Alex McKinley
On July 22, 2006, Utah endurance sports legend Richard Barnum-Reece put on his new wetsuit and dove into the frigid waters of Scofield Reservoir for the revival of the Scofield Triathlon, a race he had created.
For weeks, he had been working out at Steiner Aquatics Center near the University of Utah, training for the Burley Spudman, scheduled for the following week. He saw the sprint distance in Scofield as an open-water workout before once more attempting the mighty Snake.
It would be fair to say Richard knew what to expect by toeing the line that morning. In addition to two previous Olympic-distance swims in the grueling Spudman, he had completed a 100-mile ultra-marathon, numerous marathons and triathlons and even a 5K swim in Lake Powell.
No one could have expected that this would be a life-altering race for Richard, one that would forever change the landscape of triathlons in Utah.
Shortly after the start of his swim, Richard’s heart, already weakened by four previous heart attacks, went into cardiac arrest. It’s estimated that he was unconscious in the water for ten to 15 minutes before he was spotted and brought to shore. An emergency room physician who happened to be at the race began resuscitation efforts. Richard was revived and transported by ambulance to Price; from there he airlifted to Utah Valley Regional Medical Center in Provo.
As publisher of the Utah RunnerTriathlete newspaper and race director, Richard had long been a fixture on the local triathlon scene. However, in the previous year or so, Richard had begun to scale back both his publication schedule and his race calendar. Not only had the market for triathlons shifted, at 60, he contemplated spending more time writing and traveling.
However, that decision was now out of his control. Deprived for too long of oxygen, Richard’s brain was significantly damaged, affecting his cognitive abilities and short-term memory.
Utah’s local triathlon legend would never be the same. Publication of the Utah RunnerTriathlete and the series of races associated with it abruptly ended.
The Godfather of Utah Triathlon
“I did my first triathlon in 1998, and it was one of the races that Barnum-Reece put on. For a newbie, having a short pool swim and a very relaxed, anything-goes atmosphere was definitely something I liked. In 1999, I think I did 5 or 6 more of his races and was forever hooked on the sport. In the days before TriUtah there weren’t many options for local triathlons but Barnum-Reece was there, week after week, putting on short local races. I imagine that there are more than a few people in Utah who did their first race and subsequently got hooked on the sport, just like me, thanks to Richard Barnum-Reece.”
– “P2K” an anonymous poster on Desert Sharks Bulletin Board
It would not be an overstatement to say that hundreds of Utah triathletes started their triathlon careers with a Utah RunnerTriathlete series race—a series owned and run by Richard for over 25 years. These low-key and friendly events were a perfect way for athletes to build confidence in the sport.
Notes long-time friend Dave Ference, “In the early to mid 90s, Richard’s races were the only game in town. He kept triathlon alive when it was withering on the vine in this state. That may be hard to believe now, given the sport’s popularity, but that is only a recent phenomenon.”
According to Ference, the Utah RunnerTriathlete events, with their pool swims and sprint distances, filled a niche that was helpful to first-time triathletes. “They were typically short, fast and run like clockwork. With Richard, you could race, get your ribbon and be sitting in Denny’s having breakfast by 9:30 a.m.”
“Richard provided the avenue for my personal entry into triathlon in 1997,” says TriUtah’s Chris Bowerbank. “I found an ad for Richard’s Pioneer Day Triathlon at the South Valley Pool in Riverton. So I hauled my 25-plus pound mountain bike –with knobby tires, no less–into the car and somehow finished my first triathlon.”
Before the advent of TriUtah, there were few venues in which triathletes could exchange information about races or training. Richard, through his Utah RunnerTriathlete, filled that void. Shannon Mulder points out how he established a network of relationships with local businesses that sponsored his races and were distribution points for the paper.
Athletes could easily find the Utah RunnerTriathlete in restaurants, recreation centers, grocery stores, sports equipment stores and other venues. It kept the community updated about running and cycling events as well as triathlons throughout the region.
Richard’s own personality as well as the races themselves frequently drew athletes to his events. “When you met him at a race, he was a jovial character that brought fun to the sport,” observes Mulder. “Because of this, he kept the participants free of any intimidation.”
Triathlete Nate Gerlach says Richard’s events opened people’s eyes to the sport. “They allowed people to get involved on a friendly level, no matter what their ability. There was a division for everybody. If you had a particular need, Richard would create a division for you on the spot.”
Lonnie Martinez of Evanston recalls how Richard put him at ease for his first triathlon, held at the old Tooele pool. “I asked him if should I join the novice group, but he told me to go age group, so I did.”
Richard opened his events to anyone interested in the sport. At the behest of his son, Robert Barnum-Reece, he began a series of races for kids. “Moms and dads could run along side their kids, if they wanted,” notes Gerlach.
Ference says, “My children and my wife were all exposed to triathlon, as participants, for the first time at his races.”
And, in keeping with his belief that making the effort was as important as winning, Richard would recognize those who placed in every division.
Even as new events arrived on the scene, many triathletes followed Richard and his red truck around the Wasatch Front like Grateful Dead groupies, loyal to the small-venue triathlons he provided.
“Athletes continued to participate in the events throughout the years despite the growing number of triathlons in the state,” Mulder notes.
Utah triathlon has grown at warp speed since Richard began race directing, and many have wondered why Richard’s series of races didn’t evolve with the growing triathlon community. He rarely had more then 50 athletes at his races, a number that would put other races out of business. But this is exactly how he wanted it.
“Richard wasn’t in it for the money,” according to Gerlach, who corresponded with Richard during the off-season. “He did it out of appreciation for the athletes.”
Richard’s past had given him first-hand awareness of the dangers that arise if he let down his guard. It’s possible that for Richard, a smaller crowd meant he had more control of what was happening, which meant for a safer event for the athletes.
Annette Dunson remembers Richard’s comments just prior to the start of the 2000 Utah Summer Games triathlon. “He announced at the beginning of the race, ‘If this is your first triathlon, I suggest you pack up go home. The course is too hard for beginners.’”
His warning calls didn’t stop athletes, but he could give them something to think about.
There were those who criticized him for not having liability insurance for his events, and the absence of any traffic patrol left some athletes scratching their heads. However, he did what he had to do for his small Saturday crowds; he would never have produced a large event without such protocols. This is why he only dabbled with open water events—he never wanted to worry about his swimmers surviving open water.
Richard could be as exacting and demanding of others as he was of himself. Without doubt, he occasionally came off like a ornery old cuss to his participants. Some athletes felt the sting of his verbal darts. Though he is naturally charismatic, especially with children, there were parents who felt he yelled without cause at participants in his kids triathlons.
Richard took the criticism to heart, but, above all, he believed that adherence to his rules was necessary for safety in the events.
Many are fierce in his defense, seeing a complex and sensitive man behind the occasional sternness.
“Richard had a very hard exterior shell but was extremely compassionate inside. He was loyal to very few, but to whom he was loyal, he was fiercely so,” says Ference.
“We attended quite a number of Utah football and basketball games together. During the games we would discuss philosophy, religion, politics, etc. He was extremely bright and thought provoking.”
“My only regret is that more folks did not see that side of Richard as he was a tough nut to crack.”
Rule Number 1: No Whiners
Athletics defined Richard’s life in a fundamental way. His football prowess in high school earned him a full scholarship to the University of Utah. Listed as the first string nose guard at the end of his sophomore year, he played on the team that won the Liberty Bowl in 1964.
Ultimately, he was sidelined by a knee injury that would plague him throughout his subsequent skiing and running career. However, he discovered his natural vocation in journalism, becoming sports editor of the Daily Utah Chronicle before he graduated in 1972 with a B.A. in political science. He went on to earn an M.A. in journalism (1975), also from the U.
Along the way he become a ski patrolman, working at Mt. Mansfield in Stowe, Vermont, and later at Sun Valley. A graduate of the National Academy of Ski Instructors, he taught skiing through the U’s ski school and at Park City. He combined this with a career in journalism, working as reporter and editor on papers throughout the Mountain West, freelancing for national magazines and briefly–”a nanosecond,” he would write–as an on-air reporter for KUTV.
But, from childhood, sports were more than passion for Richard; they were a lifeline, offering him an outlet from “rage that flowed from physical and emotional abuse,” he notes.
He survived beatings administered by his stepfather so severe he would attend school with swollen eyes, unable to see. He recalls being picked up by the ears and having his head banged against a corner.
“The most frightening thing you could say in our household was, ‘Daddy’s home,’” he writes.
“It’s true I was kicked around as a kid. I lived in a war zone, when there was a place to live. But the positive side is that it seems to have given me some insight into that world, the world of the poor and the dispossessed.”
He continues, “Athletics gave me a creative option for expressing, in a socially acceptable way, the anger and hurt, the defiance and existential anomie, that proceeds from child abuse. I went to school because it got me through the day and onto a field, a court, a diamond. And, incidentally, I was in love with language and learned to write.”
Richard’s response to his childhood combined a tenacious determination to be in control of his own life and a refusal to carry over the tradition of emotional and physical pain to his own son. “I do my best to stay out of situations that would piss me off just by the very nature of the situation,” he writes in a letter to a friend.
The lessons in rage taught by his stepfather had rubbed off on him, and they may have reared their ugly heads more often then he would have liked, but he was determined not to perpetuate the cycle of child abuse. A deeply devoted father, Richard knew he had to overcome his demons to give his son Robert a better life than he had.
Despite his efforts, the inevitable stress of races could result in explosions of his short-fused temper. “I’m sure many triathletes have seen his wrath, whether it be the guy who rode in the transition area and was disqualified or anyone who tried to steal a t-shirt,” acknowledges Robert.
A Life Lived on the Edge
Richard was an avid endurance athlete himself—committed to constantly testing his personal physical limits and spreading the word of health to everyone he met. He often offered fitness advice to friends who asked for help. An accomplished runner, he found joy in trail running throughout his life. In fact, it was trail running that led to his future in race directing.
When he heard that an ultra-marathon he loved was on the verge of folding, he stepped in to keep it going. It was a trail run starting in Park City that led through Brighton, Alta, Snowbird and then to Solitude. He later started the Wasatch 100 ultra-marathon, a race he would hand over to Steve Baugh. Crazy Bob’s Bair Gutsman and the Wahsatch Steeplechase are also among the races he created.
These extreme endurance efforts embodied his persistence and ability to take on any challenge. Richard recalls how he arrived for one St. George Marathon in inimical fashion. “The previous night I spent riding my bike down from Salt Lake City, arriving at midnight before the marathon at 6 a.m., me sleeping in the park.”
There was always in Richard a need to put himself on the line, to test the limits, to be heroic. Despite a daunting intelligence and rigorous intellect, he lived by the credo, “First, be a good animal.”
“Body first, mind second,” he writes. His work was an outgrowth of that philosophy.
For Richard, achieving fitness was a life-changing experience that transcended the physical, creating mental tenacity. “I see it all the time, I glory in its reality.” He saw his role as bringing that miracle to others.
And it wasn’t about being the fastest athlete. He knew that just giving effort would take the person to a new level.
“Just take it easy, have fun. enjoy the miracle by hanging in there,” he advised a friend, “and good things will happen.”
Although Richard’s generous spirit and compassionate nature are still evident in his interactions with those around him, his life has been dramatically circumscribed by the brain damage, ending the era of Utah RunnerTriathlete events.
For many, the loss of Richard’s presence is personal. Says Gerlach, “Looking forward to Richard’s races in the spring got me through some rough times in winter. His races are what I do.”
Notes Ference, “The absence of Richard’s races has created a void which has yet to be filled. I miss him on the local scene. The loss of Richard’s racing series has reminded me, yet again, how much we take race directors for granted.”
TriUtah’s Bowerbank adds, “We’ll always remember his red truck with years of masking tape forever embedded on the side from hanging course maps, the ‘race headquarters’ on the back of that truck, the lone cone in the middle of the street marking course turnarounds, the bananas at the end of each race, the Budweiser cups at water at aid stations, and the multi-colored flagging surrounding the transition area.”
“They were classic events, ones that shaped the future of triathlon for everyone in Utah.” •
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