2008 Race Report #17: Superweek Stage 15 (Kenosha) and “Really Living”
After collecting my check for 9th place in Racine, we piled into the RV and headed to Lake Geneva, WI – home of Gary & Monica as well as their two sons, Rico (Otto) and Ogzila (Owen).
We pulled into the forested cul-de-sac in Lake Geneva to revisit these favorite friends, the dappled light from tall trees welcoming us back a year after our last visit when the stars had swooned from my exhaustion. However, other than my relatively fresh legs it might as well have been 20 minutes: time ratchets on many cogs and it is a mistake of the modern era to conclude that it is linear. As we gathered round the kitchen watching Monica finish preparing an incredible feast of homegrown vegetables, salsa, and an amazingly tender and flavorful pork tenderloin, we resumed the chain of our previous conversations about life and happiness without shifting gears.
Monica was ever the gracious, relaxed and attentive host and chef, and Gary, as usual was full of stories and stocked with fine wine. We all sat out under the fading light talking and enjoying one of those perfect midwestern nights where the air is soft and still, the only currents the blue fingers of the cool evening air descending to massage our limbs.
I was determined to race well at Kenosha – yet could not tear away from the conversation either. This is where my purposes, and that of the professional athlete diverge – the professional has no so quandries – he merely announces, “I have to go to work” and heads off to bed. I have no such desire to make that kind of sacrifice – but nor do I want to get crushed in the race due to crippling fatigue – so I typically settle for the next best thing – staying up way too late, getting up way too early, and getting just barely enough sleep to function reasonably well. That may very well sound like poor decision making, but for me, the goal has changed – the old goal was “winning” – the new goal is “really living” which requires different choices and different sacrifices.
“Really living” as a concept is quite different than happiness and has slowly evolved as a core concept to my own identity. What I love about it is its honesty: it implies the necessity of suffering and acknowledges the reality of looming and inevitable death as fodder for living a life of meaning. There are numerous literary and cultural references to this concept but for some reason my favorite is from the 1995 film “Braveheart” where the main character, William Wallace, says simply, “every man dies, not every man really lives.”
Said differently, this concept includes the latin “Carpe Diem” (Seize the Day), and a favorite quote from within a book by John Izzo, “When life gives you choices, choose the one that will make the best story.” Viktor Frankl also speaks to the essence of this concept (particularly with regards to suffering) in his famous book “Man’s Search For Meaning.”
I’m particularly focused on this concept of late, and for odd reasons. A few weeks ago, a high school classmate I had not spoken to in more than two decades wrote to me on Facebook. This person had been one our schools’ top athletes and our shared past included events to bond us despite relatively little time together. After exchanging the usual pleasantries he asked whether I was still competing. “Of course,” I answered, and then I threw an alternate question back to him, “are you happy?”. His answer was absolutely un-extraordinary and somewhat typical and expected – yet for some reason it rocked me on my heels. I wrestled with it for hours that became days that became weeks.
Perhaps it was partially because I was about to cross a point in time in life indicating that arbitrary line of my 40th birthday – maybe deep down my subconscious (my elephant – to reference Jonathan Haidt) did believe this was a significant milestone even if my rational mind gave it scarcely a thought.
Here’s his quote to my question of whether he was happy:
“I think I'm more content than happy which is okay by me, the highs and lows of life are a bit overrated. I've grown to appreciate the calm, steady times in my old age.” (bold is mine)
I began to question my sanity. As an almost 40 year old, shouldn’t this be what I aspire to? To gracefully relax my white knuckled “Carpe Diem” grip on life and fade into the wallpaper? After all isn’t my goal to trade the paint pots and brushes of the artist for that of the canvas maker – to create the playing field for others to discover their dreams? To create the backdrop upon which my daughter, my team, and others in my life can paint their own destinies in bright and vibrant colors? Was I starting to become like that overly elegant frame in the museum – trying or succeeding in outshadowing the art?
Again and again I circled and vacillated – servant leader vs. Jonathan Livingston Seagull, and eventually concluded that, for now, parts of my life still call for the role of participant – or via leading through doing and that despite the usual barriers, cynicism, and conventional wisdom, that I would go ahead and follow my own moral compass.
Calm steady times sound great, and go down easy – no question. But… they are often forgotten. I still want to grow – to experience the “squeeze of life” and the subsequent expansion and rush that follows suffering. And besides, there was just no possible way that I had become old… yet.
Thank God for Dara Torres.
Race Report #17: Superweek Stage 17, Kenosha, Wisconsin, Friday, July 25. Category: Pro ½. Weather: 82 degrees, light winds. Course: flat, four corners, 0.6miles/lap, Distance, 100 laps, 100km, average speed 29.7mph, Average pulse over 2 hours, 10 minutes: 176bpm.
After a morning by the pool with the kids playing, and then a pasta extravaganza produced by Monica featuring my favorite of favorites - the pasta with fresh tomato-basil, onion, zuccini, squash combo we had made for them the year prior, it was time to go race.
Kenosha is one of my favorite races – both for the “gemutlichheit” sense or feeling of positive energy that pervades the overall event, as well as for the more selfish reasons that the race tends to be one where I place well – mostly on the podium these past years.
Sudden note to self – the few races that I do really well in (Sheboygan, Kenosha, Downer’s Grove) tend to draw the greatest crowds – why is that? Probably because the simplicity of these courses tends to the leave the outcome uncertain… and because you can see a good portion of the race and follow it from many positions. I rarely rejoice in being a sprinter, but courses like this do provide the sprinter some panache – you roadies can go ahead and destroy each other on Holy Hill where ‘both spectators’ can watch, or you can come to a race with throngs like this where it ‘gets interesting.’
I arrived on time, warmed up well and started mid-field in this epic event. I was a little nervous prior to the start as my thwarted move last year on the last lap held out that there was a possibility that I could win or place in a Pro race. But mostly my attitude remained in that fun place of “all upside” and I found a weird contrary enjoyment in the first 60 of 100 laps.
For more than 2 decades I’ve clinically evaluated the elements of this course and leveraged my limited strengths against them. For the first 2/3’s of the race I focused on efficiency and maintaining position and absolutely nothing else. Breaks? Crashes? These were merely mosquitoes to be swatted at and I found some positive meaning in being the “best” at my little internal game of moving up during the lulls, staying out of trouble, and finding the best wheel, the best line through the corner, the best position in the peleton to conserve, and pedaling the least.
As we drifted down the lap countdown, the pace continued to reign high and I had to move up and close some gaps. It remained strung out, single file from laps 30 down to 15. At this point it relaxed just a little bit. I was ever thankful and wheezed on the snorkel of recovery. Part of me warned, though, that this was a temporary reprieve, and my own challenge to the roadie gods was not completely gone from my own mind. After two laps of rest, I saw that traditional and perfect opportunity – the front had lost focus and the pack had swarmed and I could merely put in a hard accel up the left and I would find myself in the top 20 – in position for the suffering to follow.
I did nothing.
12 laps still seemed like a long way. I had never been in a race that didn’t regroup at least once underneath the 5 mile mark (we were at 7 miles to go) so I didn’t panic. I should have.
It was though the challenge I had issued to the roadie gods was answered (and it was not a prayer.) With 12 laps to go, the Columbian team, followed by Kelly Benefits and Rock Racing, began an onslaught the likes of which I’ve never experienced, watched or witnessed. Even as I entered that rare territory of my strengths (a few laps to go on a fast course) all my weaknesses were dealt against me like playing against a deck of Aces.
The pace up front lifted and lifted some more, averaging over 31mph, with straightaway speeds 33, and 34 each and every lap. The Columbian team was determined to protect themselves from the usual ‘sprint surge’ typical in courses like these. Like the high water surge of a hurricane, these currents are ultimately damaging to the strengths of the time trialists and endurance athletes leading the peleton, so they, wisely, decided to eliminate them.
I shredded every fiber of my being to move up and was lucky to slot up 5 riders per lap. The first minute and a half of the video is a couple snippets of the race with 6 and then 5 laps to go and at a minute in, I'm riding the wheel of one of the Rock Racing Pros and continue to move up.
At 1:40 in the video we rejoin just a lap later, and the pressure is on and it is single file with 4 laps to go and stays that way. At 2:01 in the video, a gap opens and we close it, meanwhile, riders start shelling off to the left and right, including one of the Jittery Joes pros at 2:07. The next 3 minutes are a tunnel of pain - asphyxiating darkness taking over everything but the wheel ahead of me. At 3:01 I have to close another gap. At 3:15 a crash and I dodged around the riders - then a 3:35 the bridge back to the field - I tagged onto the end of the chain - dying with 3 laps to go.
I numbly followed wheels for the remaining laps as the tattered field exploded around me to cross the line at 7:30 on the video to finish 63rd. I did not sprint – I couldn’t – I had nothing left. Even without the crash I would not have been in contention…
I couldn’t, and didn’t really complain. The roadies were smart: they contained and/or eliminated the moves of the sprinters and ruled the day. As a strategist I would have advised nothing less.
Gary had received a weekend pass and joined me in the RV. We picked up some wine and then prepared to head to Milwaukee for the last ride of the RV (coming soon.)