Chasing bald blokes

The title is light-hearted but the subject matter isn't; this is about my (failed) attempt to qualify for the USA National Championships.

The "bald bloke" thing isn't something I've really discussed, but I was chatting with a other competitor after the Napa Triathlon today, about disc wheels. I'd ridden my Zipp 808s, the first time I'd raced on them. They are what is known as Deep Dish wheels because they have a deep rim profile which makes them very aerodynamic and enables them to keep their momentum. They are incredibly expensive, since they are made with carbon fibre and titanium, and designed by people who keep planes in the air, and because of this expense they are only used by pros, sponsored riders, ambitious young wannabes - and people like me who are able and prepared to buy extra speed.

They work. It's like being fitted with a turbo and while the difference might be less than a single MPH overall, that's a big difference when you're trying to reach the top of your particular pile. In my case, the particular pile is currently the US population aged between 55-59. My deep dish wheels are fast, and they work really well, but I know that a full disc (where the entire back wheel is solid) is even faster. AND, they make a fabulous noise: WHUP; WHUP - you can hear them coming and you know they're gonna getcha!
When I was a kid I used to achieve the same effect with a playing card stuck into the spokes with a clothes peg so it sounded like a motorbike. I had a "twin" - 2 cards so it sounded like a BIG motorbike. At least I thought so. Anyway, I was wondering about the concept of a full-on disc and I went to ask this chap who was packing one away. I asked him how it had performed and he was very happy with it. It turned out that he had finished second overall. I sympathized with him about that but he was satisfied with it, he said. He showed me his broken hand which had weakened the catch part of his swim stroke and given him a bit of pain on the ride, so we agreed second was OK in the circumstances. He asked how I'd got on, and at that point I had no idea, though I thought I'd probably come second too, in my age group. I'll tell you why and how later. If you finish near the top overall, clearly you know where you are in relation to your competitors, but I have none. I'm in with the masses so there are people from other start waves, women, and all age groups. When I finish I know my time but that's pretty well all. I have no way of telling who I'm racing against, so I told my new friend that I just looked for bald patches, assuming they were about my age, and chased them. Not a good hobby really, chasing bald blokes, but I need to be racing and while I try to race against everybody there are some very fast young bucks out there where its a pointless task. I also need to know when to get angry, and if it's a young buck I only need to be angry that they are young. If they are bald, I'm angry that they are old - and in front of me; and I chase them down if at all possible. At the time of talking with my friend with the broken hand, I was relatively OK with my performance. My analysis at the time was entirely due to feel. My Garmin had decided to reject the concept of triathlon and assume the whole thing was a swim, so other than my overall time I had no facts relating to my splits. Garmin thinks I covered 36 miles swimming in 2.5 hours, which would be impressive! So my analysis, without the hindrance of factual evidence, was that my swim was OK. I didn't feel as bad as I normally do. The water was warm, and I felt I'd swum faster than recently. I'd had one panic attack when I got a fist in the face just as I breathed in and subsequently swallowed a whole load of water (this isn't some competitor malice - it was at the buoy turn where it simply gets crowded; it was just unfortunate), and the only other moment was when I had to rinse my goggles which had misted up. The rest of the swim was, by my standards, uneventful. I'd spent a lot of it struggling for breath as usual but I had got a rhythm by the end and I would have guessed that my time was ahead of the 30 minutes I knew I could do. The bike leg was phenomenal. I wasn't as slick or aggressive through transition as normal but it went OK, and I suppose I was a bit slow getting into a rhythm but I know that I was on it by mile 2. It was like going into overdrive. everything made sense, the new Argon bike was beautiful. I was down on the tribars and cruising. I was scorching along like I had in training last Saturday, and the feeling of that race-pace effort along the Paradise Loop came back to me. I felt good, strong and fast. Nobody overtook me over the whole leg, and I passed plenty. The bike was perfect; every electronic gear change just clicked in like the fine machine it is. I always had the right gear; I never used the brake and I only very rarely came off the tribars. My head was screaming to stop the hurt, to ease up, but there was no way I was giving in. That's the difference between feeling good and not feeling good. it isn't about the hurt; its about what you can do, what power you can put in, and its possible to enjoy the feeling of knowing you are asking - and getting - everything your body can deliver. And that's how I felt. I knew I wasn't going to weaken, and I knew I was performing well, and that would continue right to the end of the bike leg. I worked out (I'll never know if I was right because the course timing had similar issues to my Garmin and had my bike leg time at just under a day!) that I had done around 1:10 - my best ever bike leg. Onto the run and immediately I had problems. My stomach was threatening to explode, probably as a result of the gels I'd had on the bike leg, and I had pains and a stitch. I also felt very tired, but pushed on, knowing I always get stronger. As the run went on I did get stronger and my stomach sorted itself out so I ended up doing a decent pace and again, nobody overtook until one in particular right near the end. I'd spotted him as I turned at the end of the course. I knew who was ahead of me, and who I might catch, and as I turned I checked out anyone who might catch me. There was only one, and something told me he was my age group - bald! He was obviously a good runner and I calculated that he would catch me if things stayed the same. He was wearing a TEAM USA tri suit, which meant he'd qualified for the US team, and I just knew he had to be last year's winner (which he was). I therefore knew I had to beat him if I was going to qualify. Now, this is the nub of this whole blog really. I was maxed already, and I wasn't in great running shape, and I knew he was going quicker, but I did  nothing about it. Sure enough he came up to, and past, me. I heard him coming, I knew it was him, I knew I had to beat him, but I did nothing extra. I was going as fast as I could, sure, but you have to dig don't you? Normally, my race head gives me that edge, that killer instinct, but it wasn't there. I believe I would have failed to keep him back, or to take him on the line, but I didn't dig into that unknown place and dredge out all there is. I let it happen. He beat me by 10 seconds. As it happens someone else beat us both but I didn't know that at the time. I basically let someone beat me by 10 seconds that I knew could cost me a qualifying place, and I didn't die trying to prevent it. That's not me. Not me with my race head on for sure, but the truth is, I didn't have my race head on today. It hasn't been on since all the work problems; I've been distracted, not focused and not fully committed. That's not me either. "Me' would have gone for it, finished vomiting in a corner but having given everything. Today, I had a good ride, a good run and (surprisingly when I saw the time) a disappointing swim, but I was somewhat going through the motions, not racing. No killer today. Why is that?

So the analysis, now that I have the benefit of the race timing, is that in the swim I gave away 10 minutes to the winner, and 8 minutes to the second placed guy. I made up all but 10 seconds of that on the bike and run, but I'm giving myself such a handicap in the swim I'm not giving myself a reasonable chance of any really decent results. Not at this level anyway. I'm assuming that my killer instinct will return, but the swim? What can I do? I'm on the verge of giving up triathlon because of it. I've given it a lot of effort, a lot of time, and a lot of cash. But I just can't seem to make any difference, and giving top-level athletes a head start of 8-10 minutes - bald or not - isn't much fun.

Feeling the pressure

A week to go until my attempt to qualify for the USA National Triathlon Championships, and I'm feeling the pressure. Some things are going really well, others not, and its been a difficult few weeks on the run-up. Work has been a bit of a nightmare and I hate to admit it but I'm completely stressed out by it. It's affecting my sleep, and my state of mind, and all of that is impacting my performance. Only a few weeks ago I felt like I had everything under control at work, and was feeling great. One particular week I did some terrific sessions on the bike followed by powerful brick runs at little over 7 minute mile pace. Yes, I was working hard to do it, but at the same time it felt "easy". Perhaps "natural" would be a better way to describe it, but whatever the word, I felt good; I felt strong, and I felt confident. Then..... BLAM! I got hijacked by some work stuff. I'm normally way ahead, I know what's going on, I can predict reactions, understand the politics and feel the "pulse" of it all. I don't say this to sound smart, I'm being factual. I've been in business for a long time, and I work hard to do all the above, so its one of my strengths. But the hijacking took me totally by surprise. I was ambushed, big time, and it seemed everyone took the opportunity to take a kick while I was on the ropes. I recovered OK, and I probably did over-react in the first place, but the effect is the same. My sleep, my training, my recovery, and my performance have suffered. I've had some great rides, and some lovely running, and I've even ticked the "OWS" (Open Water Swim) box, but I'm having to really work to get the results. Yesterday, for example, I was out riding "The Paradise Loop" in Marin, just North of San Francisco. It was a beautiful day, the roads were quiet early on, I was on my new TT bike and in good company. The Paradise Loop is well-named, and there's a section of about 6 miles riding along a coastal road down into Tiburon that is so beautiful it's almost unreal. If there is such a thing as Paradise, it would be modeled on this piece of the world. There's some very lucky people who live here, for sure. My interest though, is more to do with the riding, and this route was perfect training for next week's race as it has the same basic profile. I set out with the ambition to do a full-on race pace effort down this piece of road, and I left my cycling buddy in my wake as I scorched those 6 miles. I was putting everything into it. and felt good and strong. I was holding around 21 MPH and the Zipp wheels were maintaining all the moementum so I kept speed through bends and up slight rises. I was staying on the tribars almost all the time, and pumping the pedals with good, sustainable power. I overcooked one bend in particular, trying to stay down on the tribars and then realising at the last moment that I would have to brake. Coming off the bars unsettled everything, shifting my weight to take the corner made it worse, and then the actual braking exaggerated all the bad stuff. Imagine going into a road bend too hot in your car, and slamming the brakes on just at the apex of the corner - not good! I bounced over the very high cats eyes and overpainted yellow lines which unsettled things even more. A cyclist coming the other way must have been having a good laugh at my expense as I bounced around on the wrong side of the road trying to get everything under control again. Happily it wasn't a car, that would have been a quite different story. My mate Hamish is in hospital right now having had a big crash, smashing his helmet and wrecking his bike. He is lucky to be alive; I was lucky too, but as soon as I had everything back in control I was back down on the tribars and giving it loads. My only concern at the time was the speed I'd lost.  I kept the pressure on all the way into the beautiful - if a bit twee - little town of Tiburon, across the bay from San Francisco. I finished off with an all-out sprint touching 30 MPH before braking for the roundabout. I checked my Garmin, and was happy. Oscar came in around 40 seconds later. "I coudn't get near you!" He called me Spartacus for the rest of the day (That's Ex-World Champion Time Triallist Fabian Cancellara's nickname). So it was a great effort and a great result, I was very pleased. I've also had some good runs, with a lunchtime speed set returning 6 * 1 mile efforts well below 7 minute mile pace. The OWS hasn't been such a good tale, but I've got out there and done it when my entire being is screaming "NO!" at the top of its voice. I hate OWS; I hate every aspect of it: the water, the currents, the cold, the taste, the sound, and the smell. I hate being in it, and every second, every stroke is my own personal hell. I can't breathe very well, my chest is so tight I can't get enough air in or extend my stroke enough. I feel like I'm swimming with a vice around me, but its the fear that's gripping me. So its little surprise that I don't go very fast. When I come out I look like death, and I can't walk without staggering like a drunk. It takes quite a while to recover, by which time I'm well into the bike leg having lost god-knows how much time as a result. It's a fair question to ask why I do a sport that requires me to do something I detest so much, but the answer to that is so complex it'll take a blog to itself. The last few days I've been doing a lot of race-pace efforts and bricks (run after swim, run after bike), but this is where the stress is taking its toll. Its making my recovery poor, so I'm carrying too much tiredness. I get onto the run section and there's not much there. I did a 30 minute set after the bike ride and, even taking into account that I'd put a lot into the bike session, my run was poor. I struggled to stay under 8 minute mile pace, and I struggled to do 4 miles. A few weeks ago I was bashing out near 7 minute pace without any problem, but now it felt like a long way off. It was the same after yesterday's swim. The pace was a little better but I was feeling so bad after the OWS I'm not even sure if I was running in a straight line! So, with a week to go, I'm feeling tired and I can't seem to turn that around. My objective for the race is straightforward: to qualify for the Nationals, I have to win my age group. I'll be giving everyone a head start out of the swim because I'm so bad at that, and then I'll spend the rest of the race chasing them down, trying to coax a decent performance out of a tired body. It feels like a big ask. My coach sent me an email saying: "You've outworked all your competitors every day this year; you've got this!" But I don't know that hard work alone is going to be enough. I should be feeling more positive about myself at this point, but sadly, I don't. The pressure is on.

Keeping ahead of the Broomwagon!

The broom wagon, or sag wagon, is every cyclist's nightmare. Its the sweep up operation of the race. This dreaded vehicle gathers up the failed, the doomed and the lame. It does this unceremoniously and with no sense of dignity for the rider concerned. The Tour de France has one of course, but you and I don't see it on the TV coverage. Any decent team rider with any amount of status gets his team car to take him away from the scene as quickly as possible, so if you end up in the actual broom wagon it means that you are in such sorry shape that even your own team has left you to the wolves. My team is not pro, so we have a team car that also doubles as the broom wagon, and on Sunday it was firmly of "broom wagon" status for the charity ride with Fast Freddie Rodriguez and two genuine pro teams. For the princely sum of $100 you could ride with Fast Freddie and his Team Jelly Belly squad, plus some riders from the US Clif Bar team.

Fast Freddie is 4-times US National Champion and has a great "palmares" (that's what a cycling CV is called) including finishing second to the great Mario Cippolini in the Milan-SanRemo race in 2002. To ride with him and the other pros was a real privilege, and I was happy to pay for it. The proceeds went to the "Fast Freddie Foundation" - he does things with style, this guy! - which helps local underprivileged youngsters find self-belief and self-worth through introducing them to cycling. As Freddie said at the start of the ride: "we take the ability and opportunity to get out and enjoy a ride for granted. We can enjoy the sun, the hills, the countryside and the company. Some of us are lucky enough to do it for a living, but there are many kids who simply don't have that option. The foundation tries to fix that." He said it with such genuine feeling you had to believe it, and that is exactly the sort of guy he is. Completely genuine, and without any hint of arrogance or ego. He also does things with quite a bit of style. Apparently the previous evening he sent his manager a picture of a nice bottle of wine; then at around 2 in the morning sent a picture of said bottle - empty, with the message: "you'd best give me a call in the morning!" I heard this from other sources, but I guess it adequately demonstrates how tough he was expecting the ride to be. I, on the other hand, was prepared to spend my day on the limiter!

So, off we went, for a beautiful ride through Marin County over to the Point Reyes coast. The ride was serious, inasmuch as the pros were told to keep a "decent pace" and not dawdle about. This might be a charity ride but it wasn't for the general population; it was for club riders and wannabes, and the pace was pretty hot. Fall off the pace, drop out the back and there was only one option: into the broom wagon. They weren't gonna wait! about 20 miles in and I was off the back. I was giving it everything I had and the pain wasn't my limiting factor, it was simply availability of power in the legs. I had no more to give. The back of the group stretched inexorably away. It wasn't by much, but I was losing contact and the more you lose contact the harder you have to work against the wind. So it gets worse. I dragged everything I had out of myself, turned myself inside out but I was still going backwards. Then I felt a gentle hand in the middle of my back, and it gently pushed. I had my head well and truly down but I glanced sideways to see a smiling Freddie. "Don't lose the group; get back in there!" He pushed me up to speed, and back onto the group before going back for another backmarker. The boost it gave to every system in my body was tremendous. My legs gained power; all pain was gone; I felt inexplicably "GOOD". I stayed with the group until the next stop, a couple of miles up the road, and felt very, very Pro. The broom wagon wasn't eating me up just yet. That scenario was repeated a couple of times, each time with a different rider pushing me back on to the group. When I checked afterwards there were about 6 or 7 of us who had been helped in this way. It helped us to continue to enjoy the ride, and I have to say it made me feel very good about cyclists in general and about these team guys in particular. I know, from reading pro cyclists' autobiographies, that riding these events is a bit of a drag. They are populated by wannabes and many of these wannabes think they have bought the right to act like a knobhead to the riders. But these riders were, to a man, great. They treated us with respect (and of course vice versa), and they made sure we had a great day out. They spoke to us on equal terms, answered our questions and offered advice - or a push if necessary.

Thanks guys, I loved it.