10.17.2011 | 10:00 am
A Note from Fatty: Welcome to the “I’ve Never Suffered So Much” series of guest posts. I think you’re going to find this next couple weeks of guest posts to be pretty compelling reading.
My addiction to cycling began when I got too tired to fight my family’s passion for road racing. My grandfather had been a club champion in Holland (how’s that for pressure?), and my father was beating adults in the Amsterdam cycling club by age 11. I grew up watching the Tour with as much reverence as a Sunday sermon, and I cultivated a serious curiosity for competitive racing.
My grandfather built my road bikes from old steel frames and some stray components, and while my bike was never pretty, it always hummed along better and faster than the department store bikes my friends rode. At 16, I ventured out for my first solo long ride (30km) in regular shorts, the tightest t-shirt I could find, and a cycling hat on backwards instead of a helmet. It was the 90’s after all, and Migel Indurain was just the coolest (though I’d rather have died that admit that to my parents or friends).
I was flying down the road, dreaming that I was in the Tour, thinking “Hey, this isn’t so hard!” A curt “passing left” broke my daydream as I was railroaded by a local club going twice as fast as I was “flying.” They looked so organized, so sleek, and so fast!
As soon as I got home, I told my dad that I wanted to ride with a team. Dad asked our LBS if they knew of any junior teams, and I somehow found myself interviewing for Canada’s Saeco Cannondale feeder team (the same team that sported Mario Cipollini in Europe!).
The interview consisted of my longest ride yet (80km) alongside the directeur sportif of the junior squad (U-18), focusing more on endurance and bike handling than on performance. At the end of the ride, he said that I could join the team if I wanted, but that it would be a lot of work and suffering.
All I heard was that I could ride with a team.
I was ecstatic to pick up my uniform: jersey, bib shorts (my first!), helmet, gloves, cycle computer (cool!), and sunglasses. It was all so professional! Dad and I headed back to the LBS for my first set of clipless pedals and shoes, and to get my bike tuned up and ready to race.
My first time out with the full club was a Sunday training ride in July. The elite team was riding with the juniors, and I was told to stick in the slipstream near the back, don’t cross wheels, and hang on for dear life. That’s when I started to wonder what I’d gotten myself into. We pedalled along country roads in a double pace line, and the juniors rotated through the front without ever really pulling.
I was gaining confidence, talking to the guys, and getting comfortable riding in a pack. I started to believe that I could do this, that my genetics made me a natural.
That’s when the road went up.
In retrospect, the hill wasn’t especially long-maybe 5km and an average 5% grade. It was nothing but a bump for the elite team, and no more than mild exertion for the junior team that had been training seriously since April. I had no real base training, so that hill looked to me like the Col du Galibier. I suffered a lot, but I managed to avoid losing touch with the back of the pack. As I crested the hill, I saw them filing back down and felt a wave of relief that we’d reached our halfway turnaround point. Again, I thought “I can do this!”
Then, in broken English, my directeur sportif uttered the word I’d learn to dread: “REPEATS!” That wave of relief turned into a wave of horror as I learned what was going on. I’d just started over an hour’s worth of hill repeats.
Other junior members helpfully informed me, the team neophyte, that this was normal for a Sunday ride. They’d shout in passing, “Oh, you might want to drink some water and eat your food. You did bring food, right?” Too shy to reveal my ignorance, I assured them that sure, I had food! I was still overconfident in my lineage. If my old grandfather could win road races, surely a strapping young teenager like me could get through some hill repeats, food or no food. Plus, it was only 10am and I’d just had breakfast. I wasn’t worried.
That day I learned another cycling term that I’d come to dread: BONK. I got through the repeats–fewer than the others did, but I’d survived. I was a little lightheaded and drenched with a weird white sweat, but I figured that was just the excitement and the new jersey, right?
As we were heading back, my new cycle computer showed that we had another 60km to go, or about two hours. I knew I was in trouble. It was getting harder to breathe, my legs felt like they were filled with lead, and any sort of incline made me unable to keep a gap from forming between me and the pace line.
The elite squad decided to turn up the pace and get in some sprint interval training, while the junior team was just supposed to roll through at a steady pace and head home. I realised that I just wasn’t going to make it. I couldn’t see straight, but I was trying so hard not to let on to my directeur sportif that I was in trouble. With another 20km to go, I was nearly falling off the bike, couldn’t keep my eyes open, and felt an incredible urge to sleep. I was in my own personal purgatory, and even though I didn’t know what was happening I could feel my body shutting down.
The team broke into smaller groups based on where they lived, and I was elated to find that nobody lived in my area so I’d get to ride back alone. I was close to weeping and desperately wanted to sleep, but I had done it! I was also still more than 15km from home, which included one extremely steep hill dubbed “the monster.”
I pedalled barely fast enough to keep the bike upright, since I didn’t even have a quarter to find a payphone and call my parents to come and get me. It took me close to 2 hours and 3 nap breaks in a grassy ditch to drag myself back. I had been gone a staggering 7 hours when it should’ve only taken 4-5. My parents had made a nervous call to the directeur sportif, who assured them that I’d been close to home when we all split off.
Needless to say, the directeur sportif gave me an earful about nutrition, keeping him advised how I was doing and if I was in trouble, and how a team needs to take care of its members. That day was a lesson in suffering, but in some odd way my ability to suffer through and hide it so well solidified my place on the team.
Mark K is a thirtysomething Canadian in Ottawa, Ontario who is eagerly rediscovering his passion for cycling and all of its accompanying toys after years off the bike due to racing burn-out. Thanks to cycling family, cycling friends, and Fatty, the joy of being on and around bikes has returned.
Comments (23)
10.15.2011 | 10:37 am
Miss the Team Fatty gear pre-order, and now you’re hoping to pick up a jersey? Well, now’s your chance. A very limited supply of 2012 Fat Cyclist jerseys are now in stock at Twin Six.
I have lost track of how many times I’ve heard people say that this is the best-looking jersey we’ve done to date. I know for sure it’s my current favorite to wear.
Most everything’s in stock, too (though some of the sizes are starting to disappear).
And hey, thanks for flying the Team Fatty flag.
Comments (11)
10.11.2011 | 8:38 am
A Note from Fatty: Today’s post seems like it’s about running. Trust me, though, it’s about biking. Eventually.
Yesterday I talked a little bit about the run The Hammer and I went on last Saturday. I believe I may have mentioned what a miserable experience that was for me.
Well, honestly, “miserable” isn’t the right word. “Horrible” might be a better word for how I felt (and ran). Or perhaps “catastrophically bad.” Or if I were to be completely candid, maybe I would not have described it as a fifteen-mile run at all, but instead called it a “halting fifteen mile shuffle-jog, interspersed with increasingly long walking breaks and no small amount of whining, permeated with an unprecedented amount of whining.”
Yes, that would about describe it.
I tried to see it as a wake up call of sorts: that I need to halt and reverse my annual slide into pudginess. But the truth is I saw it as more of a different kind of wake up call: that I had no business running and should just give up. Maybe try to persuade The Hammer that for both the Death Valley Marathon and the Boston Marathon, what she really needs is someone cheering for her at the finish line, not someone slowing her down during the run.
Seriously, it was that bad.
I had even started preparing my case on why I shouldn’t be running at all. My points included:
- I haven’t been doing it anywhere near as long as her and just can’t keep up; I’m just slowing her down.
- I’m a cyclist, pure and simple. And cyclists don’t like to run. For example, during Levi’s Granfondo, I asked Levi if he ever does Xterra or road Tri events. “No way,” replied Levi. “I hate running.” And as you can see by our builds, Levi and I are very similar indeed:
- I just wasn’t having any fun. Truly, during that run, I did not have a single moment of happiness.
But I never got to make those arguments, because yesterday morning, The Hammer said, “Suit up; we’re going on a six-mile run.”
My speeches were not well-enough honed. I needed more time to craft them to perfection. So, just this one more time, I suited up. Knowing that the awfulness of the experience would add substance to my arguments.
And then I had the second best run of my life (the AF Canyon Half Marathon was the best). I felt like I had a deep well (as opposed to Saturday’s shallow puddle) of strength to draw from. I felt like I could power up hills. I felt like I could manage–and maybe even ignore–the pain of running on the flats.
And at the end of the run, The Hammer did something she has never done before: she gave me a high-five. “You just took four minutes off your previous fastest time for that run.”
My Point
That kind of experience isn’t actually all that new to me. Well, it’s new to me in running, but I’ve had a similar experience several times when biking.
It happens like this.
First, I do a ride, and it completely slaughters me. Leaves me destroyed. I hold up my friends and I don’t have any fun whatsoever. The ride goes so badly, in fact, that I question whether I should give up cycling altogether.
The example I remember most clearly is the first time I rode Amasa Back, in Moab. I simply could not keep up. I could barely turn the cranks. It wasn’t even so much that the intensity of the ride was too much, it was more like I was simply powerless. I for sure wasn’t having fun.
As near as I could tell, Amasa Back was the longest, most technical, most awful trail in the whole world.
Second, I fret. I wonder why I suck so bad, and whether I will ever be good enough to ride with my friends. I look for all kinds of possible reasons of what went wrong. Or more specifically, what’s wrong with me.
Third, I do it again. For whatever reason–usually through some prodding on someone else’s part–I find myself doing that ride again. And I realize that in fact the ride is much better, easier, and more fun than I remembered. A bad experience magnified the difficulty of the ride, and obscured the fun parts.
Which is exactly what I discovered the next time–and every other time–I’ve been on Amasa Back. The truth is, it’s one of the most fun trails there is in Moab. It’s technical, for sure, but it’s not the most technical. And it’s not a very long ride. And it’s got a view to die for. By the time I finished doing Amasa Back the second time, I wondered why I ever thought it was a hard trail.
So. Little by little, I’m beginning to realize how much of a part your head plays in whether a ride (or run) is difficult. Or brutal. Or flat-out miserable.
If a ride’s goes really bad, maybe I (and maybe you, too) need to consider the possibility that the road or trail or course itself isn’t bad. Maybe it’s that I was tired. Or getting sick (or getting over being sick).
Or maybe I was just having a bad day.
Whatever the reason, the misery of being completely beaten by a workout is nowhere near as bad as the elation of going back and discovering you’re not as much of a tub of goo as previously thought. Of finding redemption.
So, yeah. It’s worth it to get back up on the horse.
Comments (31)
10.3.2011 | 11:59 am
What is it that makes a good event great?
It’s not as simple a question as you might think. Or maybe it is, and the simplicity misses me. But the fact is, some events — whether it’s a race or a big ride or a GranFondo — are OK, some are bad, somer are good, and a few are great.
I ask this because, so many times while riding Levi’s GranFondo yesterday, people would remark to me what a fantastic event this is. They had some concrete reasons, and some that had more to do with how the event felt.
Whatever that special sauce is that bumps an event out of “good” and into “great” territory, everyone seemed to agree that Levi’s GranFondo has a lot of it.
The Festa
Thanks to everyone’s generosity, The Hammer and I got to go to the Festa del Fondo, a swanky dinner and auction to help raise money for the charities supported by Levi’s GranFondo.
Then, to my surprise, I was whisked away by an intimidating-looking man man named Yuri, who unceremoniously dumped me into a small, dark room, whereupon a blinding light was shone into my eyes and I was asked a number of questions about what I knew about Levi.
Yes, really.
Except it wasn’t as bad as it seems, because it was actually Citizen Pictures — the people who did the Leadville “Race Across the Sky” documentaries — doing interviews for an upcoming documentary about Levi.
The first question was, “Tell us about how you first met Levi.”
I drew a blank. Just stared at the camera.
Then, thirty seconds or so, I remembered. And told the story, in excruciating detail.
And, as usual, I rambled on for a very long time, while in the back of my head a little voice critiqued me, saying things like, “You’ve completely lost sight of the original question, haven’t you? Do you even remember what it was? Is there something hanging from your nose?”
After Cyndi — the person interviewing me — fell asleep from boredom at my answers, I snuck back upstairs, where dinner was already in progress. This year, dinner was more substantial than last year, with pasta and meat and other food I could recognize pretty well.
There was auctioning. Milling about. Hobnobbing. And I got to introduce Laura — who won the trip to France to ride with Andy — to Michael, who won this particular trip out to meet and ride with Levi.
I have to say, that was a highlight of the trip. I love seeing people enjoying the incredible prizes I get to give away as a side effect of the amazing charity work Team Fatty does.
Then I pulled Michael and his girlfriend over to Levi’s table to introduce them to each other. Michael’s new to riding — in fact at the time he and his girlfriend were pretty much entirely new to riding — but he certainly knows his pro cycling. Better than I do, for sure.
Finally, at the end of the evening, BFOF and GranFondo volunteer Angie arranged for Levi and me to pick up our race packets at the same time.
The thing was, she had arranged for me to get the race plate with the 1 on it. Levi got a homemade race plate, made out of an actual paper plate.
As expected, Levi “persuaded” me to give him back his number.
Group Ride
On Friday morning, top fundraisers (and I) got to go on a group ride with Levi and Odessa out to Forget Me Not Farms, one of the charities the GranFondo supports.
The winners of the GranFondo Trip, Michael and his girlfriend, got a great photo with Levi:
And Michael would afterward tweet:
Yeah, that’s not a bad start to one’s cycling career. Kinda makes you wonder how they’re gonna top that, though.
Hanging out at the Farm was cool.
Though I have to say, that cow looks suspicious of Levi. Almost as if it had been put in a headlock a time or two.
I Gotta Say Thanks
The Hammer and I arrived at the starting line nice and early, which I believe is a first for us. It also turned out to be awesome, because it meant we had time to meet and hang out with other riders.
In particular, Team Fatty riders.
I was hugely excited to come across Janeen “TheNoodleator” McCrae:
Janeen, The Hammer and I would gorge on gelatto together after the race. Janeen would contend that she won, because she ate more. I contend that in an ice cream eating contest, there are no losers. Or maybe it’s that everyone loses. Hard to say.
And Nic:
And David:
I was startled to find that David of Marin, CA, whom I had always been led to believe would be a very tall man, is actually only five feet tall. On his tiptoes.
And Chuck Ibis:
Chuck is as startled as I am bewildered. About what, you may fairly ask? About the fact that we are both so ridiculously handsome, of course.
And Lee:
Lee Applebaum is the CMO of RadioShack.
I saw Glenn Kasin, who’s the go-to guy for pretty much everything, Team RadioShack-Nissan-Trek-Hershey’s-FTD-Nabisco-FatCyclist.com-Hewlett Packard:
Oh, you haven’t heard about the latest additions to the team name?
I ran across this guy:
For the first time in the history of ever, Levi did not attempt to punch me in the throat, nor did he put me in a headlock. I was grateful.
And, finally, I hung out with an incredibly good-looking woman who looks like she could drop most guys in the climbs, and practically everyone in the flats:
Oh dear. It looks like we accidentally dressed the same again. How embarrassing.
The Ride
Last year, the GranFondo weather was atypical. By which I mean it was warm, perfect, and beautiful. You should watch the video.
This year it was a lot more typical. Which is to say, when we got high up in the mountains, it was windy. And there was fog. And some rain.
But between the new 2011 FatCyclist vest and Smartwool armwarmers, The Hammer and I were never really uncomfortable. And by the time we got out to the coast, the fog and rain and wind dissipated and we could enjoy the scenery.
Still, the mist and fog added something to this ride — an eeriness. A stillness. A sense that — even though you knew there were 7500 other riders out there — you were on your own.
Honestly, I don’t know if there’s an event out there that’s its equal.
You’ll have to trust me on this, because we didn’t take a lot of pictures once we got rolling, due to the fact that The Hammer’s camera fogged up:
No, the fog wasn’t really that bad.
Which brings me to something I’d like advice on: what’s a great point-and-shoot camera for cyclists? I.e., something that can live in a sweaty jersey pocket but still take great pictures, and can be easily — and quickly — operated with gloves on?
Then, after the ride, someone made the crucial error of not realizing that once I begin talking I lose track of time, and made me the MC of a recognition ceremony.
Which started with Levi choking me within an inch of my life:
I still cannot believe that Dave — the announcer guy on the right — didn’t intervene or call the cops or anything.
And then I talked:
And talked:
And talked:
You’ll notice that in all of those photos, it is almost as if I’m the one always doing the talking. While Levi stands there, letting me jabber away. Because, naturally, everyone was there to see me, right?
I am such a dope.
The Heart of the Matter
I’ve been to a lot of events (and even, for the first time, participated in promoting and producing one event) in the past few years, and think — finally — I’ve got a handle on what at least some of the factors are that can make an event good.
There are a few things that pretty much have to be in place in order for an event to happen at all: The course. Course and hazard markings. The starting and finishing areas. Aid stations. Medical and mechanical support. Volunteers.
The thing is, some events feel like these must-haves are items to be checked off a list; they have to be done, so get them over with. just check these items off because they have to be done. Other events treat them with passion, turning gotta-haves into something else: a selling point. A feature.
Take, for example,the Lunch aid station at Levi’s GranFondo. You can grab a pre-made sandwich if you’re in a hurry, or you can go to what is essentially a working deli and have a sandwich made to order. Last year, there was a fresh-squeezed lemonade stand at one of the stations.
At the Park City Point to Point a little over a year ago, when my SS dropped its chain as I rolled into an aid station, a mechanic ran up from the neutral mechanic aid booth and told me he’d have my bike ready to go in five minutes.
Stuff like that isn’t expected at an event. It’s not required to make me attend an event. But when it happens, I tell my friends.
I think that how much you care about your logistics can make the difference between a bad, OK, or good event.
But what about great?
I’m beginning to think that the only way you can have a great event is if it has a great personality. Something that makes it individual. Something that gives it heart.
And I think that something has got to be a person — or people — who inspire everyone around them to want to make the event something special.
Levi’s GranFondo has Levi Leipheimer, as well as the BikeMonkey dynamic duo of Carlos and Greg.
Levi is everywhere at that event. Hanging out with people, checking to see if folks are having fun, taking pictures with everyone who wants.
It’s obvious he loves riding, loves the route, and loves the event. Loves seeing so many people having a great time.
And the BikeMonkey guys, well, they’re no different. They somehow manage to produce an event that has a massive number of people — 7500+ riders! — that still feels personal. Not like you’re one more object on a conveyor belt.
From the course to the aid stations to the giant festival at the finish line, Levi’s GranFondo is one giant rolling party.
And it’s a party I’ll look forward to being at again next year.
Comments (42)
09.29.2011 | 10:54 am
During the 2012 Team Fatty gear pre-order, I made no secret of my enthusiasm for the new Specialized bottles with the Watergate (ha) valves. Twin Six did an awesome design to go on those bottles, and a bunch of you — like, around 500 of you — ordered some of these beauties.
The fact that we sold these bottles at no profit whatsoever (good luck finding these bottles at $8.00 anywhere else) probably had something to do with the number of orders, too.
Well, yesterday my bottles arrived. Here’s what they look like:
Um.
Ew.
Evidently, someone at Specialized thought that the black translucent bottle TwinSix ordered wasn’t a good color, and convinced them to go with silver. But on that silver bottle, the orange color looks…well, brown.
The thing is, those of you who ordered these bottles are probably starting to get them right now.
And I figure some of you, at least, are going to be a little disappointed in the way these things look.
I called the Twin Six guys, and they agreed, this is not what the bottles should look like, and they (the bottles, not the Twin Six guys) are, frankly, pretty ugly.
So, they’re going to make things right.
In fact, they’re going to make things even righter than right.
Option 1: If You Just Can’t Stand the Bottle
If you simply cannot imagine yourself ever using this bottle, email service@twinsix.com. They’ll set you up with what you need to return the bottle(s) and get a refund.
Option 2: If You Would Like an Awesome Deal
While I don’t really dig the brownish-orange-on-silver look, the fact remains that these are the best-working bottles I’ve ever had. And if you use it, you’ll like it.
So if you got one (or more) of these bottles and want to hang on to it, Twin Six is going to give you a 30%-off code toward any full-price purchase. Which means if you buy a $24 shirt, that pretty much means you got the bottle for free. And if you buy a couple of jerseys, you’ve more than made your money back in savings.
Stay tuned for details on what this code is and when you can start using it. Twin Six is getting it set up right now, and I’ll post it on the blog.
Hey, some times weird things (like brownish orange ink on a silver bottle) happens. I think it’s cool that Twin Six is making it right.
Comments (43)
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