A question of motivation

At times, I find endurance sport a little odd. I mean, yesterday I watched a couple hundred people run through mud and rain and wind, around soccer fields and on trails, up and down hills, in direct competition with all the people around them. And I wondered, not for the first time, why we do endurance sports.

Although I recognize the health benefits built into “training” (vs. exercising), I would likely have a similar resting heart rate/flat stomach/skinny physique by going to the gym a couple times per week.  I mean, at some point I won’t be able to train anymore. I’ll be reduced to exercising, at at that point I think I’ll wonder what the big deal was.

What drives us, then? What drives those guys and gals I watched yesterday? It’s humourous, actually. When you walk around the field you hear people screaming things like, “Make it hurt!” or “You gotta go!!!” or “Push, push!!” And when I hear these things I wonder why it’s so important that we make it hurt, or have to go, or push beyong that point of comfort.

Why push? Why hurt? Why go? Or, at the least, why push/hurt/go so much. Can’t we just do it purely for fun?

So I’ll tell you why. It’s because people who do competitive endurance sport recognize the satisfaction of a job well done. Think about that. If you have ever competed in sport, you have likely come up short of your goal. Those moments suck. The number of heads down after the race yesterday prove that.

But if you have ever competed in sport, you have also likely surpassed your goal. And you remember that feeling–of how it felt so good to go faster, with less effort. It’s those moments we train for: those moments of personal triumpt that no one can take away from us.  And it is those moments on the minds of all who struggle, because they know there will be other days where they’ll be able to lift their head up again. 

And so we carry on. We carry on because we know, that even when the darkness sets in, there is still, somewhere out there, the possibility of light. And it’s that possibility that drives us.

 

getting rid of a car

We got rid of our car. And by that I mean that cars cost a lost of money (about $600/month, by my estimation), so we took the insurance off it, and parked it at my parent’s place. Getting rid of a car, changes a lot.

Getting rid of a car means I ride my bike to school every day (about 30k, roundtrip). That means I might ride a little faster come next spring. Getting rid of a car also means I’ve become quite adept that screaming at idiot drivers who forget that they too must look before they cross the street.

Getting rid of a car means I get to be a pro at riding the subway. Getting rid of the car means that all my driving-related stress can be transferred into marking essays, and planning my lessons. (this, of course, the reason why I haven’t blogged in so long).

Getting rid of a car means we save ourselves a few bucks per month, money that I save up and hopefully spend on something really important (like a cyclocross bike, or a trip south during March break).

Getting rid of a car means that I have become an expert at mooching rides. Like, a few weeks ago I rode 200k in Guelph/Waterloo in the Ride for Refugees, but getting to Guelph with my bike was an adventure itself. (thanks, Ryan!)

And, most importantly, getting rid of my bike means that I get to travel to all the school soccer games (I coach the junior boys team) with my team (last year, I drove and met them there). You want to learn about teeangers? Just ride the bus with them. But my team has advanced to the final 8 in the city so I’ll put up with them for a little longer.

I should post a little quicker next time. After all, as November rolls in, it’s getting really close to getting down to triathlon training. And who are we kidding? It’s in the triathlon training that the blog posts roll.

last one, fast one

My 2009 triathlon campaign comes to a close this weekend in the same way that it came in: with a heck of a lot of motivation and just enough early moring Toronto traffic to keep my “chasing” muscles attentive. It’s all good.

Spent the last week in Collingwood with Amy and her family. We did a lot of nothing, and by “nothing” I mean eating, sleeping, puzzling, gaming, mountaining, sunsetting, hamocking, and a just a teeny, tiny bit of triathloning.

I’ve been feeling excellent in my taper this week. I’ll certainly have no excuses going into Saturday’s race, and I’ve even managed to get called out for the first time ever. Looks like there will be enough dudes (and gals) to make things interesting. That’s what I’m hoping for: a flipping-mono-e-mono-need-to-be-close-to-the-action-to-make-it-interesting-knock-down-feel-the-burn-slug-it-out-collape-at-the-finish-line-pain-fest. Boom. It is, after all, my last one for a while.

And as much as I despise the use of this word, I’m guess you could say I’m hoping for something epic, at least as far as Southern-Ontario age-group triathlon racing goes.

Word out.

Holy Hills, Batman!

I’m spending the next week up in Collingwood, for a vacation and to finish off my summer of training. I knew there was a big, blue mountain here, and I thought that it would be a lot of fun to ride up, and then to come bombing down. The thing is: once you get to the top, the hills just keep on going, and going. I find myself thinking, where are the flat parts of Collingwood?! I suppose it’s good for me…

Next weekend will be my last triathlon of the season. In anticipation of a fairly competitive day, I decided to do a 5k race on Sunday, just to keep the competitive juices flowing. So, on Sunday, I raced in the Carrotfast 5k in Bradford.  Aside from getting  to race some people, I figured I was in good enough shape to run close to my pb (16:22 from 2006, the last time I ran one).

So the gun goes off, and I find myself running in 12th or 13th place, despite a 3:07 first k. I guess the entire high school cross country team in front of me didn’t take into account the other 4k still to come.  Seeing a lead group break away, I figured if I booked it now, I could get a nice tow around the course. So I gunned it, latched on around 2k, tried to take the lead around 3k, died at 4k, and puttered to the finish line, ending up 4th in 16:28, which leaves me encouraged for next weekend’s tri.

I should point out that I raced in my tri suit, with a singlet on top. Tyler told me I looked like a tool, which I agreed with, but sometimes you just gots to get your freak on. Whatever that means.

Congrats to all my teammates who had great races in PEI and Kelowna this weekend. My suggestion is that you all get yourselves on the Guelph Lake start line. Time for another PTC smackdown.

one after the other

One thing after the other. That’s all life really is. With that in mind, I blog.

Let’s start with an easy one: we moved. To a great apartment in the Annex (about as downtown Toronto as you can be). We’re on the 16th floor of a building, and our view takes in everything between here and the Lake. In the past couple weeks, I’ve been an ikea regular, a floor scruber, a key cutter, a heavy box lifter, and an interior decorator. All of which has meant our apartment is looking sweet, but I’ve been a little fatigued. Or a lot. Oh, but the view.

Next one I’m quite a bit ticked about, but my beautiful bike was busted. Very long and quite stressful story later: the day after Belwood, the frame basically cracked on me so I’ve been in an out of the shop trying to get it fixed. I’ve been riding the Cannondale in the mean time, but I keep flatting (Toronto riding = misery for me). So that’s been stressful. But I just got it back on the weekend, and it was rolling again.

After that one, is the obligatory one about about triathlon. I raced last weekend in Niagara. It was, well, meh. In the swim, I kept burning matches to stay in contact, on the bike I got hammered (combination of burnt matches, moving fatigue, all the funeral stuff, and riding a non-TT bike), and on the run I did what I could do in my little no-man’s-land. I’m happy this one is over with and I’m looking forward to pulling out all the stops in the next 3 weeks. Since then, I’m feeling better and I’ll tell you this: Guelph Lake is go time.  And if you’re laughing because I made this my “A” race, well, just make sure you’re on that start line. (note to self: you suck at trash talk)

That’s all I have for now. Next time I’ll have some pictures.

Oh, if anyone has a semi-decent used road bike that I could turn into a commuter bike, please let me know. (something under $500).

“I Keep Going.” A Tribute to Vincenzo Del Monte.

It’s been a while since I posted, and a lot has happened in that time. I’ll get to all that in my next post. For today, there is only one thing on the agenda. Here goes.

On July 27, 2009 at 12:41pm, my 88-year-old Nonno, Vincenzo Del Monte, passed away. (Eulogizing a life in a blog post may seem tacky to you, but it’s a very small way Amy and I have decided we can honour my Nonno).

My Nonno was the real deal: a hard working, providing, story-telling Itallian Stallion.  My Nonno’s legacy to me is simply in how he lived his life. When he came to Canada (from Italy) after fighting in WWII, all he knew was hard work. That’s it. He knew how to work. And so he worked. He worked two jobs, as a mechanic and as a billards  hall operator, often working right around the clock. He worked on his marriage and family, to make sure no one was hungry or lonely or unhappy. He worked at home in his garden, growing enough tomatos and grapes to feed a small army. He worked on his grandchildren, teaching us how much fun you can have by chasing each other’s socks around on a battered old carpet. And he worked in his heart, to make sure it was right before God before he went away. And it all worked.

It taught us to work. If you look at my family, no one lacks in effort. My Nonno made sure of that.  Nonno taught us that in life all you have is what you have, here and now. And if you want to enjoy your life, you simply have to work.

My Nonno’s last words to me fit with this. When I asked, as I often did, how he was doing, my Nonno simply replied, “I keep going.” That’s it. A whole life summarized by three simple words: I keep going. No matter what life throws at you (and it threw a whole lot of junk at my Nonno), just keep working, keep going. And somehow, in all of that going and working and doing, you’ll have one hell of a life.

Everlasting thanks, Nonno. I’ll never forget you, or the legacy you left for us. You, unequivocally and without question, and unreplaceable for us. We’ll miss you dearly.

cleansed

Do this: Ride solo for 3hours, covering 100k in pouring rain, with gusting wind and low visibility. Let the rain soak you to the bone, while the 18-wheelers shoot crap into  your eyes and suck you along in their draft. Have sweat and stress and snot and spit flow out of you until their is nothing left but the feeling of utter and complete satisfaction.

Do that, and any crap that is bothering you in life won’t be bothering you anymore.

I do love the bike.

expect the unexpected

Belwood Sprint was on Sunday. It turned into a bit of a teaching session on what to do when the unexpected arises! Let me explain.

I didn’t expect it to be cold, windy, or rainy. So I modified by wearing my race kit t-shirt doing warm-up.  Who does that?

I didn’t expect to get outswam by so much, by so many people. But they’re all good looking, so I’m not that ticked off.

I didn’t expect to see Clark Kent transform into Superman, either, but sometimes you just get lucky.

I didn’t expect to ride past so many people, so quickly. But Optimus (my bike) was good to me today. And it sure felt good to ride well again.

I didn’t expect to see a guy run out of transition carrying his shoes in his hands, so I had to ask him that was all about. Apparently, his calves tightened up when he bent down to changes shoes, so he quickly decided to run out the stiffness before lacing up. SMART! (and it worked…he passed me soon after). Nice job, Mike!

I didn’t expect to be running behind two dudes in their forties 4k into the run, so I had to deal with my ego.

I didn’t expect my 19-year old teammate to go bombing by with 800meters to go. So I had to take some satisfaction in seeing him kick down another guy 600metres later. Way to go, boys!

And I sure didn’t expect to be married to such a good looking lady, but God’s sense of humour sometimes comes out in my favour.

But most encouragingly, I didn’t expect to have such a solid race (6th overall in a good field, and right there, mixing it up with the dudes I want to be mixin’ with).

So I’ll take it. And next time you go out to race: expect the unexpected!

courage means what?

Before last night’s track workout I was certainly feeling the past 18 days of training. Coach doesn’t tell us the workout until after we have warmed up so we were taking bets on what it would be during warm-up. I thought it would be k’s (at 10k pace). Others bet on 400s and 800s. We were all wrong.

The workout was supposed to be 4X400+ 3X1mile at faster than 5k pace. It just didn’t seem possible, considering the extreme fatigue in my legs, the heat on the track, and (mostly) the fear in my brain. And so I got to thinking about courage, and what it meant to win a mental battle, and how my Dad used to tell us that the Tough get going when the going gets tough. And that sort of helped. But not enough.

But then I remembered something else I had read in To Kill a Mockingbird about courage.  In the novel, there is this mean old lady who always yells at Scout and Jem for no good reason. But then she dies, and it is revealed that Mrs. Dubose was so mean because as her health deteriorated she refused to take medicine that would numb the pain. She wanted to die, not beholden to nothing or nobody.

And in her death Atticus teaches his children a lesson. He says this: “Courage is when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what.  You rarely win, but sometimes you do.” Atticus teaches his children that courage is when you start, even when you know you can’t finish.

So it was those words about starting something, even knowing that I couldn’t finish it, that helped a lot. And even though Coach modified the miles to 1200s, the whole squad still saw it through. And even if it was a small kind of victory, it was still a victory.

And for that, we learned about courage.

Not only get off it, get off it carefully

This just in: Ben Stiller steals Lance Armstrong’s bike!

You need to watch this.