talisman centre triathlon club: January 2011

I left private practice a couple years ago for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the fact I place a very high premium on my time away from practicing law. One of the lesser known reasons was the fact I know virtually nothing about sports. At least not the kind lawyers like to talk about in this town (i.e., hockey). Those times I found myself in the firm’s private Saddledome suite, ostensibly entertaining clients, I typically hovered by the liquor cabinet and the beer cooler instead of watching the game. When pressed by clients or colleagues about my thoughts of the team and the season, I’d offer up a few completely meaningless phrases like “Uh, more goals would be good,” or “We got to get scored on less,” or, for something more nuanced, “Man, how ‘bout those trades, hey?”

After a while, the invites to the suite were fewer and farther between, and when I was invited they were usually offers to see Avril Lavigne, or Monster Truck Shows (which can be entertaining, if you drink enough), not hockey games.

(I was there! *tears*)

Couple my ignorance of hockey with the fact I’ve never swung a golf club in my entire life, and it was clear my career trajectory in private practice was starting to resemble that of the last Challenger flight.

Of course, the one sport I do take an active interest in following is triathlon, and I look forward to the Ironman World Championships with as much fervor as any pub potato looks forward to the Stanley Cup. And so, one Saturday last October, I woke up early, walked to Starbucks, got an Americano, walked back home, plopped down in front of the computer, and switched on Ironmanlive.com to watch the ne plus ultra of triathlon events.

Back in 2009 I did the same thing, I watched the World Championships—from start to finish in fact, only peeling myself away from the computer to grab the occasional Power Bar—but for 2010 I was even more excited because I had been in Hawaii just a few months earlier to race Ironman 70.3. The 70.3 shares part of the bike course with its big brother, and I spent a lot of time in and around the town of Kona sightseeing and scuba diving. So it was nice to see the course and the town onscreen as I saw it in person, and as I’d someday like to see it again as an athlete, running that final stretch down Ali’I Drive.

Over the past year or so I’ve come to understand how some of my friends can talk about certain hockey players with as much ease and detail as if they were talking about members of their family. If you watch enough interviews, read enough news stories, follow enough twitter updates, you come to know who these people are, and how they represent their sport.

After Craig Alexander won in 2009, after his classy victory speech at the finish line, I became enamored not only of his prowess as an athlete, but of what he meant to the sport in general. I started reading about him, listening to interviews, Craig Alexander became “Crowie” to me, and I became a “fan”.

I started following others as well—Jordan Rapp (a.k.a. “Rappstar”), Chris McCormack ("Macca"), Chris Lieto, Mirinda Carfrae, Magali Tisseyre—and soon I could hold court about pro triathletes as well as any of my friends could about their beloved NHL’ers.

And the more I learned about these pros, the more I gravitated toward some, and away from others. There are more than a few pros out there, male and female alike, about whom I’ve developed a very unfavorable opinion. They just don’t seem like very nice people, and were I to run into them at some athletes’ expo, I’d give them even less time than they’d surely give me. On the other hand, there are some pros out there who embody class, professionalism, and sportsmanship, such that you admire them not only as athletes, but as people.

I guess this isn’t much of a revelation, and, to be sure, you see the same spectrum of behavior among the age-groupers. Nevertheless, there’s something to be said about people who’ve reached the pinnacle of achievement in their chosen endeavour and have managed not to become a complete dick somewhere along the way.

Getting back to that Saturday last October, I watched the swim and the first hour of the bike leg, but, reluctantly, I pulled myself away to do my own bike workout. I figured as long as I made it back to town in time to catch the last hour of the marathon, I’d get my requisite dose of Ironman suspense. Besides, if you’ve listened to the dozens of (ironically) predictable oracular missteps the announcers typically make during the course of this event, you know that it’s very difficult to call the race with any degree of confidence until well into the run.

So I went on my ride, and it turned out to be a glorious autumn day for cycling in southern Alberta. Blue sky, not too much wind (nothing like Hawaii, which makes Calgary feel like a vacuum)—the only blemish on the ride was the two or three snubs I got from other riders.

Getting back to this ego thing—and at the risk of sounding self-righteous here—I make it a point to wave at just about every other cyclist on the highway. I mean, hell, you do it on a motorcycle, and every other biker waves back (unless they’re on Harleys, and even they at least wave at other Harley riders). So why not do it on your pedal bike? Is it that much effort, especially if you’ve noticed the other person waving at you? It’s just a little recognition of community, an acknowledgement that, hey, we’re in this cycling thing together (and, considering the animosity many drivers have toward cyclists, we’re taking the same risks together).

Yet this, being only my second season in triathlon, I’ve already noticed a precipitous drop in reciprocal neighborliness on the roads. I’ve waved at veritable pelotons of riders, and not one of them has so much as raised a finger (though I’ve been inclined to raise my own a few times). So call it what you want: ego, insecurity, or what have you—it’s annoying behavior. (Though truly gratifying on those occasions when, having reached a turnaround point and proceeded to head back in their direction, I catch up to them a short while later falling apart on a moderate hill. And I’m by no means a strong cyclist. Which leads me to the generalization that, more often than not, it seems to be the poseurs who think they’re Lance or something. Nice $200 matching kits, guys.)

The point, if there is one, of this digression (other than the fact I may be overly sensitive), is that your comportment on the road, or in the swimming pool, when you’re training, or when you’re racing—well, I think it says a lot about who you are. I need coherence and consistency in my relationships—not only the more-or-less conventional, person-to-person relationships I have with my friends (although with the advent of facebook, twitter, etc., the structure and integrity of even these relationships are up for discussion), but also with those folks with whom I have no personal relationship.

Take that whack job Billy Bob Thornton, for instance. I thought this guy was one of the best actors going. Talented, unique, confident—Billy Bob was someone I looked up to, and his performance in Sling Blade was top drawer. Then he had to go and fack it up last year during an interview with CBC’s Jian Gomeshi. To say he was an uncooperative boob would be generous. His behavior was downright inexplicable. And in the course of 5 minutes my esteem for ole Billy Bob went down the toilet. Who cares if you can act…

And so it is with athletes as well. I don’t care how good you are, how strong, agile, fast, whatever. If you act like a jerk, you’re not deserving of any respect, and for most of you out there (see my discussion re: poseurs above), there’s probably someone better than you just up the road, or two swim lanes over.

So when I got back to my condo after my ride that Saturday last October, and sat down in front of the computer, I was happy to see the camera on Andreas Raelert. Raelert, along with his brother Michael, seem like stand up guys—both hard workers, candid about their abilities, and both deferential about the talent of their competitors. Andreas, yeah, I could get behind that win. However, after a couple minutes of watching, the announcers mentioned he was eating up someone’s lead, so I was like, “Who’s lead? What lead?” And I swear to God, it took another five minutes of unwarranted suspense before the announcers finally said that Chris McCormack was in front. And when they said it, I became the stereotypical guy in the beer commercial in front of the TV, yelling “Yes! Yes!”

Macca is my favorite pro in the men’s field at Kona. He’s obviously a great athlete, he’s extremely clever on the course, and, similar to Andreas and Michael, he gives credit where credit is due.

Now, some of you might be thinking, “Are you on glue? Chris McCormack is one of the worst offenders!” And yes, a couple of years ago, he had quite a reputation. I wasn’t around for that, but he offers this up in his defence:

I think smack talk is different to what I do. I never attack or belittle one of my competitors. I simply state my intentions, how I am going to do it, and my expectations of myself. If my competitors or the press find this upsetting then it has worked. You can’t win a race by simply stating you’re going to. I obviously train very hard to do it, and expect a lot from myself. I have never individually targeted an athlete with pre race talk. I simply state the facts as I see them and as I expect them to happen. This builds my confidence, creates doubt in my competitors and makes the entire race interesting. (link)

I also note that I’ve followed Macca on Twitter for over a year now, and his updates frequently give props to the athletes he’s training with, or reference some charity event he’s attending.

Further, McCormack’s post-race press conference after his 2010 win revealed what I thought to be a sincere and fulsome level of deference to his competitors. Take it for what it’s worth, I guess.

In any event, this isn’t what initially drew me to McCormack as an athlete. What did was his post-race reflections after the 2009 World Championships, in which he placed 4th. McCormack encountered hell in the Energy Lab (that portion of the marathon where the temperatures climb into the high 30s), and as I read the following passage, I remember thinking, man, this guy’s got heart:

Faris ran past me a little later, and that hurt. We have had our differences and he had a smile from ear to ear as he watched me walking and throwing up. In the space of two miles I had lost 4 minutes. I remember thinking to myself of all the sacrifices I had made with my family this year. I had travelled back and forward to Australia 7 times this season and been away from my kids for a total of 22 weeks out of 52 in the year. I was so sad and just didn’t want to let them down. I was getting to this finish line no matter what, but I was not going to just stroll in. I was going to push myself to get there as fast as possible. This race this year was more than just about me. It was personal. Nothing is more personal than having to talk to your kids on a computer screen from training camps. They had sacrificed with me this year so not pushing on was letting them down as well. I was in a real bad way for a few miles here. I walked a lot, vomited a lot and was cramping really badly. It was one of the toughest sections of an Ironman I have ever been in before. It was absolute agony. I thought my muscles were going to be ripped from the bone but continued to shuffle and walk and vomit. In that order. (link)

As far as I’m concerned, this is what separates real ‘athletes’ from all those solipsistic ‘me me me’ a**holes on the race course and on the road, the ones who (as I’ve written elsewhere) make their significant others carry all their transition shit after the race because they’re “Ironmen” (not because they’re tired). So yeah, in my view, the 2010 title went to a deserving athlete, and many of us would do well to take his athleticism and candour into account in our own multisport endeavours.

As for the women’s field, I couldn’t be more pleased to see Mirinda Carfrae take the title. My only disappointment was not being able to see how Mirinda would have fared against Chrissie Wellington, who had to drop out of the race at the last minute because she got sick. I’ve been at two races in which Mirinda has competed (and won), and I can say she’s generous in her praise of other athletes, the volunteers, and our city. (Of course, I’d be disingenuous if I didn’t also acknowledge I like her for the same reasons I like this athlete, and this athlete, but setting that aside…) what I love most about Mirinda is her beauty as a runner. Running is my favorite sport of the three by far, and Mirinda lends equal parts elegance and power to the discipline, such that when I saw her a year and a half ago, running down those last few kilometers in Glenmore Park for the win, I thought I was watching a Trojan demi-God running into battle. Awesome.

So, these two Aussies, McCormack and Carfrae, my two favorite athletes in the Kona field—these are the kind of folks I think about during my training sessions, the kind of folks who in my view are worthy ambassadors of the sport. There are other role models out there (not to mention Talisman's own coaches). I’ve already mentioned Craig Alexander (like Mirinda, a beautiful runner), and Jordan Rapp, a bright, funny, and exceedingly helpful individual on slowtwitch (Jordan won Ironman Canada in 2009, but was sidelined early in 2010 after a brutal hit and run). I can only speak for myself, but I’ve learned quite a bit following (at a very great distance) in their footsteps.

talisman centre triathlon club

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Rona MS Bike Tour

Monday, January 10, 2011

Triathlon Club Picture for Triathlon Canada Magazine

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Jon's Farewell Soiree

Saturday, January 8, 2011

"The Last Spin"

Sunday, January 2, 2011

On Role Models