The Second Season and the Perspective Change
I entered my second year of racing much as I had the first, out of shape. I was maybe a little fitter and a little lighter, but I had made no special effort to get ready to race. My body was broken down from a long alpine racing season and too little physical upkeep.
I raced occasionally and didn't distingish myself at all, rode my bike to work and on weekend rides, lost the weight I had packed on during the cold months, and didn't expect a repeat of the previous year's success.
Then July rolled around, and I caught fire. After nothing but mediocre race results, I absolutely destroyed my personal best in a time trial. Month of riding to work finally paid off, and I was crushing the Beginner Men field. I still couldn't sprint or climb, but I had a 4 cylinder diesel engine that could chug along. I was suddenly viewed as a serious contender in the class again.
As it turned out, that diesel engine was all I needed that Tour of Anchorage. I won the prologue and time trial by over a minute a piece, so all I had to do was manage my losses in the other stages. It was a strange experience being the strongest rider in the field, and I probably spent far too much time dragging the pack around during road race stages, but I couldn't help myself. Even bleeding time strategically (or stupidly), I finished first overall with a minute lead. Of course, at the awards ceremony I was upgraded for my sins.
It was then that a perspective change happened. Instead of a ski racer who rode to get in shape during the off-season, I thought of myself as a cyclist.
I knew the Sport Men class was a whole different level of competition. My little 4 cylinder diesel wasn't going to cut it, and I wasn't going to be able to putt my way to victory anymore. I was going to need to work hard just to avoid being shelled off the back of the pack, and getting near the podium was a pipe dream. I was going to have to train during the off-season, which was something I knew I was ill-equipped for.
To ride a stationary trainer for hour after hour during the dark winter months takes a certain, sick kind of dedication. I knew I didn't possess it, but from long experience I know that if I feel like someone is counting on me to do something, I will be more likely to do it. That was where the coach came into the picture. I wanted someone there to track my progress and plan my workouts, because I was too lazy to do that for myself. My house is littered with books on training plans to become a "world class cyclist", but I just never had the drive to apply what was in them. I need someone there cracking the whip and steering, so all I have to do is turn over the pedals.
I was extremely lucky to pick Janice Tower as my coach. To be honest, I didn't know of any other coaches in town. All I knew was some of the fastest cyclists in town worked with her, and she had an alpine skiing background. In my usual impulsive fashion, I just decided that she was the one that I wanted to coach me. Fortunately she had an opening (it never even dawned on me that she might have a full roster), and before long she was planning new and evil ways for me to sweat while going nowhere. I was initiated into the world of heart rate zones and interval training, with the goal of maximizing the benefits of my time in the saddle. For the first time, I was training instead of just riding.
The more time I spent that winter training to become a better cyclist, the less time I spent trying to become a better ski racer, and my results there started to plateau a bit. The one bright spot there was that I was stronger than ever in slalom, which quickly became my favorite discipline. Nothing breeds enthusiasm like success.
I might still think of myself as fat, but at least now I consider myself a fat cyclist.
I raced occasionally and didn't distingish myself at all, rode my bike to work and on weekend rides, lost the weight I had packed on during the cold months, and didn't expect a repeat of the previous year's success.
Then July rolled around, and I caught fire. After nothing but mediocre race results, I absolutely destroyed my personal best in a time trial. Month of riding to work finally paid off, and I was crushing the Beginner Men field. I still couldn't sprint or climb, but I had a 4 cylinder diesel engine that could chug along. I was suddenly viewed as a serious contender in the class again.
As it turned out, that diesel engine was all I needed that Tour of Anchorage. I won the prologue and time trial by over a minute a piece, so all I had to do was manage my losses in the other stages. It was a strange experience being the strongest rider in the field, and I probably spent far too much time dragging the pack around during road race stages, but I couldn't help myself. Even bleeding time strategically (or stupidly), I finished first overall with a minute lead. Of course, at the awards ceremony I was upgraded for my sins.
It was then that a perspective change happened. Instead of a ski racer who rode to get in shape during the off-season, I thought of myself as a cyclist.
I knew the Sport Men class was a whole different level of competition. My little 4 cylinder diesel wasn't going to cut it, and I wasn't going to be able to putt my way to victory anymore. I was going to need to work hard just to avoid being shelled off the back of the pack, and getting near the podium was a pipe dream. I was going to have to train during the off-season, which was something I knew I was ill-equipped for.
To ride a stationary trainer for hour after hour during the dark winter months takes a certain, sick kind of dedication. I knew I didn't possess it, but from long experience I know that if I feel like someone is counting on me to do something, I will be more likely to do it. That was where the coach came into the picture. I wanted someone there to track my progress and plan my workouts, because I was too lazy to do that for myself. My house is littered with books on training plans to become a "world class cyclist", but I just never had the drive to apply what was in them. I need someone there cracking the whip and steering, so all I have to do is turn over the pedals.
I was extremely lucky to pick Janice Tower as my coach. To be honest, I didn't know of any other coaches in town. All I knew was some of the fastest cyclists in town worked with her, and she had an alpine skiing background. In my usual impulsive fashion, I just decided that she was the one that I wanted to coach me. Fortunately she had an opening (it never even dawned on me that she might have a full roster), and before long she was planning new and evil ways for me to sweat while going nowhere. I was initiated into the world of heart rate zones and interval training, with the goal of maximizing the benefits of my time in the saddle. For the first time, I was training instead of just riding.
The more time I spent that winter training to become a better cyclist, the less time I spent trying to become a better ski racer, and my results there started to plateau a bit. The one bright spot there was that I was stronger than ever in slalom, which quickly became my favorite discipline. Nothing breeds enthusiasm like success.
I might still think of myself as fat, but at least now I consider myself a fat cyclist.
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