In Which an Hour of Swimming Nearly Kills Me.

Yesterday, I made the disastrously foolish decision to swim in a pool, for an hour, with triathletes. What compelled me to do so is completely beyond me; I just know I'm lucky to be alive (although my arms may never recover). I am currently in Boulder, Colorado staying with Brandon, a good friend, and bicycle-racer-turned-triathlete. We're on our way back from the Gila (Silver City is a loooo0ong way from Seattle), and Brandon offered to let me tag along to his 12:30 swimming class at the Flatiron athletic club. "It's only an hour-long class," Brandon said innocently. Somehow this seemed like a good idea, despite the fact that I hadn't participated in an official swim class since my first semester of college. I somehow missed the deceptive gleam in his eye that veiled the true nature of this swim class. It wasn't until I stepped outside the locker room and caught my first glimpse of the simple, eight-lane, outdoor pool that I began to understand what awaited me. The water looked like it was boiling: the surface a thrashing, splashing tangle of arms, legs, and really fast moving bodies. "This is Dave Scott's class -- they're almost done," Brandon said.

Dave Scott's class, huh? Dave Scott? As in the Dave Scott? Six-time winner of the Hawaii Ironman Dave Scott? Sure enough, there he was, triathlon legend Dave Scott, shouting his final orders to his swimmers: "Allright, easy 100 cool down -- nice work folks."

We set our towels down on a chair while the pool emptied. I stared, the expression on my face somewhere between amusement and terror, as the the athletes emerged from the water. Every last one of them looked like a statue of a Greek god, glistening examples of human perfection hewn from solid bronze! Tanned, toned, hairless bodies, one after another, emerged from the water and stalked off to the locker room. "There's Alan Reid -- he's an Olympian. Oh, and there's Chrissie Wellington -- she won the Ironman last year. That's Laura Bennett -- she took fourth in Beijing. Oh look, here comes Wolfgang, our coach," Brandon pointed out. Wolfgang Dittrich, a remarkably fit, fifty-something year old man wearing shorts, a sun visor and sporty-looking sunglasses strode confidently towards the pool. Unsurprisingly, Wolfgang is also a titan of the endurance sports world; he was routinely the first swimmer out of the water at the Hawaii Ironman. "Alright everybody, let's get vet," Wolfgang said through a thin German accent. I quickly hopped into the water to hide how badly my knees were shaking. I chose the second-slowest lane (seeing how the slowest lane seemed to be reserved for injured people).

Things started off well. (I wish I could say they stayed that way.) The first few laps, I felt fine -- even good. Despite being entirely out of shape, all those swim classes I took in high school served me well, leaving me with a (relatively) efficient stroke. During the warm-up, I had no problem going as fast as the others in my lane -- I even caught the attention of Wolfgang: "I sink you should moof to anoza lane, no?" Somewhat reluctantly, I ducked over to the next lane. Wolfgang proceeded to lay out the workout, which involved three complex sets of 100's with descending amounts of rest. I had no idea what the hell we were supposed to do, but my lane-mates seemed to understand, so I resigned myself to utter confusion and just started swimming when everyone else did. After a few laps, the pace quickened, and my lungs reminded me that we were over a mile above sea level, but I was hangin' tough with the others in my lane.

Until everyone started cheating.

We finished one of the hundreds, and a girl in my lane gasped "I can't make these splits, I'll get no rest at all."

"Yeah me too," I said hopefully, between labored breaths, "we'd better slow down, huh?"

The girl stared at me like I was crazy -- did he just say "slow down"? Triathletes don't slow down -- triathletes speed up!

The next thing I knew, everyone in my lane had donned swim fins and flippers and were zooming around the pool faster than a pod of dolphins. FUCK! I didn't realize triathletes were such shameless cheats when it came to their training, otherwise I would have brought an outboard motor to the class. As it was, I had neither flippers nor fins, and quickly found myself sucking more wind than a Bissell vacuum cleaner. I tried for roughly one lap to hold the pace of my newly amphibious lane-mates, and then promptly imploded so bad I had to pause in the middle of the pool and throw an arm over the lane-line to avoid drowning. I stayed there gasping for the next several minutes, marveling at the pool full of fish-men as they powered through the water. "I'm not cut out for this," I thought to myself, "these people are insane."

The rest of my day was completely ruined. I returned to Brandon's house and tried to nap, but my shoulders were too sore for me to fall asleep; I couldn't get comfortable. We drove to downtown Boulder to shop for a mother's day card on Pearl Street, but I was so dazed, shopping seemed like too much work. The only thing I could really handle was sitting motionless on a bench in the sun with a smile on my face. That's it. After dinner, we'd planned on going out for Cinco de Mayo margaritas, but I suggested an alternative: "hay guys, what if we just go to sleep instead? Doesn't sleep sound like a lot more fun?" 

Ok triathletes, lesson learned. You win this one....

Thursday Anouncements

Ok, so there's a few things you should know:

1: Starting tomorrow, the Collegiate National Championships will be taking place in Fort Collins, Colorado. Whitman is showing up with undoubtedly the best men's squad its ever had, and a team capable of vying for the overall team title. Best of luck to the entire Whitman team!

The Hagens Berman Elite team is also going to be represented (although not officially) by our star racer Adrian Hegyvary. For those who don't know, when Adrian isn't crushing local races, or placing in the top three of NRC crits, he's also a full time law student at the University of Washington. Best of luck to Adrian!

Supposedly you can watch the Collegiate Nationals action here: http://sites.google.com/site/bicycleracingtv/

2: In a recent development, the newest member of the cable TV family, Universal Sports, has decided to get serious about cycling (finally!). They already brought us the Tour of the Basque Country, and are now able to bring us the Giro de Italia, twice a day, for the entire twenty-one stages. I'm so psyched.

First off, Universal Sports is everything that Versus isn't. It highlights lesser known (but all equally serious) sports, and presents them in an entertaining fashion. It basically brings us the sports we normally only see televised during the Olympics (downhill skiing, gymnastics, track and field, etc.), and does so with nearly the same level of professionalism. Versus on the other hand takes a bunch of fringe sports and wraps them all with the same schlocky extreme packaging. Clearly, to Versus producers, there is no difference between the ultimate fighting audience, the bull riding audience, and the cycling audience -- each sport receives the same hard-hitting montages and promos. I'm so grateful that Universal Sports shows cycling for what it really is: an amazingly complex, unique, and beautiful sport -- without trying to make it something it's not: a cheap, simple, excuse to see people hurt themselves (ahem -- hockey).

Another reason I'm excited to see the Giro on Universal Sports is that my good friend and mentor Todd Gogulski landed the incredibly sweet position of Universal's on-air cycling analyst. Todd has been my friend since 2005 when we raced together on the same team in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He's a retired pro, and back in his day, he was a total badass, winning almost every race in the country at one point or another. He quit racing a long time ago, and has taken up the fine art of announcing professional bike races. Todd worked a good chunk of the NRC calender last year, but this Universal Sports gig is by far his biggest opportunity to date. Wish him luck, and enjoy his insight into this year's Giro.

At Least I Was There

They never recognize the little guys, but at least they said I was there -- not only that I started the damn thing!

So Krogg fear he not have very good legs for final stage of Tour of Gila. Unlike last year (when Krogg did have good legs), Krogg pretty sure he get dropped on first major climb. If not, Krogg darn well positive he get dropped over second major climb. If somehow gods smile upon Krogg, and he make it over second major climb, Gila Monster still have third major climb and Krogg have snowball's chance in hell of making it over that. So Krogg decide to try to get into breakaway -- at least that way, he have fun day in front of peloton instead of just waiting around to get his ticket punched like everyone else. Besides, Krogg always been fan of crazy tomahawk suicide breakaway -- BESIDES, IF KROGG DOOMED, KROGG PREFER TO DIE ON OWN TWO FEET, SWINGING BATTLE AXE WILDLY, DEFIANTLY, GLORIOUSLY (and yes, usually futilely) INSTEAD OF SIMPLY PLACING HEAD ON LANCE'S CHOPPING BLOCK AND SAYING "here Lance, here my head -- chop away." Krogg watch enough OLN in July to know that's what happens.

Here's what Krogg remember: a mile or so out of town, official man blow whistle to start race and Krogg start sprinting like madman. Krogg get gap right away, and don't look back. Eventually a group catch Krogg, but Krogg just keep pulling until other racers start helping. At one point, it look like field going to catch Krogg's breakaway -- this would have been very bad for Krogg (Krogg burned half of matchbook in first three minutes of racing), but somehow breakaway stick, and gap grow. Eventually things go smoothly, and Krogg ride in breakaway all day long. Krogg pleased.

When breakaway reach first major climb (fifty miles into race), Krogg get dropped immediately, but Krogg fight hard all the way up, and stay within sight of caravan. Krogg (shamelessly) accept numerous power-feeds from at least three different team cars, and draft service moto (also shamelessly), and very nearly start crying because he can't go any fucking harder and the breakaway is RIGHT THERE but Krogg can't close gap, and mother-of-god why don't they slow down! SERIOUSLY, COULD YOU SLOW DOWN JUST FOR A SECOND AND LET ME CATCH BACK ON FOR FUCK'S SAKE??!!

Krogg reconnect with breakaway at crest of climb, and enjoy hair-raising descent past Gila cliff dwellings (special thanks to Evan Elken -- him take group safely and quickly down hill -- no crazy crashes like last year). Once breakaway reach valley bottom, Krogg go to front of breakaway and drill it -- Krogg decide he doomed on second major climb no matter what, right? so why not pour it all in right then? Krogg been in breakaway for 65 miles, and honestly, Krogg worked much harder for most of that time than guys much stronger than Krogg (mutants like Bradley White, Ben Jacques-Maynes, etc.). When breakaway hit bottom of second major climb, Krogg get dropped like hot rock. Soon afterwards, Krogg get caught by Mellow Johnny's team (and promptly dropped like hot rock). Soon afterwards, Krogg get caught by roughly 80 other racers (and promptly dropped like hot rock). Krogg reach feed zone (still 35 miles from finish, mostly uphill), and decide to beg for ride back to finish, but nobody take pity on poor caveman. So Krogg continue for a little while longer, and finally Bissell van scrape tired caveman off side of road, and give him lift back to finish line. Ouch Ouch Ouch.

Awh Yeah

Like Shooting Fish in a Barrel

So we're about to start stage five of the Tour of the Gila. This is undoubtedly one of the hardest days of racing anyone in this country will do all year. I've done ok here in years past, but really don't think my fitness is what it was last year, so my goals this time around are a little less ambitious. What really gets me is though is how much the Astana guys rub it in our faces that this race is just downright easy for them. 

Excerpts 

"Oh yeah, this is a cake walk to us," said Horner, "I guess it's a little harder than napping or reading a book, but it's a lot easier than most forms of light manuel labor, like gardening or mowing a lawn. I mean -- it's a hot day out there -- have you ever mowed a lawn in this kind of heat?" 

"I agree Chris," Levi chimed in, "out there at the Giro we'll be doing 300 mile stages with 30'000 feet of climbing, and we'll have them back to back to back, so honestly, I'm a little worried that racing the Tour of the Gila will turn us into soft little weaklings, and we'll get dropped on highway overpasses and stuff." 

"Wait guys, you don't give this race enough credit," Lance said, "this is a classic race. Most normal humans find this actually difficult. I mean, it's all in how you race it; the other day, after I rode the front for three hours before climbing that little roller (what was that called? The Mag-ee-own?) I got my heart rate above 100 bpm -- so that's something. I mean if I were to do that three or four times in a day I think that'd be a real workout." 

Sheesh guys -- we know you're super human, but must you really flaunt it like that? 

[note: for the more *ahem* gullible readers: SOME OF THESE QUOTES MIGHT BE MADE UP]: 

Editor's Note: Bruce Springsteen Not Actually Racing Tour of the Gila

Alright, I need to fess up tom something. Apparently, my post from ten days ago entitled "Dropping the L-Bomb" was (unfortunately) misunderstood by some of my readers. In that post, I claimed that Bruce Springsteen (AKA "The Boss") would be competing at this year's Tour of the Gila. This was intended to serve as a euphemism for Lance Armstrong, the boss of the cycling world; yet clearly my sarcasm was ineffectively thick (or thin), misleading some of my readers to take me seriously. I apologize to everyone who has been scanning the Gila results for Bruce's name. To my knowledge, he isn't here. In the future, I'll try to keep in mind that something I perceive as wildly outlandish, might not come across that way to those who haven't spent the better part of the last decade racing bicycles. 

Top Five Mutant Bodies at the Tour of the Gila:

Cycling is an amazing sport, mainly because of how goddam unique it is -- where else do the fans have such unparalleled access to the stars? If you were to drive out to Silver City this weekend, you could wait by the road until we go by and literally reach out and touch the racers. You shouldn't reach out and touch Lance, but hell, you could slap him on the ass on the way up the climb if you wanted to.

Or what about the fact that racers of vastly different abilities can participate in the same event? Take Wednesday for instance: I counted not just one, but three guys sporting Camelbaks in our race. Two of these fellows opted for the "loud and proud," outside the jersey method, while the other guy "went dromedary," as they say. For those who don't know, wearing a Camelbak in a road race is akin to walking down the hall of your high school with a "kick-me" sign -- it absolutely SCREAMS inexperienced and unprofessional. In mountain bike races, sure it makes perfect sense. Actually, if you're at the Tour of the Gila with no support, a Camelbak isn't a bad way to insure you get enough water -- but the fact is they look silly, and they're uncomfortable.  It was pretty agonizing climbing that last five miles of the Mogollon with nothing but an empty, unzipped jersey; I can only imagine how much worse it would be with a sweaty bladder on your back and a rubber hose around your neck. A Camelbak is possibly the worst roadie fashion faux pas out there. That and unshaved legs. And yet, there they were, Lance and the Camelbak guys, hundred-million dollar mega-star and fish-out-of-water mountain bikers, riding side by side. 

Possibly one of the coolest aspects of this sport is the phenomenal range of body types competing directly. To illuminate my point, I've selected for you the top five mutant bodies of this year's Tour of the Gila. Here they are in no particular order:

Most Minute Male: Chris Hong

Chris is downright minuscule. He weighs 100 lbs even. I think he's twenty years old, but my goodness, he looks like he's fourteen! He's clearly got a motor, cuz he somehow does well on flat, hard, power races like Battenkill, but the guy just soars uphill. If he weren't a cyclist, he'd be a jockey. If he weren't a jockey he'd get teased a lot for being small. With guys like Chris, I feel bad that the UCI has a minimum weight standard for bikes; thanks to the (totally arbitrary) rules, Chris' bike weighs as much as mine does (right around the limit of 6.8 Kg), but as a percentage of his body weight, Chris is at a huge disadvantage. Actually....I take that back....I don't feel bad at all! Screw that! The last thing we need is to make that guy even faster uphill. 

Most Muscular: Bradley White

When it comes down to pure "muscles as percentage of body weight," Bradley White takes the cake. He's not a huge guy skeletally speaking, but my god, compared to the rest of us, he looks like goddam He-Man. His legs are downright frightening -- his bulbous, meaty calves and quads resemble large tropical fruits; if he didn't pedal so fast I'd swear he has implants. His arms look so strong that Bradley could probably excel at other sports too (something few of us can say). If he weren't a cyclist he'd be a running back. If he were a running back, he'd be a huge hit with the ladies I'm sure. However, instead of scoring touchdowns inside a stadium full of screaming girls, he chooses to shave his legs, don spandex, and spend his days wiggling his butt around on the slopes of some hill in the middle of nowhere. What the hell is he thinking? 

Hugest Human: Tom Zirbel

If Chris Hong the chihuahua of this year's Tour of the Gila, Tom Zirbel is the bull mastiff. He's a monster of a man: 200 lbs., wide hips and shoulders, huge chest cavity (complete with alien-like protrusion for extra air-breathing), and gargantuan thighs that, when riding next to him, conjure thoughts of race horses or Andre the Giant. Tom is one of the nicest guys in the race, and regularly shows us his goofy, toothy smile. He's also famous for the golden mullet seen flowing from the back of his helmet, thus earning him the nickname "Thor." That and his ability to swing one of the biggest battle axes the North American peloton has ever seen. For two years now, Tom has proven himself to be arguably the best domestic time trialist, winning last year's Gila TT, getting second at Pro nats (behind Zabriskie), and scoring a top 10 at this year's tour of Cali (he beat Lance, ok? the guy's a friggin' locomotive!). Perhaps the most impressive thing about Tom isn't his size, it's the fact that he still climbs very very well. Just think of the wattage that guy must be putting out to haul that giant body up those hills as fast at the shrimpy guys. 

 

UPDATE: Tom beat Lance again today, taking second in the Tour of the Gila TT.

Purest Pedaler: Lance Armstrong

No list of cycling mutants would be complete without a tip'o'the hat to the most morphed of them all, Lancy-Poo. By many metrics, Lance isn't an anomaly. He's not abnormally heavy, nor tall, nor skinny, nor small. In jeans and a tee shirt, he looks like a normal guy. But when riding next to him on a bike, I'm humbled by how much he resembles a greyhound: all legs and lungs. His chest is so friggin deep, he probably breathes twice as much air with each breath as I do. His legs, while not being the biggest legs out there, are ridiculously defined. He's got muscles I've never seen before -- they protrude from underneath the ones normal people have. Just look at those two pictures and see if you can tell them apart. (HINT: Lance doesn't wear a muzzle)

Most Breast-Like Calves: Ben Jacques-Maynes

Ben has huge melons....on the backs of his shins. This guy's calves are so bulbous, they sag when they're not flexed. Swear to god, if you put nipples on them, they'd look like boobs. If they weren't rock hard and veiny, they'd be nice boobs -- giant boobs so perky they'd have to be fake, but nice ones nonetheless. I couldn't find a good picture of his calves, but trust me, they're impressive.