Vancouver Journal #4: Meet the Short Track Team

Vancouver Journal #4: Meet the Short Track Team

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Last Wednesday I received a call from the producer for short track. His name is Fred Gaudelli and he knows football pretty well per the snippet I pulled from a sports journal below:

Fred Gaudelli has been presenting football on television since the early ’80s, when he produced USFL games on ESPN.  In ’01, he moved from ESPN’s Sunday night telecasts to ABC’s “Monday Night Football,” and with the shifting of the NFL’s TV arrangement this season, he was recruited by Dick Ebersol to oversee production for NBC’s new Sunday night package.  As Al Michaels considered overtures from Ebersol to join the new Sunday night team, he said Gaudelli, in addition to booth partner John Madden, was key to his decision to do so.  “When Fred Gaudelli was hired … that was huge,” Michaels said at the time.  

Like the 2006 short track producer, Steve Lawrence, it became quickly clear that Fred is a very direct, no nonsense kind of guy. “I want to know everything, to go to every practice, to get behind every story.” Whatever my day job, the pecking order in this business is clear: unapologetic directives, curse words, and thick skins are the rule.

I still remember 4 years ago when I received my employment offer to join the NBC broadcast team for the 2006 Olympics. My hiring manager, who previously had been quite short and direct, suddenly took on a slightly more conciliatory tone, “look, there’s going to be tempers flaring, and odds are high you’ll get ignored, sworn at, chewed out, cut off – even fired – possibly multiple times. Just keep at it and don’t let it phase you.” In our first production meeting in Torino, the producer looked around at us and said, “Listen, I’ll cut the crap: lets get this sh*% f*@!ng right the first time so we can all go home, no excuses.”

Torino was taped though due to the time change, and apparently everyone is “twice as nice” when taped compared to how things are when they are live, so we’ll see for 2010. I wonder how many times I’ll have to be fired before I get fired?

So, who’s on the short track team and who might you see on TV?

Short Track: Men

Apolo Anton Ohno (27): There was a Time article a while back with a thesis of  “what’s in a name?” comparing the results of an Apolo Ohno with, say, someone with a name like “Amy Peterson,” and questioning whether Apolo would have had the same notoriety with a different name. As it turns out Amy Peterson is a five time short track Olympian with 3 Olympic medals – all long before Apolo but I bet you never heard of her. (Amy and I trained, traveled and raced together for more than a decade and she’s amazing.) But… what makes fame? If it could be designed, if there were easily identified ingredients, then it would be more accessible and less fleeting. “Pants on the ground?” The reality is that Apolo is the face of short track speedskating – between the stories, the drama, the medals, and the “style” elements, Apolo managed to help a cipher-of-a-sport go mainstream.

Sample text last winter to Apolo when I was in Vegas and someone asked me if, as an Olympic athlete I’d been to the Playboy Mansion (No, I have not.)

 “Apolo – you ever been to the Playboy mansion?”

Response? “Yes! 3 times!”

I wrote a funny little piece for Apolo a while back as his self nominated agent that I’m sure he’s been dutifully following (isn’t Jessica Alba single again?)

http://johnkcoyle.wordpress.com/2008/10/22/how-to-make-speedskating-popular

The reality behind the name is that the little guy with the soul patch on his chin who put short track on the map in 2002 is one of the most naturally gifted speedskaters the world has seen. His balance and timing are impeccable, and he wins not through gargantuan “take the lead early” efforts, but through clever movements through the pack, using the draft of the skaters in front and saving his energy for the final bolt to the line.

My experience: Apolo’s first national team trials were in 1995 when I was at the top of my form - he was an unknown punk kid of 13. A year later in 1996, he won the trials – at age 14 shocking all of us. In 1997 and 1998 he didn’t make the teams despite having all the ability and talent in the world. I joined him on the sidelines in 1998 when I didn’t make the Olympic team. In 1999 he got his act together and has been at the top of the sport since. In the 2002 Olympics he won several medals including a gold in the 1000 meters after a Korean skater was disqualified after finishing first, and another gold in Torino in the 500m, 5 medals to-date. He’s pretty quiet and shy, but at the same time carries himself with confidence. We know each other reasonably well, and his father and I talk at the races.

 

JR Celski (19): another shy kid, and impossibly nice, JR’s story is pretty amazing. Within the span of a year, JR went from a promising Junior (2008) to World champion in 2009 (in the 3000m) and winning second overall in the 2009 world championships. Andy Gabel, the color commentator for short track in Vancouver, my former roommate, and fellow silver medalist from the 1994 Olympics commentated on his decisive victory in the 3000m at the 2009 world championships this way: “he took off early in the race, then he lapped the field. Then he took off again and dropped everyone like they were standing still.”  JR may very well have won the Olympic trials and was skating a cut above Apolo until disaster – he fell in the 1000m and slashed himself – very badly – a deep wound through muscle that kept him off the ice for 2 ½ months.

Given that he’s only resumed training for a month or so now, it seems quite unlikely JR will be able to have any significant results. However, it was also unlikely for an 18 year old to win medals in 4 out of 5 events in his first world championships (last March in Vienna, 2009).  If he does, he will be a media darling.

Jordan Malone (25): like Derek Parra and Chad Hedrick, Jordan is a crossover from inline roller skating having one national and world titles in that sport. Jordan narrowly missed the 2006 team while skating on a broken ankle. I’ve met him only briefly.

 

Travis Jayner (27): Only met him once or twice – very tall and thin, but wicked fast. Outside shot at the individual events. Very unassuming – hard not to like.

Simon Cho (17): Simon won the 5^th spot on the team after a series of mishaps hurt other favorites. That said, he’s  fast and proving himself.

Not making the team were Jeff Simon, who skates some of the fastest laps in the world in a slightly off kilter way, and Anthony Lobello – who was on the Torino team and had been skating well.

Women’s Team:

 

Katherine Reutter (21): Her second year at the helm of the U.S. short track team, Catherine has become a powerhouse in the middle distance events, charging hard and leading from in front, medaling again and again in the world cups. She has possibly the best left leg follow through I’ve ever seen. I’ve talked with Catherine a couple of times and she’s personable, but quite focused – she’ll be skipping the opening ceremonies to ensure she’s ready for the relay semi finals the day after. I know more from her dad, who connected with me via my blog and we’ve been corresponding back and forth for a while. Catherine will likely medal once or twice in the games, though a gold will take a special effort.

Catherine was a guest on the Colbert show a few weeks back and it was a really funny episode. “Let’s trash talk the summer games for a second – Michael Phelps? How easy is it to swim through water – when you run on top of water with samurai swords strapped to your feet.” Even though Stephen knew it was coming, the request to sign a “cute, but too-young-to-professionally-flirt-with” speedskater’s thigh, suddenly had him in a rare flustered moment – he tried to do it from the desk to keep his distance, couldn’t, so circled around and then realized he was now potentially in a worse position considering the very short skirt… his dodging and apologies to his wife were priceless “honey, I had to do this for the Olympic team!” – check it out here:

http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/258280/december-14-2009/stephen-challenges-shani-davis—katherine-reutter

Alyson Dudek (19): New to the team, Alyson won the short events at the trials and her best hope at the games would be in the 500m. Alyson’s father (who is a lawyer) and I are members of the U.S. Speed skating Committee.

Kimberly Derrick (24): Just a young girl in Torino, Derrick has been around a while now. Notable in Torino was that her grandfather passed away just a few hours before her 1000m qualifier. I can still remember the director/producer in my ear. “I can see it – a tear on her cheek! – zoom in, zoom in dammit! Ted, build the story! Brownie, have the camera on her as she exits all the way to the locker room!”

Allison Baver (29): Another crossover inliner, Baver headed up the women’s team for a number of years, racking up a number of strong results in world cups, but falling short of the medals in her two prior Olympic bids. Allison also dated Apolo on again off again for a half dozen years, and is notable for a number of seeming contradictions: she’s tough – recovering from a series of serious injuries to continue competing at a high level – including a broken leg last season in a world cup in Bulgaria. She’s “high maintenance” – a skater known for wearing makeup to practice, pursuing a side career in modeling, and having a bit of a prima donna reputation, and she’s smart – she finished an undergrad an U Penn and an MBA from NYIT while skating. I’ve had a few conversations with Allison and she chose to show me her studious side.

Lana Gehring (19): I don’t know Lana, though I shared a flight with her mother a year ago back from a world cup I was announcing. It was a dream for Lana and her mother to make the games, and here she is – at the world’s biggest party.

Preview – Vancouver Journal #5: A Short Track Primer – what does it feel like to skate 35mph around a track the size of your living room?

Vancouver Journal #3: Meet the (long track) speedskating team

Vancouver Journal #3: Meet the Long Track Team

Friday, January 29, 2010

According to Dick Ebersol (head of NBC sports and Olympic coverage) the 2010 Olympics have four “breakout stars” to watch. Their names are as follows: Lindsey Vonn (5 events, skiing), Shawn White (1 event, snowboarding), Apolo Ohno (4 events, short track speed skating) and Shani Davis (4 events, long track speed skating.)

If my math is right, that makes speed skating THE sport of the 2010 Olympics. If you add up the # of breakout events, the numbers skew even more favorably for speed skating – of the 14 key “must watch” performances, 8 of them are speed skating, (and I’ll personally be covering four of them.)

However, lest someone think I’m on air or have an “important” job worthy of “talent” (a broadcasting word for those that are on air) I am neither important nor “talent” though I do get the luxury of being in the broadcast booth. My official role is that of the “statistician” which maps more closely to the “subject matter expert” providing stats, clarifications, and color to the two commentators, and coordinating some of the production activity (rewinds, queuing, zooms etc.)

Ebersol was interviewed on the Jan 20^th edition of the Colbert report which also featured a “fire on ice” race with Shani Davis (see link below for some funny stuff)

http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/262387/january-20-2010/skate-expectations—speedskating-race—shani-davis

One of my hopes during the games would be to meet Stephen Colbert: we have much in common – he’s been granted an position with the NBC Vancouver Olympic team due to his speed skating prowess against Shani Davis, he is also an honorary member of the US speed skating team as the “assistant sports psychologist”, and also happens to be on the board of DonorsChoose.org, a company we are partnering with at work.

OK, the long track team:

Long Track: Men

Shani Davis – skating the 500m, 1000m, 1500m, and 5000m. Shani will win the 1000m for sure – he’s dominated that event for 5 years or more and breaks world records seemingly each time he skates. Shani is not a medal contender in the 500m, but certainly is in the 1500m and 5000m. I’ve known Shani since he was a kid and he’s a quiet and kind – nothing like the occasional news report would let on. These aberrations are sometimes a result of the meddling of his mother who has pushed and protected him for all these years and continues to be an influence in how he is perceived.

Chad Hedrick – In Torino I spent a decent amount of time with Chad’s dad Paul and had some pretty strong feelings about the pressure both Chad’s dad and Shani’s mom put on these two incredible athletes. Subsequent to Torino I was able to find closure with Paul (in the form of yet another bear hug) and in a different form from Shani’s mom (who demanded that I remove her name and her picture from my blog, while concurrently filing suit against Google for the blog posts another (dead) blogger – I quickly deleted her picture and name). Chad had some middling years between Torino and now (getting married and having a child as well), but has recently come on strong in world cups. I put him as an underdog favorite in any event he skates.

Nick Pearson – I know his parents better than Nick (he was a little tow head running around the Petit Center when I was still skating) but Nick’s got some sprinting chops and will be racing the 500m and 100m

Tucker Fredericks – I met Tucker in Torino – he’s a nice guy and small for a sprinter – but wicked fast. He’s got a decent shot at the podium in the 500m

Brian Hansen – still a junior category racer (18), Brian was on of the “kids” I coached at Park Ridge club the last couple of years. Since then he’s gone on to set national records in most distances and now has made the Olympic team in the 1500m and the pursuit.

Ryan Bedford, Mitchell Whitmore, Jonathan Kuck & Trevor Marsciano – round out the team (I’ve not met them)

Long Track: Women;

Elli Ochowicz: Elli is an amazing sprinter, and comes from a proven gene pool, and a heritage that links closely with my own past. Her parents are Sheila Young (gold, silver, bronze in 1976 Olympics for speedskating and world cycling champion) and Jim Ochowicz (cycling champion and team lead for Lance Armstrong’s various teams – Motorola, U.S. Postal, and Discovery). Elli’s grandparents were my initiates and coaches that led me to join the sport – see post below:

http://johnkcoyle.wordpress.com/2008/10/16/clair-young/

Nancy Swider Pelz Jr.: Nancy’s mom, Nancy, (yes that’s right) was a mentor to me on and off throughout my years of skating and I’m so happy to see her daughter taking the stage in Vancouver. Like Brian Hansen I worked with Nancy Jr. during the Park Ridge practices I coached over the last couple of years. Nancy will race the 5000m

Catherine Raney Norman: I’ve known Catherine since she was a little girl, and her mom Peggy as well. Her husband, Mark Norman, and I grew up racing bikes and skating together in Detroit Michigan – it is a small world.

Jen Rodriguez: at 34, the elder stateswoman of the long track team, Jen is the Darra Torres of the sport – super fit, super fast and a threat for a medal if things come together.

Jilleane Rookard, Heather Richardson, Lauren Cholewinski, Rebekah Bradford, Maria Lamb – round out the womens team.

 Vancouver Journal #4 Preview: Meet the (short track) speedskating team

Vancouver Journal #2: The World’s Biggest Party

Sunday, January 24, 2010

The Ultimate Perk

Last week I received my NBC credentials in the mail. More than airplane tickets, the hotel room, the food at the commissary, the salary or per diem, these two laminated plastic cards are the primary perk for being a part of the NBC Olympic team. With these two cards I will be able to enter virtually any event at the Olympics and get down to the “mixed zone” where only athletes and press are allowed. Sadly opening ceremonies are the one even where even these credentials won’t work.
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The Olympics, for most, are a television event. People from around the world tune in to watch their favorite sport and watch the unfolding drama. Part of the delight of watching is the grand backdrop, the once-in-four-years stories of success, and those “agony of defeat” episodes as well.

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A series of traditions help to create the spectacle: the running of the torch, the fanfare and fireworks of the opening ceremonies, the parade of nations and, finally, the lighting of the torch. (See pictures attached from the Torino Olympics opening ceremonies.)

But being there is different. The Olympics are the single biggest party in the world. For 17 days, a few million people, all in a good mood, all with a love of sport, walk around in a perpetual state of delight – wide eyes taking in the spectacle of a city transformed – many with family or friends, or the friend of a friend taking part in the events. I would expect that downtown Vancouver will be much like Torino was four years ago – throngs of people in hats and scarves pouring in and out of cafes and restaurants, bars and shops, camera crews and temporary broadcast pods, and the occasional brightly colored warmup suit of an athlete strolling casually along with everyone else.

 Most people are nervous to speak to the athletes, but for the most part, these fears are unwarranted. 99.99% of these athletes have toiled in anonymity for years, if not decades. To be recognized by strangers for their investment with few interested questions and a request for a snapshot can make an athlete’s day – and indeed in a half hour stroll you will likely see a dozen or more of these spontaneous group shots taking place, brightly suited athletes surrounded by a huddle of smiling strangers blocking pedestrian traffic to complete the picture. The atmosphere is even more enchanting in the evening. Even as the temperatures drop, a new level of interpersonal warmth is created.

In Torino, incredibly colorful and complex lighting displays arched over the streets downtown lighting the vapors of breath and laughter in the cold winter air. The question, “where are you from,” usually with an accent is more than a gesture of politeness – it is an invitation to a true conversation, one that often turns into an invitation – to a reception, an event, or to a party.  Some may consider the Olympics a frivolous enterprise – these are “games” after all. World hunger isn’t being solved, no mines or nuclear warheads are being deactivated, and despite efforts to become more “green” there is likely a negative net contribution to global warming. That said, consider world ills – world “weaknesses” as it were. Perhaps as a society, as a world culture, we are guilty of much of the same negative bias and focus as we are as teams and individuals. We spend our time and energies on fixing what is wrong rather than celebrating and adding to what is right.

The Olympics are ultimately a celebration of strengths – a study in what is right vs. a focus on what is wrong. The world needs its cancer seminars, and violence prevention workshops, but in the end perhaps what it needs most is a positive focus for its energies. Perhaps the world needs more of these games, a bigger focus on what is right in the world. For this we thank the Greeks of nearly 3000 years ago who fed the world this amazing enterprise where the celebration of excellence triumphs again and again. 

 

Preview of Vancouver #3: Meet the athletes – short track and long track team members

The Torch is Lit

How to Live (almost) Forever

How to live (almost) forever…

“I can’t stand it to think my life is going so fast and I’m not really living it.”

“Nobody ever lives their life all the way up except bull-fighters.”

Robert Cohn and Jake Barnes in chapter 2 of “The Sun Also Rises” by Ernest Hemingway

—————————–

We have been trained since children to view time as linear – that it plods along like a metronome – ticking predictably forward into the future, tocking consistently backward into the past. This is a myth, a lie, and it matters…

I am dying. Like you, I have a terminal disease called “life,” that, assuming it runs its normal course, will result in my death in roughly 41 more years according to actuarial tables of an American male my height and weight.

          “Every man dies, not every man really lives.” - William Wallace in Braveheart

Coincidentally, I am 41 years old, so this means that my life is nearly exactly half over as the math goes. But for most people, time begins to assume an ever accelerating pace – a summer from our childhood casts the same shadow on our memories as young adult’s year, which starts to feel remarkably similar to a whole decade by middle age. Assuming this logarithmic scale continues, my life as measured by a sense of the passage of time and the depth of my memories may already be 80-90% over. But it doesn’t have to be this way…

I have concluded that despite logic, intuition, and what we have been taught, time is flexible – and that the sense of time, as tracked and measured by our brains, can be created and expanded or condensed and squandered.

Are you “killing time” or are you “making time?”

“Wait,” you say, “What are you talking about? Measurement of time is linear – isn’t it based on some oscillating electrons somewhere in Colorado? Are you talking physics? Don’t tell me you are talking metaphysics?”

I’m discussing neither. I’m talking about practical, everyday life and the real sense of time and how it passes. To prove time is flexible, let me walk you through two examples.

First, imagine, that you are trapped in a small room where your job, day after day, is to enter a series of randomly generated strings of letters, numbers and symbols into a monochrome computer screen. You sit there, hour after hour, reading the string of numbers off an endless stack of papers, typing them slowly, complete with mistakes and backspaces and corrections onto the screen, losing your place almost every time, and then you review and double review for accuracy, before finally pushing “enter”, whereupon the flashing code disappears, and then you type the next 30 – 50 digit letter and number combination.

The string of letters and numbers begin to tumble and blur as the flashing pixels start to whisper their sibilant confusion to your brain, a foreign language which your mind tries and fails to translate into the keystrokes your fingers peck. The “check digits” algorithm causes the computer to reject your entries as often as they are accepted, which also proves your inability to accurately remember more than about 10-15 letters and numbers in combination.

As you can imagine, while performing such a mind numbing repetitive task alone, each hour begins to stretch on for an eternity, each minute expanding, bloating with the boredom, the tedium, the lack of purpose. After a while, the ticking of the second hand on the clock starts to slow, and as your eyes twitch watching it tick, you realize that time has nearly stopped… A half a day and an eternity later, you emerge and return to your dorm room to begin studying for a physics exam, trying to make sense of yet another grouping of seemingly random symbols. (This, by the way was my college job – entering the long strings of periodical codes for the thousands of obscure journals into the ‘green screen’ of the school computer at Stanford’s Green Library “Stacks”.)

I worked at Green Library for an entire year, and no, I don’t have a single picture of the ½ year of my waking life that I spent there…

Contrast this with another scenario. It is a Friday morning and you have just arrived to work full of manic energy. You have a huge list of “to-do’s” for the day, because on that afternoon, after a half day of work you are flying south to the beach, or driving up north, or heading west for vacation. You slate ½ hour for your first task and are horrified when you look up and find 25 minutes gone – in what seemed to be the equivalent of 3 seconds. The hands race around the clock and you race with them, checking off items from your list as the time to departure evaporates. Seemingly 5 minutes after you arrive (but actually 5 hours later) it is time to go and you run for the elevator… Then, perhaps you forget your tickets, or you run out of gas, or you go to the wrong terminal, or your daughter throws up in the security line – (it seems it is always something) but a few hours later, you manage to arrive at the resort or cottage or campsite, explore your room, go for a hike, walk down to the beach, have a cocktail, watch the sunset, have an amazing dinner, take an evening swim, have a great conversation, read a few chapters of a great book – whatever and…yet…somehow the day seems to be over as quickly as the ephemeral and fabled “green flash” of sunset over the water…

If you are like me, by now you’ve taken a dozen or a hundred pictures – here’s one from a recent canoe camping trip with my daughter – I caught her tossing golden sand in the golden sunset for a “golden moment.”

A day of "really living"

Both of these examples include about 12 hours of linear time… But in the perception of the conscious mind (the part that lives in the present), the first scenario initially felt like an eternity and the second initially felt like a fleeting moment in time…

Now here’s where it gets interesting. Contrast the real-time experience of the ‘eternity’ and ‘fleeting moment’ scenarios with the subsequent memories of those two periods a month or a year later when they have become part of your “temporal past.” Odds are good that the 12 hours of the first example (typing numbers & letters) disappears altogether leaving no trace in the software of our brains and hence takes up no actual memory time (in contrast to the “eternity” it was in the present). Is it fair to say that except for its role in enabling the second scenario that that time was lost?

Example 1

The second example, however, leaves more than just a trace in our mental hard drive. Despite its fleeting presence in-the-moment, this day and evening, as is often the case the first day of a vacation, likely contained some unique and memorable events, and its share of memory has expanded significantly from the mental blip it started from.

Example 2

Lets add one more wrinkle – if perceptive time has three main elements – present, past, and future, then these vignettes continue their odd juxtaposition when viewed from the “future temporal state.” The vacation most likely consumed a great deal of future anticipation or of a mindset in the ‘future temporal state’, whereas the mundane day of work at the library followed by study was again a complete cipher – a zero in the future temporal state.

Example 3

So what does it all mean?

 

Example 4

It means that time is flexible – that the perception of time and hence of life can be expanded or contracted, and, to take it one step further, that it might be quite possible to design a life, to design a set of experiences to expand time, and hence to really live longer.

 

Example 5

If we are mental and spiritual beings, if time is truly relative, if the measure of a lifetime is the sum of its perceived time here on earth which is a function of our plans, experiences, and memories, then we owe it to ourselves to maximize the perception of time. In particular, we owe it to ourselves to plan for experiences that create the most memories.

 Let me say it again – we should plan experiences that create the most memories.

 I call these moments that expand time, “really living.”

 Here’s a question – is it possible to “live” more in one day (say, on vacation, or doing something you love) than in a week doing something meaningless or unimportant?  Are there certain days you have experienced that you would trade for a week of doing something else?

 Let’s take it further – is it possible to live and create more memories in an afternoon, than in a whole month of a boring repetitive, mundane task or situation?

 If so, then is it at least remotely possible, at the extreme, to experience enough in one shining supernova of a minute to equal the memories an entire year? Is there a certain moment in your life that you would trade a year of mundane living for?

 I have lived the value of a year in one minute.  Sadly, I have also lived the value of a minute in one year, probably more than once in my 41 years here on earth.  

 One last twist to this tale….What is it that makes a week – a day – an hour – a minute, full of life giving memories? It is not, as one would assume, necessarily always a positive, uplifting experience. It is not always, “golden moments.” One of my most significant memories is the several hours I spent at risk of hypothermia on a cold rainy and empty stretch of the autobahn in southern Germany while hitchhiking across Europe. I was miserable. I was terrified. I ended up stripping naked in an empty field, putting on dry spandex racing suits and burying myself in a pile of hay to survive.

 http://johnkcoyle.wordpress.com/2008/07/31/walden-principle-2-racing-is-the-best-training-sleeping-in-a-haystack/

 I survived (this part is important). And the memory of those hours is almost as real today as the present reality those moments were 19 years ago.

 Consider this possibility: if it were possible to live a year in a minute, what if you could create a string of “year-long minutes” in your life? How many “years” could you then live? If I could create 10 year-long-minutes each year for the rest of my life, that would be 410 years of “really living.” If this concept of the flexible nature of time is true, if time can be “created” then it seems possible that the fountain of youth, the sorcerers stone, ancient alchemy are not only approachable, but practical given how our brains process time.

 So, how is it possible to expand life, to stretch time, to “live (almost) forever”? My intention is to document strategies for doing exactly this in future posts. In the meantime, some thoughts about the role of “stories” in creating time:

 That perfect trip? That first kiss? Getting lost in a Moroccan Souk? Making the team? Losing a close one? Teaching your daughter to snorkel? Missing the train and racing to the next train station in time to catch it there? Think of your stories – what are your best stories, the ones you tell again and again with friends, the ones you will tell your kids?

As a general strategy, the best answer I have heard for creating “really living” moments came from a book I read by Dr. John Izzo, “The Five Secrets You Must Discover BeforeYou Die”. In the book, Izzo interviews a large group of ‘elders’ selected for having discovered happiness and meaning in their lives. In one of the anecdotes of the book, one elderly lady stated her perspective on living a full and fruitful life like this,

 “When life gives you choices, choose the one that makes for the best story.”

Great stories tend to have a conflict, or suffering in them – so the avoidance of pain, the pursuit of pure happiness does not, in the end bring us more time. Comprised of pain and agony or bliss and adventure (or often both) moments of “really living” can be sought – can be pursued – indeed a life can be designed to help create them… However, they cannot be orchestrated – they must, ultimately, “happen” – hence the magic of life and of unique experiences.

To “really living,”

-John

PS: If suffering expands the present, then perhaps the single best way to continue to expand time is to plan an experience of “beautiful suffering” full of anticipation and memorable both in the present as well as the future. Say…. That sounds a lot like climbing a mountain, completing a marathon, doing a triathalon, competing in a bike race, or fighting a bull…

 I’m looking for ideas on how to expand time in the present – in a memorable way. Please write and tell me your thoughts.

2009 Race Reports #22 & 23: Tour di Via Italia (Erie Street)

2009 Race Report #22 & 23: Tour di Via Italia

Another drive to Michigan in the perfection of late August skies: the sun warmed my skin even as the wind cooled it and a ribbon of gray and black highway snaked out ahead of me, shadows of trees left and right. It was 78 degrees, the perfect temperature to drive cross country in a convertible. Mine is a black 22 year old BMW 325i, a finely made, battered German car with a finely made, battered Italian Colnago in back. Buffeted by the winds, my bicycle was headed for the last race of the season, upside down, chain dangling on the worn leather of the back seat.

I had been looking forward to this race all year. Tour di Via Italia, or “Erie Street” is in its 51^st year on the same flat rectangular course and is always the Sunday before Labor day. Erie Street is in the Little Italy of Windsor, Ontario and consists of a string of coffee bars, restaurants and night clubs backing to clean, carefully manicured working class neighborhoods. Stroll into any one of the dozen or more bars and cafes and odds are you’ll find a gregarious older male behind the bar or greeting patrons while keeping an eye on inevitably young and attractive female wait-staff, the only thing they appear to have in common is being Italian and frequent trips outside to smoke a cigarette.

I was looking forward to my first trip to Casa-de-Dybowski and hanging with my Wolverine bretheren. I was also looking forward to some tiny coffees on Erie street before the races, and to tipping a few glasses of Chianti (or better yet, Brunello) afterward to accompany some excellent freshly made pasta. In between, of course would be hours of beautiful suffering on the bike.

I knew the drive to Michigan would drag on forever, yet would disappear the instant I arrived, just as I knew the weekend would be over in a flash, yet would leave its imprint on my memories forever. This inversion of time experienced vs. time remembered is something that I have pondered for quite some time. I have concluded that despite intuition and what we have been taught, time is flexible – and that time, as tracked and measured by our brains, can be created and expanded or condensed and squandered. More on this in the nest post.

Hanging with Ray, Melissa and family along with Ben Renkema and Randy Rodd eating some fantastic freshly made pasta in heaping quantities and a few glasses of wine, we then felt the need to educate Ben on an important American cultural icon, “Caddyshack” and whiled away the hours chatting in the living room – a scene that would repeat itself the next night as well.

Neither of my races at the Tour di Via Italia worked out as planned, yet the possibility of victory filled my thoughts filled my mind with the anticipation of raising my hands in victory. No, I didn’t win – I was fourth in the Master’s race after a long headwind shot to the line that fell short (VIDEO below)

Meanwhile, after a freshly made cheese pizza, a couple shots of espresso, and a gallon of water later, I found myself on the line for the 100 kilometer Pro Race. The race rotated in fits and starts, fading into the evening as a breakaway of 8 got away, only to be brilliantly in the final laps by the lit by the sideways sun and the surging hope for a field sprint win. I hydrated carefully and conserved to the end. Finally it was my time – 2 to go. Never mind the 8 man breakaway that the lazy peleton had failed to chase – my eyes were on Renkema, Cavendar, Eugeni, Candless and a surprise bid for the sprint from Mr. Finkelstein.

Power was available for my command and as we entered the final two laps, I was full of life and energy noticing everything, every movement, even the color of the tires of the competitors before coming around the final corner about 10^th. I knew it would require a miraculous hole in the lead group to find a path to the finish for the field sprint win, but I was prepared to exploit whatever came my way and loved that I was feeling capable of delivering all out power after 2 races and 90+ miles of racing in the heat.

The video misses much, but if you watch closely, just after the corner, in just a few frames, I leap forward, and then you a flash of Luke Cavendar’s hip, and then I stall and fade.

What takes place in those two seconds is a lot of activity: coming off the wheel in front of me, I put power and energy into the carbon fiber of the bike and it leaps forward and I start to have visions of a field sprint victory. Then a movement to the left – Luke avoids an erratic move and sweeps right and I hit his rear wheel hard with my momentum.

I slide forward in my seat while hitting both brakes hard – I saw it coming and was ready. Still, afterward, ¾’s of my front tire had a black mark from Luke’s rear wheel. I rocked forward and almost endoed over my front wheel, but Luke regained his trajectory and so did I.

Just as I let my hands off the brake hoods, my chain fell off – thank God I was in the saddle – and I almost fell off my seat as my legs rotated fiercely forward. I tried in vain to shift it back onto the big ring, but it would only re-connect with the little ring even as I pedaled softer and softer, but to no avail.

All this took place in a few frames of the camera… (See VIDEO below)

Left index fingers still throttling the shifter, I windmilled my legs to the line on the small ring, settling for 8^th in the sprint, losing ground.

Afterward, I meandered to a street side cafe’ where Randy was busy entertaining three older women. “I may have gotten dropped, but I got voted the ‘best looking’ cyclist by these ladies here,” Randy said. The 20 year old Randy promptly received the phone number of a pretty, but 46 year old woman (using Cory Dubrish’s phone,)then we took a team photo in the street (below) and then headed across the street for a real dinner, swapping true stories and tall tales as a team.  It was all worth doing and all worth remembering, so we took pictures.

Erie Street at night and the WSC

WSC elite team

I crashed that night late at Randy Rodd’s lake house, completely exhausted, but fully alive. What a full day it had been… As I drifted off to sleep with the windows open, I could smell the fragrance of fall creeping into the room, and the chirping of the  optimistic frogs was no foil to the sense of the coming winter.

Now what?

To “really living…”

-John

2009 Race Reports #20 & 21: Tour De Gaslight Criterium

2009 Race Report #20 – Tour de Gaslight Criterium – Masters.

Attending the gaslight crit required waking early on a Sunday morning, loading the car, and waking my daughter who definitely did not view 4 hours in the car as something she wanted to do. But memory is a tricky thing and despite knowing that I, as a child, had dreaded some of the long car trips my parents took me on, I also accepted the reality that they were significant memories – rites of passage. Who am I to deny her such important milestones? The fact that my own mother was in town and that it would be a tri-generational trip made it much easier and we sped out through Chicago traffic to Grand Rapids.

Unsurprisingly, while talking in the car I missed the 80/94 split in SW Michigan and ended up racing up country roads to make up time. But we arrived with 45 minutes to spare and I even got a warmup. I felt ready from lap one and handily won a prime on lap two. Then, somehow the race split despite a slow pace and I found myself chasing the breakaway in a two man group with Rob D. This is NOT a strength and I didn’t even last a full lap before Rob dropped me and I trickled back to the peleton.

The video captures the sprint. My limited strengths were put to good use – I hit it hard 150 meters prior to the final turn, cornered hard, and then hit the jets up the slight incline prior to the finish. John Sammut lead out and I put it all into the pedals, catching a lone breakaway rider en-route. I was amazed to find anyone on my wheel and then unsurprised to find Rob D. right there – contending despite surgery a month prior. A fun race. Katelina cheered every lap along with her tiny stuffed animal “Totoro” who sat on the haybales near turn 4.

Totoro and the Haybale

 

2009 Race Report #21 – Tour de Gaslight Criterium – Pro 1/2

I’m convinced that the challenge of doubling up on race day (doing two races) has little to do with fitness and much more to do with hydration. When the summer heat, a prior race, and a long second race combine, dehydration is probably the most significant limiting factor for success.

I’m no rookie and I knew this so I tried to drink a decent amount in the hour between races. But I had to get more money from an ATM, re-register, switch numbers, pin them on, and refill my water bottles, so I did not have a great sense of ‘thin blood’ when I hit the line for the Pro race. The laps sped by and I metered out my first water bottle and just as it was almost empty 2/3’s of the way through the long race, my second, and full water bottle popped out of the cage on a magically destructive hole in the road just out of turn two.

I knew I was in trouble immediately. Despite hoarding water, conserving energy and even getting a nice hand-over swig of gatorade from Cory Dubrish, my hamstrings were giving me the ‘long pull’ in the final laps whenver the pace called for significant power.

I tried to minimize massive power outlays until the final lap and saved one mouthful of water for the same, but in the end, my system was well beyond hydrated and as I tried to accel on the backstretch both hamstrings tried to lock into my glutes and my quads were firing and staying hot. I was not over my max and normally would have shot into position, but I just couldn’t do it. I conserved all down the backstretch and then saved one final 2 second effort for the ‘post-haybale’ mark on the second-to-last straightaway. In the 2 seconds that I was able to fire my jets I jumped up about 8 places and weaved past receding cyclists and then entered the final straightaway with nothing, finishing 9th. Cory Dubrish was 6th, Luke Cavendar 2nd, and Ben Renkema first.

It was good to hang out with Finkle, Demerly, Fear, Cavendar, Dubrish,  Dybo and Rodd, but as the air quickly cooled in the late afternoon and the scent of the haybales seemed more robust, I realized that summer’s last sprint was nearing its end, and that the shadows around us had that certain impenentrable blackness of the still bright but dying summer sun. I was sad and the drive home was filled with melancholy broken only by the bell tones of Katelina’s pronouncements, “Totoro and I want sushi…!”

Like all childhood memories, it was something ridiculously mundane that Katelina will remember from this trip. After a stop for Chinese (not sushi), we were nearing home but she needed to use the restroom, so we stopped at the Des Plaines overpass. After arriving home I asked her what her best memory of the trip was. Her response?

“I finally got to go to the bathroom!”

Sometimes pleasure is merely the relief of pain…

2009 Race Reports #18 & 19: Downer’s Grove Famine and Feast

Day 1: Downer’s Grove Pro-Am Challenge

Yes, you can have the post-race vibe, even if you don’t finish the race…

So I discovered Saturday night after the Downer’s Grove Pro-Am. I won the race to the race and warmed up up well and got the front row of the huge field of 160 riders. The pace steadily escalated during the race, and my pulse never dropped below 180 during the hour plus that I was in the race. I stayed in the top 30, using the corners to wing up a few spots and dropping back a few on the long hard stretches. I made it to the halfway mark and then to 15 laps to go – and then there was a crash directly in front of me and I had to stop.

The crash was in the downhill corner leading back into the slight uphill finish stretch so I needed to accelerate from zero to 35mph uphill which really took its toll. Meanwhile riders were sitting up all around me to take a free lap (even though they had not crashed which is supposed to be the rule) and I was bridging gaps left by riders who had sat up. By the time I reached the hill, I was already off the back (along with 50 other riders) so I decided to throw in the towel and take a free lap as well.

But I made a significant mistake – instead of dropping down the backside of the course to get a push into the downhill section of the course (and get an extra half lap of rest, I dropped back down to the base of the uphill and joined about 25 riders re-entering there. With no push and an immediate accel up the hill I spent the remaining arrows in my limited quiver just rejoining the field near the rear, and meanwhile the pace had pushed even higher and it was single file.

A lap later and several bridging moves to stay connected, I threw in the towel and dropped backward, amazed at the stream of riders still attempting to regain contact with the field. Over those few laps, the peleton went from 150 down to 50 – over 100 riders dropped, spread all over the course – I’ve never seen carnage quite like it, and did not feel bad at all for it – in fact I felt a real thrill that I was able to ride up front with the top pros in the country for the majority of the race. I joined Gary and Matt for a glass of wine feeling great. But the night did not end there – oh no…

9 people joined me at the house and the pool party began almost immediately at 10pm when Randy Rodd took the balcony leap to the pool and Gary and Monica (their two sons sleeping), Katelina, Ray Dybowski, Brett Bedow, Matt Dula, Randy Rodd, and Alan Antonuk splashed and dove and talked with a beer or glass of wine in the 85 degree pool or 105 degree hot tub. At 11pm I put Katelina to bed, and at 1am, I headed in myself – I was racing just a scant few hours later. Meanwhile the boys continued to party in the pool until the wine and beer ran out.

Day 2: Downer’s Grove Elite Category 2 Championships

2008 was the first time in 8 years that I didn’t step on the podium at Downer’s and I was determined to regain those painted wooden steps. I warmed up well and felt ‘on fire’ during the race – the pace was significantly easier than the pro race, and I felt I could do anything. However with 3 laps to go there was a crash directly in front of me (see video) around turn 2 that threw me backward in the peleton. Still I followed my instincts to navigate through the pack from the inside, shrouded from the wind. With 2 to go I moved up into the top 20, and with one to go, as the pace slowed, I pulled into the front of the pack and then slotted back into third up the hill.

There was a breakaway of 3 riders that had been out for a number of laps, but we hit the hill hard and ate them up by the top. Then it was decision time – the strong rider in blue hooked right and made a move… to stay or go?

I paused and then hit the jets, swinging into the contrails of his draft and we accelerated through the corner and down the backstretch, approaching 40mph into the final 3 corners.

I didn’t know where the pack was and considered a counter move with 2 corners to go, but was worried about the headwind into the second to last stretch – sure enough even the rider in blue couldn’t avoid slowing as we headed toward the final corner, and I should have hit it as soon as he slowed, but I waited, and two riders that had attached from the field attacked up the inside off camera. I jumped as well and by taking the corner wide, hoped for a slingshot to the finish line, but rider 2 took me to the barriers with his momentum and I had to slow a bit and by then had nothing left and could not come around, finishing third… Still I was happy to stand on the podium…

2009 Race Report #17: Wind, Rain, Cobblestones and the Grand Cycling Classic

2009 Race Reports 17: Wind, Rain and Cobblestones

 Friday, August 7: A long drive, like the 5 hour trip to Grand Rapids the night before the Grand Cycling Classic, unearthed for me a host of echoes of the travels of my youth, and the associated conflicting thoughts and feelings. I dreaded the drive and the packing and the worry over forgetting something, yet at the exact same time, I was eager to depart and couldn’t wait for that cloistered freedom of being on the road where the tyranny of choices – which email to answer, what project should I be undertaking, should the lawn be watered, does the pool have enough chlorine, what should I eat – is replaced by the quiet comfortable monotony of driving.

Once the traffic of Chicago cleared, so too did my mind and I found myself happily alone, listening to music, without choices save one – to drive or not.

I once read in a book loaned to me by a friend at work about a man who sailed alone from Canada all the way to Tahiti, who was marooned in the doldrums of the Pacific (a place with very little wind, calm seas and brilliant sunshine) for over a week. Someone later asked if he was bored.

He gave a considered response, one that I still think about now… No, he said, boredom is an emotion that comes when there are things you should be doing, but can’t. On the sailboat, once he had checked the compass, the keel and the horizon, there was nothing else to be done. Everything that could be done was complete, and he was peacefully alone in the freedom of his thoughts. So too was my experience as I passed into the hall of trees lining the highway north into Michigan as the sky darkened, brooding.. a foreshadowing of the weather to come.

I arrived late to the home of my friend Dave Heitiko, who had apparently forgiven me for crashing him the year prior (by accident) in the same race. Joining us were Randy Rodd, Ray Dybowski, Luke Cavender, and Adrian Fear, along with Dave and his wife. Wines were poured, stories were told, and as is always the case, we ignored the sprawling spaces of the large house and stood around the kitchen island until the wee hours even as coronas of lightning began outside the shelter of the house.

Saturday, August 8: I slept in the basement on a couch in a sleeping bag and was perfectly content, though I did not want to wake up at 7am when the household stirred. We met again in the kitchen and prepared our various breakfast preferences before heading out in a complete downpour to the course.

Slick black and red cobbles worn into ruts from 100 years of traffic, off camber corners, manhole covers like black ice, metal barriers sharpened like guillotines from the rain – this was what greeted us as we arrived and fear ran cold like the rain pouring down from overhead. The sky lightened a bit and it finally stopped raining as I registered, then began again as I “warmed up” gingerly taking the corners of the course at low speeds.

The race itself was almost the exact opposite of my feelings prior – my tires felt sticky, my legs strong, and for once I felt I could do whatever I wanted within the small peleton. It was a small field, but full of names I was familiar with – strong riders. I stayed mostly in the top 5 for safety and even won a prime (which I donated to the Randy Rodd fund) and as we came around with 2 laps to go there was not really any doubt in my head that I would win this race. I tried to turn on the camera, but it errored out – either from the rain or low battery..

I remembered that feeling – I used to have it most races as a junior and often as a speedskater, but as a part time cyclist the last few years, my fitness has always been right on the edge and most of my energy in a race was spent just hanging on. To experience, for a day, that old feeling of control, to be able to move when and where I wanted, to sling up the outside of the pack in the wind – these were real joys despite the rooster tails of water, the skittering of tires on the wet cobbles, the death traps of icy manhole covers dotting the road like landmines.

With one to go a leadout emerged and a Bissell rider shot to the front. Behind him was Rob Daksowicz (sp?) last year’s masters winner, and I sat easily in third. I knew exactly where to go and how it would play out, and it went just as I had imagined – 150 meters prior to the final corner, I hit the afterburners and jumped out front, gapping the field before braking hard on the slippery pavement of the final corner and then leaning my body while holding my bike upright around the bend.

I took it quite fast, but had the perfect line, avoiding the white paint strips and the off camber cobbles to the outside, and as soon as I returned to vertical, I shifted up and got out of the saddle and poured every thread of energy I had into the pedals for the next 150 meters.

Then I did something I have never done before in 33 seasons of racing  - I looked back…

I was sure that no one could have matched the first accel, the hard cornering in the rain, and the second accel, so I risked the look back, potentially putting the win at risk.

But no one was close by – I had 100 feet or more, and as I approached the white stripe of the finish line I did a second thing I have never done before. Sure, it was a small race, sure it was only the masters group, sure it was in the rain with only a few spectators, but I wanted to do this, I needed to do this, and as I screamed across the line, contrails of water spouting above my head, I removed my hands from the handlebars and shot them straight up in the air to celebrate in this fashion for the very first time in my career…

It felt good, really good.

The Wolverines had a good showing in later races, with Randy Rodd in 3^rd, Ray in 4^th, and Adrian in 8^th. I raced the BMW back to Illinois with a large heavy brick trophy from the cobblestone streets on the seat next to me inscribed with the race date and name, its heft belying the own lightness of being I was experiencing. Now, if I could only bring this same feeling to Downers Grove – 7 days away….

2009 Race Reports 14 – 16: The Race to the Race

2009 Race Reports 14 – 16: The Race to the Race

It was a carnival freak show caricature of the real thing. Everything that took place during those swollen seconds was a bloated, leviathan equivalent of the norm. Reminiscent of the movie Wall-E, every healthy element was eliminated and replaced by a supersized, unhealthy counterpart.

In the race to the race of the Chicago Criterium, I desperately needed food “on-the-go,” and the Lake Forest Oasis became my “feed-zone” where I received my “hand-up.”  To explain: the feed-zone is the area in bike races like the Tour de France where racers pick up “musette bags” full of healthy carbs and proteins, “hand-ups” by helpful members of the staff who run along side the racers as they slowly climb the steep slopes. Shoulder straps allow the racers to sling these bags of healthy calories over their shoulders so they can eat as they ride. I might as well have strapped it to my face…

In my case, the mountain was the small hill of the Lake Forest Oasis overpass, and the “musette bag” was a folded McDonalds to-go bag containing two fatty hamburgers on white bread with ketchup. The “racer,” (me) was not pedaling a 15lb carbon fiber frame… instead I was casually pushing the gas pedal of a rusting RV getting 7mpg – a 10,000lb hulk of fiberglass and steel zooming awkwardly over the top of the oasis. My friend Matt, unwittingly involved in this sordid satire, stood balanced on the curb in front of McDonalds on his tiptoes holding out my feed bag as I snatched it from his grasp at about 10mph, wallowing back down the overpass to I-294 spewing fumes en-route to the Chicago Criterium.

Thus continued the single worst preparations for any race of my life…

Race Report 14: July 26, 2009 – The Chicago Criterium, Grant Park Chicago – Masters 1 / 2  

The night before the Chicago Crit started way too early, involving copious quantities of Red Zinfandel out of a plastic cup while hiking the Downer Avenue course with my 21 year old teammate Randy Rodd and my great friend Matt Dula while watching the Pro Race. We ended the evening with the usual routine of entertaining guests in the RV by the start finish line and then hit North Avenue, staying up until 2:30am. Randy had to leave just 3 hours later for his race and successfully woke in time. He’s 21 and gets no sympathy. I on the other hand had difficulty waking up at 8:30 when I needed to, and when I finally did get on the road, found myself racing the clock for the 12:05pm race in a vehicle that can’t go much faster than 60mph at 7mpg.

I began chugging water just like the year prior, but this time had no food. I polished off 9 20oz bottles of water in the 3 hour drive, but could already feel the lack of calories. There was no way I could race without eating something, but I didn’t have time to stop… what to do?

I called Matt who was speeding on ahead in his car – and we arranged the now infamous “Lake Forest feed-zone hand-up.” I had asked for a relatively healthy breakfast sandwich and was suddenly thwarted by the switch to lunch. I was stumped – I should have gotten a grilled chicken wrap rather than plain burgers – what was I thinking?!

Finally, 20 minutes before race start time, I parked the RV for $40 and sped to registration, where I received my number (104 – hence there were 104 race participants – once again I was the last to register) and then sped to the wheel pit where Jose and another mechanic helped to get 4 pins in my number just as they called out the racer instructions. The fourth safety pin was latched just as they shot the gun and off we went – and I joined the rear of the peleton about 200 feet past the start finish – no warmup, tired, dehydrated, and fueled with fatty ground beef, ketchup and white bread. I felt like hell.

The race was relatively short and I actually wanted it to be longer, because the longer it lasted, the better I felt. I started lazy and lethargic and gained a little bit of energy every lap. It was an easy race and it was amazing that the peleton let 4 riders escape.

Finally it was the last lap and I woke up. It required the urgency of the bell to finally spur me into motion. The video below captures the action of the final lap, beginning right as we cross the line with one to go where I’m still sitting probably 60 deep or more in the peleton. I learned later than a couple guys were watching my wheel and determined I had given up on the race when I hadn’t yet moved up with less than one to go.

I tried to sling up front into the second corner, but others had the same idea and it was a bind around the corner and I had to brake hard. Swarming continued on the backstretch and I was trapped in the middle and dropped from 12^h to 25^th before turn 3 of 4 where I had intended to be 2^nd – 4^th. However, as we passed turn 3 into the short uphill, I still had my one little match, and I lit it out of that corner, getting out of the saddle and shooting up the outside, passing about 15 riders over the top to slot into 4^th place into the final corner. I’m sure the same move from 8^th or higher would have earned me the field sprint win, but I was just too far back, and by the short final sprint I had no juice left and finished 4^th in the field sprint, 8^th overall. The video makes it look all in slo-mo, but in real life I felt like I entered hyper-space up the hill and loved that feeling of acceleration. I do love that course…

Race Report 15: August 1^st, 2009 – Elk Grove Cat 1/2 75 Kilometers.

I arrived on time, warmed up, and suffered like a dog. For each of the 37 laps I determined that the next lap I would drop out. There was a crosswind and the peleton was spread out single file from lap one, and each long (1000m) finish stretch had me on the rivet. I quickly determine that I would quit at 35 to go (2 laps in), then I lied to myself and said, “at least make 5 laps”.

At lap 32 to go, I lied again and said, “10 laps would be at least a decent showing for your teammates in town” (I had 4 fellow Wolverines visiting and staying with me – Randy, Brett, Pat, and Sarah).  So with 27 to go I determined to quit again, but there they were, cheering, so I decided to go one more lap. Then another, and another. Even with 5 laps to go I wasn’t sure I would make one more lap. The idea of moving up did not enter my oxygen starved brain until 2 to go, and with gaps opening and wheels single file, I only managed to get into the upper quarter of the peleton by the finish despite using every possible fragment of energy in my body (see video below).

Race Report 16: August 2^nd, 2009 – Elk Grove Masters 1/2 45 Kilometers. Every POSSIBLE mistake…

Saturday night ended nice and early despite my teammates being town, and after only one glass of wine with Randy and Pat, I hit the hay early and then returned to the course with them the next morning with over an hour to register, pin on my numbers and make the start of the race.

I registered, returned to the car with my number, and then started scrambling, tearing the car apart, searching for, but not finding my skinsuit. Mistake #1 – I forgot my skinsuit. My God – even when I’m early I’m late. I had to head all the way back to get my skinsuit – but Pat Robb had my keys, so first I had to find him… I did get somewhat of a warmup chasing him down while coordinating with Randy via phone. Once I had the keys, I had the traffic lights perfectly timed as I raced back to get my suit, and then returned to the course. When I parked, it was 10:27am, and I still had to get on my numbers, helmet, shoes, gloves and get to the start/finish line in less than 3 minutes.

Meanwhile, they were apparently calling my name at the start/finish, and co-workers John Cregier, Ed Perez, and Dave Torgerson were scratching their heads as I succeeded in becoming a caricature of myself by skidding to the line during the final race announcements with an unbuckled helmet, un-strapped shoes, no gloves, no shoe covers, and no number on. Randy was there to help put the number on, but a couple of ladies by the barriers took over and managed to get 3 of the numbers pinned on before the sent us on our way.

I felt quite good and stayed mostly mid-pack, biding my time for the very long (700m) sprint. Near the end I dropped back, and then as we came around and I saw 3 laps to go, I started making my moves to the front. Mistake #2 – I never looked at the lap cards again…I’m sure now, that when I looked up with 3 laps to go, I was probably dead last, and they had already flipped the cards, so there were actually 4 laps to go, not 3.

But I moved through the pack as though there were 3, then 2, then 1 lap to go. Around the final bend there were two riders off, and the pack, as expected in the headwind, bunched up and I launched off the front, bridging between the pack and the lead riders, knowing the race was mine… until I realized it had all been too easy, and, glancing back, seeing that the pack had done nothing. A sudden cold feeling rang through me with the bell as I sat 100 meters off the front of the peleton… “One Lap to Go!, one lap to go riders!” yelled the announcer. Mistake #3 – sprinting with one lap to go…

No what? I had burned most of my match and couldn’t possibly hold the lead… so I sat up and waited, and then jumped back into the accelerating peleton in about 15^th. Over the final corners, things played out well and I was in perfect position, but had no match left and merely followed wheels to finish in 6^th place, the taste of blood and pennies in my mouth like yesterday…

Still, my legs felt like they were finally coming on… and the Grand Cycling Classic – in Grand Rapids Michigan – where I had had my first win in a while the year prior was coming up next… I liked this feeling of possiblities…

2009 Race Reports 12 – 13: Superweek Racine and Kenosha

Race Report 12: July 23, 2009 – Superweek Racine Master’s Criterium: a study in tedium – bumpy, lots of corners, single file, breakaways, and a slightly uphill finish stretch. After an hour and fifteen minutes of hanging on following the wheel, I ended up 9th – five or six guys were up the road. Yawn.

Race Report 13: July 24, 2009 – Superweek Kenosha Pro/Am: 100 Kilometers, 100 laps

I ate well, rested well, arrived on time, warmed up, and was hydrated and motivated. With the retirement of the Manitowoc course, Kenosha remains my primary hope for a top 5 spot in a Superweek Pro Race. Over the years, the true sprinter’s courses have dwindled, and so too has the body weight and musculature of the racers atop the podium. 4 years ago it was the Robbie Ventura with his swelling thighs and massive calves atop the top spot. Now, 4 years later, after a 40 lap onslaught by the “new criterium pros” of today, 4 of the 5 top podium spots fell to men who weighed under 140 lbs and whose thighs were not much bigger than a typical male bicep. Pro criterium racing has fundamentally changed and rare are the huge field sprints so typical of just a few years ago.

The race was fast from the gun – 31, 32, 33mph on the straightaways, slowing to the mid twenties in the corners. I was sitting maybe 80th in a 120 man field for the first half. It was hard, but I was on my game and hit it hard each time out of the corners and felt fast. Then, just around half way through the 100K race, the teams decided to start chasing the breakaway – and we went from three abreast to two-up to single file. And there it stayed – for 5 laps, then 10, then 15.

I was nailing it full out from the corners and slotting up a few spaces each time – creeping forward through the pack – from 80th to 75th, to 70th, to 65th and so on. The pace was brutal and my pulse was straying higher and higher. At one point I looked back expecting to see the other half of the 120 rider field strung out behind me and I found myself 3rd to last – we had already dropped 50 riders. I panicked and tried to move further up, but the pace never relented and after 72 of the 100 laps of the race I found myself in a 3 man reverse breakaway that I couldn’t close – having bridged several gaps already.

 Rather than a heart bursting burning defeat, this was cold deep down searing pain close to the bone – I physically could produce no more power from my blood and bones and I watched the peleton pedal away as the wind roared around me for a few seconds until I bowed to its pressure and slowed as it quieted.

Getting dropped is the cold essence of defeat – no semblance of “almost” remains – you fall off the back as the wheels in front disappear around the corners even as you still pedal at 25 mph, and then you are alone, and the people who know nothing (spectators) continue to cheer as though there was hope. “Keep going!” “Good job!” “You can catch them!” No, no and no. True cycling fans turn their back and pretend you are warming up – they know the shame you carry. There is not a single solitary hope and I hate – absolutely abhor – those moments of drifting off the back of the wake of the pack. I can’t wait to finally find the solace of anonymity on the sidewalk or backstreets. Ultimately the feeling you carry is one of shame.

 “I wasn’t good enough.”

 That’s what getting dropped is – it is admitting, “I wasn’t good enough.” We competitors usually find some excuse though – mechanical issues, improper warmup, too much racing, not enough racing, a dangerous course, dangerous riders.

At Kenosha I had no such excuse – I rarely do anymore. “I wasn’t good enough… TODAY.” That’s the only qualifier that allows some saving of face – adding the word “today” allows the possibility that it isn’t lack of talent, isn’t inborn, isn’t forever that I’ll fail again. “I wasn’t good enough, TODAY” provides a hope for the future. For me, I’ll have to wait until next year’s Kenosha race.

For the record, laps 50 – 72 were the fastest I’ve ever raced – over 30.5 mph average speed, AND (this gave me a little comfort later) three of the four Garmin Slipstream riders were already in the wheel pit when I drifted in – I had outlasted some highly paid pros. In all, only 45 of the 120 starters finished the race and it was a ragtag frayed line of riders that straggled in single file over the final laps.

 ‘Til next year…

The best part of the day was retiring in the RV to Gary and Monica’s house – a beautiful house on a hill in Lake Geneva, with a pool and courtyard, 2 and ½ acres. Yet, we never left the RV…

I can’t explain it, but there’s something special about the close (but not too close) space within the RV – once you are in it becomes the perfect place to tell tales and laugh and joke. Gary, Dave Dohnal, Eric Hankins, and Randy Rodd – yes his real name (don’t Google it – especially at work) a member of my Detroit based Wolverine Sports Club hung out in the RV until the wee hours, eventually joined by Gary’s wife Monica and Dave’s wife Kim, who were up to no good decorating the RV with fishing line and duct tape.

 Randy, almost 20 years everyone’s junior, was a bit of an amusement for the ladies and at one point in the evening as they continued their intrigues he announced, “Yeah, its true, I’m pretty awesome…” which had us all laughing.

The following night was spent in the usual Downer Avenue fashion – parked in the center of the course afterward, sipping some wine and snacking after watching the pro race and walking the course. Randy and I stayed up way too late, and he had to head out super early for his Cat 3 crit. I, surprisingly, overslept and in the morning began the usual “race to the race.” But that’s a story for the next post…