The ups, and downs, of being a Minnesota Twins mascot

Saturday's game between the Minnesota Twins and the Seattle Mariners was the coldest home game ever played at Target Field: 27 degrees.

No better day, I thought, to don one of the notoriously warm costumes and participate in the Twins mascot race on the field between the fourth and fifth innings.

Perhaps it wasn't my best idea.

Because I'm a season-ticket holder, the Twins offer certain perks. These include holding the giant American flag during the home opener or getting to put a message on the scoreboard.

This past week the team asked if I wanted to participate in the mascot race that happens each home game. Did I want to be one of five people dressed in mascot costumes and race along the warning track from left field to the visitor's dugout?

The offer was too good to pass up.

I thought it would be fun and recruited a friend and former Minnesota Public Radio colleague William Wilcoxen to participate as well.

Did I mention we are both in our mid-50s?

Rules of the race

The mascot race participants were told to meet near Gate 6 at the end of the second inning.

We were all men.

Two Twins employees made sure we signed the liability waiver and took us in an elevator into the bowels of Target Field. In a cramped, cold storage room, we got our first gander at the mascot uniforms, each hung on a tall white pole with the head perched on top.

They outlined the ground rules.

First, the race was not fixed. No one is told who should win. Each of us got to choose who we wanted as our alter-ego mascot.

I picked the Louie the Loon costume because loons are one of my favorite Minnesota icons.

Wilcoxen, my buddy, picked Wanda the Walleye.

Another older guy picked Babe the Blue Ox.

A fit-looking younger guy chose Skeeta the Mosquito.

And a teenager ended up as Bullseye the Target dog. The kid said he plays baseball for Burnsville High School; we had our pre-race favorite.

While we put on our costumes, we were told that Target, which sponsors the races, does not allow photographs to be posted online of anyone wearing a mascot without its head on.

To be eligible, you only have to be over 18 years old (unless a parent signs a waiver) and under 6-foot, 5-inches tall.

The Twins' primary caution beforehand:

"The Mascot costumes can be a bit cumbersome and are not air-conditioned! The race is not recommended for those that are prone to claustrophobia."

Suiting up no easy task

Getting suited up in the costume was complicated. I started with an undersuit that kind of looked like white pajamas. Then came the striped stirrup socks that went over my shoes and thin white gloves for my hands.

I stepped into the body portion of the costume, which is connected to the head with a zipper. Zipping the head and attaching the wings to the suit required a little help.

Sidenote: The costumes once featured oversized shoes as well, but too many people tripped over them during the race. So I was left to race in my own shoes.

As we struggled to get everything put together properly, unbeknownst to us (because we couldn't see the game) the Twins had a struggle of their own. They gave up five unanswered runs as we were getting ready to race.

They took us to the loading dock behind the outfield wall. I watched the teenager in the Bullseye suit stretch his legs.

I should have followed his lead.

As the fourth inning neared completion, we were told where to line up on the field and to wait for the stadium announcer to holler: "3-2-1, GO!"

It had been 45 minutes and I was ready to race.

Legs moving, sight impaired

I heard the announcer loud and clear and started to run.

But I had to look through Louie's mouth. I could see just fine straight ahead but I had zero peripheral vision.

I kept thinking that I hoped I would not run into another mascot trying to pass me.

I kept running as I watched Bullseye and Skeeta widen their lead as we came around the turn and headed down the straightaway.

I tried to speed up to see if I could catch them.

This was my mistake.

My right hamstring tightened.

And as I put weight on, I crumpled to the ground.

"Down goes Louie!," the announcer bellowed.

Luckily I didn't take out Babe and Wanda who were right behind me. As they passed, fans urged me to get up and continue.

But I'm no fool.

I knew I was done. As I limped off the field with my loon tail between my legs, I learned the teen in the Bullseye suit was indeed the winner.

Wilcoxen finished the race in fourth place.

The cold and not my age is crash culprit

The Target Field staff were very nice, suggesting it was the cold and not my advancing years that led to the injury.

They summoned a couple of EMTs who checked me out. It was their first call of the game.

I didn't need their professional opinion, I had once pulled a hamstring playing softball and Saturday was a repeat performance.

The EMTs gave me Advil, ice and words of encouragement.

I watched the rest of the game in the stands, an ice pack on my leg and a beer in my hand thinking my days as a sprinter, costumed or not, are over.

I'll keep my day job over in St. Paul as senior producer for Morning Edition at MPR News.