05.22.2014 | 9:58 am
A Note from Fatty: I’ll be hosting a live video chat tomorrow (Friday, May 23) at 1:00pm MDT, to talk about the Rockwell Relay — talking about what to bring, what to expect, and — above all — to answer any questions you might have about this race. I’ll have novice racers, experienced racers, and the race director along for the conversation. If you’re doing — or are considering doing — the Rockwell Relay, please join us.
Races Are Lies
I love racing.
Love it.
And I want to be clear here: I don’t mean that I love watching races, because that honestly doesn’t do much for me right now. I haven’t, for example, followed the Tour of California this year (Is it over? If so, who won? Actually, don’t bother answering that, because I don’t really care).
I haven’t followed the Giro d’Italia (ditto on the previous parenthetical).
But. I love being in races. I love choosing which ones I’m going to do. I love registering for them. I love using them to lend focus to my riding. I love thinking about them as I’m riding. I love the anticipation of the race that builds the day (or two days) before. I love the nearly unbearable anxiety of the morning before the race.
I love — love desperately — the crazy heart-stopping tenseness of the moments while I’m standing at the starting line, feeling the current moment and wondering about the near future. I’m never more aware of the passage of time than during the countdown to the start of a race.
And then, there’s the race itself. The sudden quantum leap from anxiety and waiting to full-tilt doing and the juxtaposition between the physical effort and the mental calm.
I love it. I love it all.
So it’s a little bit of a shame that racing is a total sham.
Strava
I first realized that — for normal people, at least — racing is nothing but lies and wishful thinking one day when I got an email from Strava.
You know, one of the “Uh Oh! You just lost your KOM (King Of the Mountain) on…” Strava messages.
As is completely appropriate, I was furious. Furious that this person had the gall to take away this, my token of validation.
It was only later — once I had calmed down by performing several breathing exercises, chanting “Om Mani Padme Hum” 160 times (which I did in 5:32, a new PR), and taking a soothing bath — that I realized that the KOM had never really truly been mine.
Nor does this victory really belong to the guy who took it from me. Watch and see: some day someone else faster than him will come and show that he is faster.
I had just realized the fundamental fiction we all have to pretend is true if we’re going to compete:
Every single win — every single moment on the podium — is predicated not on our own speed and racing prowess, but on faster people not showing up.
That’s it. That’s the whole premise of every KOM title I currently hold in Strava. I have them because the people who should have them haven’t bothered taking them away from me.
Yet.
I’m not the king of anything. Not really. I’m just a guy who hopes that the truly fast people who live in my neighborhood won’t decide to make an attempt on — for example — Tibble Fork.
And now that I’ve called attention to it, I fully expect to have it taken away within the hour.
Real-World Races
This suspension of disbelief is not just something you have to do if you’re going to participate in Strava, either. If you go to any race — local or regional — you’ve got to do one of two things:
- Race against the clock or toward some personal objective.
- Race against the people who also showed up at the race, and hope that the people who are faster than you didn’t know about the race, or got food poisoning last night, or have something better to do that day.
I use both of these tactics, depending on the race. At Leadville, for example, I race against the clock (except for last year, where I raced against other single speeders, three of whom had the nerve to be faster than I am and to show up).
Or this Saturday, when I race the Timp Trail Half Marathon. I’m not racing against the clock — I already have a good idea of how long I’ll take to do this course. I’m racing against the men, age 40 – 49. And hoping like crazy that all of the guys who placed in the top 5 last year have other plans for the day this year.
Because that’s the only way I’m going to get on the podium.
Why Race?
Racing, when it comes down to it, is one thing: going as fast as you can…while hoping that the people who are faster than you are doing something else that day.
So why do it?
Here’s why.
It doesn’t matter that racing is made up of an agreed-upon fiction. That imaginary fantasyland is still an awesome place — a place that makes you, for a little while, go faster and be tougher than you normally can. Racing — this fake thing — gives you a moment of drama and intensity, and a chance to rise to heroic levels. Whether you win, podium, or finish last.
And that — all of that — is completely real.
Comments (25)
05.16.2014 | 2:07 pm
A Note from Fatty: Allison and Dave seem to have serious intentions on taking over my blog. Here’s their awesome ride report from last weekend, hanging out with WBR superstar Katie Bolling, along with Ted King and Joao Correia.
Even before the Trois Etapes Giro invitation happened, World Bicycle Relief had planned a fundraising ride with Joao Correia in Mill Valley, California, a few towns over from us. David had registered to ride and I had offered to help as a volunteer. Katie Bolling would be there in person, as would Jennifer Schofield of World Bicycle Relief, who is coordinating details for the Trois Etapes Giro.
We arranged to meet up Katie and Jennifer the day before the ride for coffee and some Trois Etapes chitchat.
Katie, Jennifer, Allison, and David. Note to self: never be photographed next to women who cycle a lot. It’s not slimming.
We talked about how great it would be to do a Team Fatty – World Bicycle Relief event in the future (would love to hear everyone’s ideas on that) and then confessed that we had not realized this was a race until after the plane ticket was booked. David shared his apprehension about what appeared to be a highly competitive event. Riding those stages is one thing, racing them is quite another. He naturally has the same worry that many of us would have… it’s a team competition and you don’t want to let your team down.
Jennifer and Katie did their best to assuage his concerns. Not sure it worked.
The next day we had perfect weather for the WBR ride. The amazing Dave Thompson and his son Rob drove up to ride as well. I feel the need to mention the fact that Mr. T. has gotten seriously fit (and svelte). There is no stomach sucking in required these days. His sweet son Rob continues to light up a room with his smile, and since I saw him last year, seems to be making great progress. We had fun conversing in Spanish, and I must say, he is quite the ladies’ man.
All the other women were getting their hands kissed by Rob except for me. Feeling left out, I commented that “I was married, not dead.” That netted me a few kisses at last.
YannB, with his fiancé Karen and daughter Isabella, joined us to see the riders off. Yann snapped this photo after Ted King came over to talk with us…or was it after we went over to corner talk to him? He was in town for the Amgen Tour of California and graciously came out to support World Bicycle Relief the day before. How awesome is that?
I was so excited excited to get the photo with Ted and the rest of our gang shown above, at least until the time came that I shared it on Facebook and several people made comments assuming he was my son. You know who you are. Really, my son? Ted King is 31. Rune is 10. Thanks for making me feel really old.
I cannot tell you how nice Ted King is. He seems to be an amazingly grounded and cool guy, and of course I would be proud to be his mother… except for the fact that I am far too young.
He shared with me that in addition to World Bicycle Relief, he focuses much of his own philanthropic efforts on organizations like the Krempels Center that are dedicated to helping with life after brain trauma. His dad had a stroke, so this is a personal area of passion for him. As you might imagine, he was very impressed with Dave and Rob. Then again, who isn’t?
As for the WBR event itself, it was a 25-mile ride with about 3,300 feet of climbing, some of it right along the California coastline. David joked that he got dropped by Joao and Ted at the first stoplight. I think he was joking (?). He did at least get to do part of the ride with Katie.
David trying to make Katie feel taller above Stinson Beach.
The ride also included a fabulous post-event pizza lunch, with ice cream, beer and other goodies. I had to leave before most of the riders (and the food) arrived, but from this online photo album I saw afterward, clearly a great time was had by all!
Katie, David, Rob, Dave and the Buffalo Bike
Katie and Joao.
So this was an inaugural WBR event for Northern California. David and I would love to see it become annual, or some variation of it. Who’s in for next year?
Otherwise, think good thoughts for David as he trains hard these next few weeks. You’ll be hearing his first-hand account of the Trois Etapes Giro experience upon his return sometime in mid-to-late June.
Assuming of course, he survives.
Comments (20)
05.15.2014 | 10:06 am
A Note from Fatty: Suppose — just suppose — you were sitting around, minding your own business, when you got an email with an incredible offer. The opportunity, perhaps, of a lifetime.
You probably wouldn’t believe it was real. But what if it were?
Today’s guest post comes from two of the very friendliest, most-generous Friends of Fatty you could ever meet.
Read. And envy.
Allison
May 5, 9:34 a.m.
I was in a virtual meeting, multi-tasking away since no one had turned on their webcams. I had just finished a Facebook post and was checking my personal email when a new message from Katie Bolling of World Bicycle Relief caught my attention:
World Bicycle Relief invitation (out of the blue) for a ride in Italy.
Invitation….Ride….Italy? Even if this had come from a Nigerian Prince and was spelled “ride,” you’d have to open it!
I immediately clicked to read it, thus completely losing the small amount of focus I had been giving to what was being said on my conference call.
Dear Allison and David,
This email may catch you out of the blue but I hope you give it some strong consideration.
World Bicycle Relief is associated with a series of events called the Trois Etapes. We have one spot left on the WBR team for the Trois Etapes Giro ride that is coming up in June (June 6-9). Since we already paid for the spot, we thought the next best thing would be to give it to one of our VIP supporters who have helped great things happen for World Bicycle Relief, and naturally we thought of Fatty.
I’ll be honest and say that we offered the spot to either Lisa or Elden in gratitude for all that the Fat Cyclist has done for World Bicycle Relief over the years but they are unable to make it work due to job commitments and the close timing.
When I heard this “no” from Elden, I thought the next best thing would be to offer it to a Fatty supporter who has been very kind and generous towards World Bicycle Relief through all of his efforts and, naturally, you two were at the top of that list and hence my note to you. I would love to give this spot to one of you two. For one of you to have the opportunity to go ride the Trois Etapes Giro on the World Bicycle Relief team as a way to say a HUGE thank you to the entire Fat Cyclist community and to hopefully also give you the chance to share this experience in Fatty’s community in the hopes WBR can potentially field a full Fat Cyclist/WBR Trois Etapes team sometime in the next few years.
I want to be clear that we would love to give this to you. Your only expense would be getting to Venice, and back for the event.
There was more – but that’s the main of it. And yeah, WOW is right!
Later the important question occurred to us. If Fatty says “no,” should you immediately say “yes?” I’m guessing Fatty read the details first.
[No, I didn’t ever get as far as the details. The timing just wasn’t possible for me, so I had to pass. - FC]
Details/Schmetails
Now I do need to confess, all I really saw were:
- World Bicycle Relief
- Italy
- Bike ride
- Italy
- 4 days
- Fatcyclist community event
- Italy
- World Bicycle Relief
- most expenses paid except airfare
- Italy
You get the gist.
What an incredible opportunity! Especially for David, knowing him like I do. How could David not go? We are certainly financially comfortable, but something like this would be a pretty big stretch, and not one we would easily make with two kids headed for college.
So this was a dream come true for someone who absolutely loves to ride (David), has a real explorer’s and traveler’s heart (David), and is truly passionate about the work WBR does (David). And yes, I realize these also describe nearly every Fatcyclist reader (not to mention Elden and Lisa)!
Lastly, David had just celebrated another decade a few days earlier with only a small cake and no candles. [California drought, fire hazard. - David]
So at the time, this all seemed like a dream meant to be.
Scant minutes after reading Katie’s email invitation, I made a quick excuse on my conference call: “So sorry, I have to drop off – *mumble, mumble, family emergency* – I’ll follow back up with you all later today.”
Can you believe anyone employs me?
I phoned David at work. “Are you sitting down?” I asked. “I mean that literally. You need to be sitting for this!”
I read him the email….
David
May 5, 9:39 a.m.
It’s rarely a good sign when the phone rings in retail a ½ hour before opening, exceptions can occur.
“Are you sitting down?” she asked. “I mean that literally. You need to be sitting down for this!”
I put down my Diet Coke and my perfectly fresh jelly doughnut and said, “Yes.”
Several thoughts went through my head simultaneously. “Sure” came first. Next came “Exactly how much have we been giving?” (Note to self: check college accounts)
Yes, it would be a dream to ride in Italy. But the idea of being invited to join such a ride is humbling in the extreme (and I’m all about humble). I told Wife#1 a quavering “yes,” and proceeded to request the time off.
Later I looked at the Trois Etapes website and watched the Promotional video:
Allison
Leaving David to recover from the shock, I emailed Katie and WBR back, thanking them profusely and letting them that know David was in! I added that we both hoped to participate together in the future if when there was a whole Team Fatty event.
(How awesome would a Team Fatty/WBR event like this be? Hard to imagine having much more fun than doing a multi-day ride in some fabulous location with a bunch of Fatty peeps.)
I also assured Katie and Jennifer Schofield (you’ll meet her later), that I would get going on all his logistics immediately.
At this point I still had not read the details. It was “ride in Italy” and I wasn’t doing it, David was.
What else could possibly matter?
David’s passport was current. Yay!
Then…I started shopping around for airfare. Yikes!
Then I discovered all the various rules and fees associated with bringing a bicycle. Double yikes!
And not just any bicycle, either. David is a tall guy and rides a 63cm frame. Those don’t even fit in most bike travel cases.
Oy, this was going to be a pain.
Still… once in a lifetime opportunity, a ride in Italy with World Bicycle Relief! We simply had to make this happen, whatever it took, and honestly, I was (and still am) just as excited for David as if I was going myself.
It was the next day that I finally visited theTrois Etapes website myself and even more horrifyingly, watched the video. I suppose the Troise Etapes logo itself should have been the first clue that this was a bit more than a “ride in Italy”.
Oh, I get it now. Those aren’t just squiggly lines in the logo…they represent mountain passes, getting progressively harder.
Ride? No. It’s a race. And kind of a real one at that. Yes I knew the ride would be in the Italian Dolomites, so all three days will be in the mountains, but this is a multi-day pro-am race in the Italian Dolomites.
[Do you have any idea how much it kills me to not be doing this? - FC]
The second clue I should have cottoned on to is that Trois Etapes means three stages. Rides don’t have stages; races have stages.
D’oh!
So in summary, Trois Etapes has multiple teams, each representing a different charitable organization, competing to win. The entire event is staged to allow the riders the closest experience they can get to what a professional race would be like.
Each team has seven amateur riders (imagine me doing finger quotes over the word amateur) and one professional rider. For the WBR Team, Songezo Jim from Team MTN Qhubeka is the pro that will be riding with them, which is awesome.
Let me add to that there will also apparently be race radios, team support cars and masseurs; the stages are timed, with various classification points and actual benefits for the winning team.
People, this is a race.
And if you don’t believe me, let me point you back to the beginning of this post. All the riders have to get a racing license.
Yes, David had to get an International Racing License.
*Cue laugh track*
Should you feel the need to have one of these bad boys for yourself, Molly at USA Cycling could not be more helpful. And should this particular time in your own life put you in the position of also being in the “Masters Category”, well hey, then it’s only $175 rather than $200.
Apparently AARP negotiated a discount.
Just remember that you will also have to get a note from your doctor that you are fit enough to participate. In fact, David will be meeting his primary care physician for the first time because of this event.
David
It’s been one week…
“Stunned” is an understatement.
Honored doesn’t begin to cover it.
And, after reading the information, watching the video, and checking the profile, the only words that come to mind are…”I’m screwed!”
I Love to Ride, I tolerate climbing, I LOVE the Fat Cyclist Community, and I admire Elden and Lisa, and their family. Being invited to participate in such an event, on behalf of that community is a responsibility that weighs heavily on me. I’ll go, I’ll ride hard all day, but I’m bringing my light (it will definitely be a Lanterne Rouge).
We had the opportunity to meet with Katie and Jennifer from WBR last weekend at a local innaugural WBR event. Jennifer of WBR said, “you’ll be fine,” but she’s a smiling, young, idealistic thing, that hasn’t yet imagined the horrors of someone my age.
Final Thoughts
I’m as old as Godzilla and I have an International Racing License (ironic), not sure even Elden has one of those [I don’t have any racing licenses at all - FC]. Though if they make me pee in a cup all bets are off!
I have a note from my Australian bike-riding Doctor that says I’m fit to ride (I shopped around).
WBR has my measurements for my team kit (3 sets), though I suspect they may be sewing ‘panels’ into them as I write this.
Yesterday I did 55 miles, 4500 ft climbing in 95 degree heat, so that’s a start. (When do I go? June third? Yikes!)
It will be an adventure. I would not be able to do it without the support of Wife#1, my children, Katie and Jennifer of WBR, and my friends in the Fat Cyclist Community.
Thank You!
PS: It’s been seven days since my last doughnut.
Comments (43)
05.5.2014 | 10:56 am
A Note from Fatty: This is part 6 in my 6 Hours in Frog Hollow race report. If you somehow wound up here before reading the first five parts, you might want to read them first: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.
“One last lap.” I said it out loud, again, to myself. “One last lap.” And then I asked myself the rhetorical question that I have asked myself dozens — maybe hundreds — of times during dozens of races when I felt like I was out of gas:
“Can’t you be strong for just one more hour?”
Maybe I could. I was sure trying to be.
Where is Mike?
For the entire race, Mike from Boise and I had been racing in a familiar pattern — I would catch and pass him in the five mile climb, then he would catch and pass me during the eight mile descent, then I would catch him in the home stretch and we would finish the lap more or less together.
But in the fourth lap — the penultimate lap — he had broken that pattern by getting far enough ahead of me that I didn’t know where he was. Didn’t know how far ahead of me he was, or how I’d manage to find a way to finish ahead of him.
Because I definitely wanted to finish ahead of him.
And so I rode my brains out during the climb. In spite of being tired, in spite of not having any idea how I would manage to keep him from passing me and leaving me in the dust during the downhill.
“I’ll work out a strategy for keeping him behind me once I’ve actually got him behind me,” I thought.
And I stepped it up again. I had to catch him. Had to.
Fading
But I couldn’t catch him. Couldn’t even see him. Whenever I was in a stretch where I could see a few turns ahead, I’d strain my eyes, looking for his now-familiar Spot.
He wasn’t there. He had — somehow — gotten so far ahead of me that I just couldn’t catch him. Couldn’t even find him.
And the doubts crept in. “Maybe I’m not going fast at all. Maybe I’m so cooked that what feels like a big effort is hardly moving.”
I kept going, but as I got to the top of the climb, the urgency dropped out of my racing. If I hadn’t caught him by the top, I wasn’t going to catch Mike in the downhill.
And so I eased up. Not really on purpose, but once the motivation is gone…it’s gone.
I wasn’t going to catch Mike, and — as far as I knew, nobody was going to catch me — so I just coasted. Sure, I pedaled when I had to, but I took it easy. Hey, why not?
Surprise 1
I got through the first part of the downhill, just rolling along, avoiding bumps — my wrists were hurting.
I rolled through the first section of soft, dusty singletrack, leading up to the short uphill section on dirt road — the place where, on two other laps, Mike had caught and passed me. I wondered where he was now. Maybe already finished?
I took a moment to feel sorry for myself. I had tried so hard. But I just hadn’t done it.
“Well, I’m glad this race is about over,” said a voice from behind me.
It was Mike.
“WWHHHHUHH?” I said, very intelligently. Then I followed up with, “I was sure you were in front of me this whole lap!”
But he hadn’t been. He had been behind me; I just hadn’t seen him taking a break or using the bathroom or whatever at the beginning of this lap.
But through the clever technique of giving up and slowing to a crawl on the descent, I had made it possible for Mike to catch me in the same place he had several times before.
“I’m going to beat myself up for months,” I thought to myself. And, aloud, I said, “Nice work catching me; you’d better go on ahead. You’re much better on the descents.”
As he pulled onto the singletrack and pulled away, I said, “Hey, it’s been really great racing with you.”
Because it had been. Mike from Boise had been the perfect motivation for me to really push myself during this race.
Surprise 2
Somehow, knowing that I had let an opportunity to beat Mike go by — if only I hadn’t taken it easy on the downhill! — completely deflated me. The competition between Mike and me was over, and I had let it go by giving up well before I needed to.
So I moped along, riding in what felt like slow motion.
I was whipped. Physically and mentally. And then, from behind me, I heard it:
“WOOOOHOOOOO!”
The Hammer. Flying. Downhilling through the dusty course like I had never seen her ride before. Like a pro.
“Move over, Mister Nelson!” she called. “I am racing!”
Obediently, meekly, I yielded.
“Are you OK?” she called as she went by.
“I’m fine,” I said, wondering if she’d realize that “fine” was code for “miserable and self-pitying.”
“I’ve got to go, there’s another racer hot on my tail!” she called.
“OK,” I said.
And just like that, the moment I have been wondering about for the past couple months — the moment when my wife becomes faster than me — had come to pass.
She pulled away, disappearing from view.
“Well, I can try to keep up,” I thought, and started giving chase…and managed to keep up. Barely.
We crossed the line together. The Hammer triumphant, me…not so much.
But I had learned an invaluable lesson, the hard way. I will never again give up before a race is over. Because you never know what’s going to happen, and what opportunities will arise. But if you’re not trying your hardest, you won’t be in any position to take advantage when those opportunities do present themselves.
Awards
We packed up and headed over to the city park for the awards ceremony. While we waited for it to begin (it’s a cardinal rule of racing that no awards ceremony can ever start on time), we took some photos of how dirty we were.
And that’s pretty dirty.
The Hammer’s division went first, and she took…second!
The only woman who beat her in the Women’s Solo category, in fact, was Joey Lithgoe, a pro (Joey hadn’t gotten to the awards ceremony yet).
The Hammer’s prize? a nice tanktoppish jersey:
Then it was my turn:
Mike from Boise had taken third, I had taken fourth. And I just had to get a picture of me with the guy who had pushed me so hard.
It was a great moment: a couple of racers, having given their all, now getting a photo together.
And then Cimarron Chacon, the owner/promoter of Gro-Promotions, which puts on this race yelled, “Hey old guys! Go get your prizes and get out of the way!”
Which, when you think about it, sorta puts the whole thing into perspective.
Comments (20)
04.16.2014 | 11:33 am
Is it OK if, for today’s post, I drop the “beloved goofball” act and just tell you what’s going on in my life and what’s on my mind?
It is? Oh good. Thanks.
First, I’m employed again. I’m working at a startup, and it has me traveling pretty often. And when I’m not traveling, I’m still working. Really hard. To the point of not having a lot left over, actually, timewise nor mental-energy-wise.
That’s OK. It’s a startup; I knew I’d be busy.
But while I can live with the likelihood that I’m going to be continuing to be posting less often here than I used to — at least until I’ve got my new job figured out and a reasonable working cadence established — I’m pretty stressed out about one thing that I’ve dropped the ball on:
The 100 Miles of Nowhere.
I love the 100 Miles of Nowhere, and love that it raises a ton of money for great causes (my intention has been for it to raise money for Camp Kesem this year).
But I haven’t done a single thing about getting it planned. I haven’t got a date. I haven’t contacted sponsors. I haven’t got a t-shirt design even started.
So. I have a few questions. Answer honestly, using the comments section.
- If I were to put on a 100 Miles of Nowhere this year that happens in the Autumn (instead early Summer, as is usual) would you want to do it?
- What features of the 100 Miles of Nowhere are actually important to you? Which is to say, what would you feel bad about if it weren’t part of the event?
- Racer stories posted in the blog
- The race plate
- The race t-shirt
- The swag (energy food, energy drink, coupons, water bottle)
- The fundraising
- The silliness and absurdity of it
- The timing of it (i.e., Summer vs Autumn)
- What do you think of the idea of the 100 Miles of Nowhere having a minimal amount of swag, but a fairly major prize being awarded to a random participant?
- In a least-swag scenario, would you still want to do the 100 Miles of Nowhere if the only thing you got were a t-shirt?
I want to make the 100 Miles of Nowhere happen. And one way or another, I’m going to. Your feedback will help me get a sense of what’s important for me to get started on, and what I can let go, just this once.
Thanks,
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