This is an article that was written a month after my high school graduation and published in The Richmond Times Dispatch. Andy Thompson, the writer of the article, met me out riding the James River trail system a couple weeks before the event. I knew he was a sports columnist because I had read several of his articles and we ended up riding for several miles together, conversing the whole way. He came to the event to spectate the pro race. But, when I crossed the finish line first in the sprint race, I managed to attract his attention to write a column on another story. I hope I can satisfy these expectations established when I was such a young athlete. Continue reading Xterra Sport Richmond ’08
Tag Archives: cycling
Luray Sprint 2011
I absolutely love being short. People crack short jokes all the time. Hell there’s even a song about how I’ve got no reason to live. Don’t get me wrong, seriously, I love the jokes and the song, I’ll even dish it right back. But what people may not understand is that, while yes it limits the selection of girls I can date, I absolutely love my height. Being short is awesome.
Cycling in Virginia Beach
Thank you so much to drivers who share the roads with me on my bike each day. I really appreciate the room that most drivers give me and the slow speed and patience they have when they pass me. I am not asking for an entire lane. I simply appreciate it when, if drivers cannot give me much room, they pass me slowly. It makes my passion a lot more enjoyable.
To the drivers who try to get a point across and nearly run me over. Please remember, I am somebody’s son. Know that running over me will not “teach me a lesson”. It will only put you in jail and make for a very unhappy mom and dad. If you think I shouldn’t be on the roads, please write a letter to a politician in your area, or vote for the guy who advocates additional bike lanes. Trust me, I hate riding on busy roads just as much, if not more than you hate me riding on them.
Five step program to cure itchy feet
1. Get my license back
2. Get a job, save money.
3. Join the cycling and triathlon teams and be involved OR Join an intramural team and goof around
4. Study hard. Study really hard
5. Embark on an adventure every weekend. Be independent. Be alone. Be happy.
The problem with last year is that I was trying to live my life the normal way. I thought that my college experience should be just like everyone else’s. But I am not normal and I do not want my life to be the way everyone else’s is.
I want to come back every Sunday with a new story to tell my friends. I want to not only remember every weekend but let every one be more adventurous than the one before it. And I want my stories to be ones that I can tell my children with pride.
I do not want to limit my enjoyment of life in college to the couple hours of triathlon training each day. I want to bike into West Virginia, sleep in the woods, bike to the highest peaks, sleep again, and return the next day. I want to kayak down the New River for a two day trip. I want to hike deep into the woods and sleep under the magnificent unhindered light of stars.
I have a severe disorder. It is called itchy feet. It is not that I am never content where I am; it is just that the world is too big to stay in one place for too long.
Hiking the Appalachian trail is perfect for me right now because I am always moving. But what happens when I return home? I know what life was like when I sat still. When in school, I will have less than 72 hours to explore and I need to do just that. Beyond those 72 hours I’ll be trapped in the small dorm room for sanctuary and the small campus for entertainment.
I know there are others just like me who want to explore. I know there are others who think that crowding into the smallest space that possibly fits us all is not how we want to continue our experience here.
Beyond my limits
Finally somewhere beyond Montpelier I decided to turn around. As if it were a gas station, I pulled into a stranger’s driveway to fill up my tank. I stuffed my face with twizzler’s and swapped out an empty water bottle. My legs felt fine and my mind was ready to take me a few more miles. But if hell had mountains, I’m sure they somewhat resemble the clouds sitting only a mile in the distance.
After squeezing two gatorades out of five dollars at a nearby gas station, I began on the thirty miles home. But while I was enjoying the sub maximal wattage I was putting out, the rain drops were getting bigger and more consistent. I thought to myself “I wonder if I can outrun this sucker?” I looked at my left hand which had heart rate zones written on it. I looked at my watch on my right hand and saw my heart rate was in the “recovery” zone. Yes I can.
The road would bear right and sprinkles of water would splatter on my arms and back. But as the road turned left and downhill, I picked up speed and rode out of the storm. I pounded on the pedals calculating my energy reserves perfectly to get me back home at this speed. I crested hills amidst corn fields out of the saddle, sat and felt the burn. It was my day and I could feel it. My legs felt rested and strong. The gloominess behind me seemed to be getting worse, and my legs stronger. The air felt light and chilly. I looked at my Garmin forerunner to see that I had been averaging 21.7 miles per hour.
I felt strong, I felt invincible. But the veins on my arms began to bulge, my legs lost their color, and I was feeling cold. Nearly a mile from my house my lungs felt weak and I felt winded. Once in my home I took only a few steps before I collapsed on my living room carpet.
Its been three days now that I have not trained trying to recover from that ride. I don’t think it’s really worth that.
Mid-Season Recap
With a second place finish at Power sprint triathlon, I proved to myself that my fitness had returned after a few pathetic early season races.
At my first race of the season, I absolutely cracked and walked most of the run. Over the winter I was taking a medicine to help me sleep that, along with Virginia Tech’s second best in the nation dining hall food, propelled me to 160 lbs. My racing weight is around 135, so I was a little chunky. In addition to the added weight, my training had taken a huge strike from my lack of excitement to train in the bitter cold. Thankfully I had time to improve my swimming in the warmth of the fitness center though.
By my second race of the season I was dropping in weight at a pound a day and my fitness was returning at a steady pace.
The rest gave my body time to adapt to four years of rigorous training though and while my fitness did completely disappear over the off-season, it seems it has come back stronger than ever. My lactate threshold rose about ten beats per minute on the bike and run. In addition to statistical improvement, I am steadily increasing compared to my reference point of Michael Harlow.
In 2006, I signed up for my first triathlon, Angel’s Race in Lynchburg, Virginia. I looked up the previous year’s results and saw a guy named Michael Harlow had won. So I set my goal high. I wanted to win my first triathlon ever. Even with preparation help from a great triathlete in the area, Suzanne Lewis, I was still a beginner triathlete. I came in twelfth and won my age group. My goal never lowered though and it remains the same: beat Michael Harlow.
My teammate, Ryan Peterson, beat him earlier in the season. With the upcoming I love the Tavern triathlon in Richmond, I will get another shot to race the man I have been chasing for years. Ryan will also be racing. My other teammate, Alex Burton, has got legs that could run us all down, but he needs to shape up in transition if that’ll happen. Michael and Ryan will swim in the lead, most likely coming out together somewhere in the top ten. Alex and I will most likely be near each other somewhere one to two minutes back on the other two after the half mile swim.
My chase will begin right out of the water when, legs providing, I reel the two in on the bike. In addition to looking up the road, I will also attempt to enlarge the gap between me and the sub-17 minute 5k runner, Alex. I will look to catch the two up the road, and make it a run race between the three of us. On his two feet, Alex’s chase will begin. Ryan, Michael, and I will all fear the loud thumping of Alex’s feet come up behind us. A short out and back stretch on part of he run course will give us a chance to see each other’s position and at that point the race will be run on pure guts. The I love the Tavern tri is sure to show who is the fastest from the Endorphin Fitness “Super Speedy team”.
Tomorrow night marks the beginning of a three day cycling event, The Kazane Working Man’s Classic. With a merchandise or cash prime on every lap, this race has attracted some of the top east coast cyclists. Racing is at 6pm at Bryan Park Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday and I will attempt to rack up enough points for a category upgrade.
We’ll see.
Cheese filled pasta!
Whoever invented tortellini was a genius. I swear I would give the guy a big bear hug if I ever met him. That’s a weird expression. If I ever saw a bear I’d book it and the last thing I would think of is hugging the darn thing. Well, getting back to where I was, cheese filled pasta, what a brilliant idea. I mean, who wants to eat pasta with cheese on top? Cheese inside is the way to do it.
I acquired some nice new tan lines today. Following in my tradition of wearing dress socks to cycling races, I not only got the jersey and shorts tan line, but my sock tan line is about halfway up my calf. Sexy, I know.
I also acquired some points toward a cycling category upgrade. I also got fifteen dollars for dinner money. In a race of fifty, I placed fourth to get that quantity of money. I’m not complaining, I didn’t expect to get any. But I am confused about something. There were five women in one race, and not only did every finisher win money, but last place won twenty-five dollars. Okay so I’m a little bitter. If I add up the totals of my $56.00 paycheck from a low deal sponsor two years ago, and my assorted prize winnings, my wage is about ten cents an hour. I work hard too. I work really hard. I’m gonna be a wealthy man if I keep this up.
I miss going to the beach. I have been racing or training hard every weekend since I got home and I really just want to go to the beach for a couple days with no bike, no running shoes, and no stress. Don’t get me wrong my life’s pretty awesome right now. I paint windows, I keep the yard clean, I train, I eat, sleep, and write on this blog and thats about it. By no stress I mean the vibe that comes when one goes to the beach. I miss sitting on my surf board and if there are waves, thats great, but if not, thats great too.
I guess surfing’s a lot like fishing. I love sitting on the dock with a line in the water, and not really caring if my bait has been nibbled off or not. Looking out over the water, hearing the splash of small waves hitting the rocks below the dock, that is the essence of stress free. Sitting out on the waves, bobbing up and down as the swells roll under me, not really caring if that indefinable “perfect” wave ever comes, that is the essence of stress free.
Last year my cousin and I set out before sunrise to ride the day’s set of waves. When we crested the dune to the beach, we looked out of the giant swells with mist spraying off the caps and felt like we were getting an early glimpse into heaven. We toed the water and while it was a little chilly, our adrenaline was pumping hard enough to keep us warm. We pushed through the waves with all our strength and soon we were sitting past the break on our boards, looking at the pastel sky overwhelming enough to make even the most stubborn atheists question their opinion. The water was glass smooth and the waves were clean and powerful. This combination of strength and grace is rare on the east coast and my cousin and I were all alone on the surf to witness it. Later in the day we lost dominance over our surfing spot. But for that morning we only had to share the peace with the beauty surrounding it.
Its coming close to my bed time. Goodnight.
Impatience, All you did was bring the end closer
High school cross country and track athletes run themselves into the ground because all they see is the end to their career in four years. Beyond that, most of them will never race again. I did the same. I ran until I could not physically run anymore but my perspective was even more stunted. I would look season to season. So I had three months to get into great shape and attempt to become one of the fastest runners on my team.
I would either lose motivation or get injured and sometimes both. At least when I became injured I was not able or allowed to run. And after maybe a week my interest and excitement would return with full vigor for the sport that I dreaded shortly before. I raced my best my sophomore year. I ran all my personal records of high school my sophomore year. I became accustomed to those speeds, times, and placings. I enjoyed the thrill and racing as one of the top.
Of course I got injured though. First it was iliotibial band tendonitis. My junior year the same injury plagued me on the opposite leg. And my senior year I topped it off with a completely torn ligament in my ankle and a stress fracture. Post injury I would come back with a burning desire to run my hardest and race those splits I could once reach. I didn’t want to accept the injury as an excuse to take it easy. So I ran even harder than I did before and the result was still the same. With the training load I took on, I was bound to get injured every time.
Between years I raced triathlon and cycling under my coach Michael’s leadership, coaching, and rules. I have yet to get injured over his guidance. He knows what he’s doing and better yet, my eye is on a long term goal rather than seeing the end of my career approaching way to quickly.
Fact is, I was never one of those high school prodigies. I showed up and ran 25 minutes for my first 5k. And yes, breaking one hour in a 10k was once a goal of mine. Beyond that I was never the guy that could train hard every day and expect results. I tried but I failed. I have always needed to train, back off, train, and back off again.
I suffer from a torn ankle ligament that I did not have enough patience to let heal. I still have regrets about running myself into the ground through high school. When I see most of my old teammates, they are busy running themselves into the ground in the other direction. Meanwhile I am a freshman in college, in the best shape of my life, have not had a drop of alcohol in my body since, well I forget, and I am running, cycling and swimming faster every year. And my goal is long term. And of course the goal of health and relationships is there, but I swear I can make it big. I sure want to and it seems my body is complying with this challenge.
This morning I ran a 10:59 2-mile. It was the first time I had run that race at that speed since my sophomore year. Yet now I am not lying to myself and I am not hiding inevitable injury. Now I am recovered and on a steady path to improvement. Fact is, high school distance running destroyed me for years. It broke my body, it shook tears out of me, and it turned all of burning desire to hatred of a sport that I claimed I loved.
My senior year, having been plagued with a stress fracture and a sprained ankle simultaneously, I did not return to the sport with burning desire. I remember walking into my much respected coach’s office and handing my jersey to him a folded paper grocery bag. I prayed he wouldn’t be in his office so I could just drop it off and walk away quietly from a four year career. But I had to walk in with my head held high and tell him how I could not do it anymore. Before, I wore those colors with pride and enthusiasm. Now, I turned in as a sad, confused cripple.
That season they didn’t have enough uniforms to give to all the athletes. So the next day, another runner wore my singlet and shorts. Just like that, I was replaced. A spot opened up for another excited kid.
I pray that kid doesn’t have to go through what I did. I pray for the guys who I once ran beside and I especially pray for the guys who are still there. I pray for the high school guys on my triathlon team to keep patient and avoid injury. And I pray that no one is ever as impatient as I was.
No one but me is at fault for these sufferings and I do believe those injuries happened to help me grow. And I do think that the rush to get fast in four years is shared by most high school runners. But now, that troubled past is gone, my heart is bigger than ever and my peak lies a long way from now.
Living in transition
This week is a taper week. Its killing me. I’m supposed to take it easy for every workout. I just want to get out on my mountain bike and hammer it hard. I even dream of hammering, ripping my legs to shreds. I love the feeling of getting home after a hard ride or run and sitting down on the carpet with a recovery drinks that tastes like a mix of my own fecal matter (and looks it to) and stretching my sore legs out.
On Sunday is Power sprint triathlon in Richmond. This will be my third time racing it. Both times I finished third overall. I hope for something more this year, but with the athletes on my team having outdone me earlier in the season, that goal may be difficult. I have started off slow this season and I hope this will be my break through race. Rocketts turned out to not be that race so maybe this one will.
It is my birthday on Saturday but my mom and I decided to shift it to Sunday so that I will be able to eat cake. My new backpack for hiking the Appalachian trail will come in soon and so will my new Kazane road bike frame.
The day of Powersprint there is also a cycling race in Richmond. I may attempt to race the afternoon race after my triathlon. If I do not do well in the tri I may want to race again to redeem myself. Graeme Obree set the World one hour record on sore legs the day after his first attempt. Maybe I could do that on a lesser scale.
The Ultimate Goal
A summer between two middle school years, my dad took me on my first bike tour, Bike Virginia. At an average of forty miles a day, me and my dad, my best friend Nat and his dad Tim, enjoyed an week of spandex and saddle sores. Nat and I sported mountain bikes for the tour and it was slow going. Not wanting to creep at the pace of prepubescent boys on mountain bikes, our dads took turns riding with us while the other enjoyed riding at a faster speed.
The next year, I begged my dad to do the tour again with me and so we did. Other than getting sick from e. coli in my water, the trip was awesome. I loved it. I loved the thrill of seeing the countryside at the perfect pace. Not so fast you miss the views and not so slow you never get to any views: the perfect compromise between running and driving. I love the thrill of hearing wheels whirr when I felt strong. I loved the dehydration and fatigue and the end of a long day in the saddle. And I especially loved lying down in a bed after a good hard ride. The pain from cycling brought a unique sense of pleasure I had never felt before.
I was a chunky kid when I was little. To give you a sense of measure, I weighed 140 at 5’1”. I am the same weight now, just five inches taller. My goal for 10k’s was to not walk. I enjoyed my food but I was not yet exposed to exercise. After the right combination of exposure to exercise from my dad and drive for healthy eating habits from my mom, I was on my way to being one of the fittest adolescents there was.
Multiple years later, the summer before my sophomore year in high school, Nat, my dad and I returned to complete the ride again. This time however, Nat and I came with road bikes, some strong legs, and full intentions of completing our first ever century, one hundred miles of biking in one day. This year the burden was on me and Nat to wait for my dad. No worries, the old man did the same for us.
After years of trying to whoop my dad’s butt at anything and everything, I finally knew I was better than him at something, even as superficial as it was. I was happy even though I still knew I could never match him at brains, basketball, golf, soccer, maturity, and basically everything else.
And for the century, my dad waved the white flag and chose to sleep in. Nat and I pushed each other the whole day. One of us would get down and feel tired, but the other one would feel great; it was a perfect combination to get us through the day. The ride was in essence a figure eight with another loop on top. We had the option of cutting miles off twice, but we kept going. We ended up riding 104 miles that day due to a small detour. We didn’t care. It just made us feel tougher.
As for my dad, I was finally better than him at something. He is always the standard to me. And although he was not in the NBA, or a professional at anything I wanted to beat him in, he was always my toughest competitor. I had to work for it if I wanted to beat him.
My eighth grade year I picked up basketball and every night my dad would challenge me to be better and better. We would play one on one in our driveway. Every night after dinner I would say “Come on old man.” Typically I would hear a refusal and the old fart would use the excuse of gout. Crystals in his joints, psh what a pansy. After calling him Sally or Betty or Elizabeth enough he would give in. Sometimes his ankle would be the size of his head so we would just play horse.
After battling him all year, I finally won. I won once more, accepted my goal had been achieved, and stopped playing. He will always be my standard. Someday I will try to match him at being a dad. I hope I will be able to make my kids laugh as much as he did us. I hope I can provide for them like he did for us. Maybe I’ll even try to match his business management skills. None of those goals will ever be fully achieved but if I can be half as successful as he was then I’ll be happy.