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Hurricane Bob: My Sabbatical, Part 1
By Bob Mina
10/20/2009 |
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To steal a page from Mark Twain, I’m pleased to say that reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. While it has been the longest gap I’ve had between columns since I started writing for Xtri back in September of 1999 (ten years!), it was for a very simple reason:
I couldn’t figure out what to say. I actually ran out of words, ideas, and thoughts.
One thing I’ve always tried to maintain is that I would never ‘force’ a column; simply sit down and mindlessly churn out 1,500 – 2000 words to fill space, make a deadline, and move on. That’s just not me. Luckily, Vinu and Betsy have always given me a long leash, and never held me down to any kind of schedule. Sorry to have basically gone silent for three months, but this was just one of those times in my racing career where radio silence was the best option.
My 2009 triathlon season was a short one; it was exactly one race long. Back in June I raced the City of Philadelphia Triathlon. I did so with exactly two swims in 2009, and more surprisingly, one ride from April through June. The very thing I love to do the most – ride my bike – was missing from my training CV.
How was such a thing possible? I hadn’t planned it that way – it just happened. Some of you may recall that last year I tried out for the Philadelphia Dragon Boat Association – I tried to make the US Team for Nationals. This year, I tried again. Five rounds of testing; again, I didn’t make it, but I came much closer than I expected in my second year.
I had to make a decision after the first round of testing in May, and that was based on being much closer to wearing Stars and Stripes than I’d expected. I had to back off on the triathlon training, and spend more time lifting weights and attending early morning practices (5:45AM).
It was a gamble, and in the end, I was left outside looking in…but I wouldn’t have changed a thing. What surprised me was that when the Philly Triathlon weekend loomed on my calendar, it looked very different to me: It was suddenly a distraction to a greater goal. Say what? How could triathlon – my first love, my sport for the past 14 years, seem like a distraction?
That was weird.
But I knew that sooner or later, that day might come. When I was new to the sport mid-90’s, some of the guys I trained with just stopped showing up. I mean, one year they were there on the Tuesday Night Ride, hammering the daylights out of us, and then the next year – poof – gone. I couldn’t figure that out. Why would anyone ever want to quit?
Of course, they were older than I was, they had kids, they had jobs, but how could they live without triathlon? How would that be possible? Now that I’m in my late 30’s, and I’ve been racing triathlon for 14 seasons, I can kind of see how.
Eventually, you just need to back away a bit. I wouldn’t call it a retirement – I don’t want a parade and a gold watch – but you just have to stop. It was easy for me to see that my time was coming; the moment I looked at my bike, contemplated a ride, and it was going to be a chore. I didn’t have the energy, or time, to even think about it without forcing it.
Right there in my basement, looking at my bikes – Mercury and Apollo hanging there – I launched into a petite, 6-minute, mid-triathlon crisis. “How can this be? How can I NOT want to ride my bike?”
But it was true. I couldn’t quite admit it to myself, but tacitly, I knew the truth.
It wasn’t like I was quitting exercise; I was still training 7-10 hours per week. I’d run the Delaware Marathon in May, and had been running 5 days a week, paddling 3 days per week with the team, and hitting the weight room twice. It was hitting me back, but hey – that’s what weights do. Today’s soreness is tomorrow’s strength, but I digress.
After finishing six Ironman races, making it to USAT Nationals, and doing everything I’d ever wanted in triathlon, with the notable exception of Kona (which is going to be by lottery or divine intervention, really), what was left for me to do?
It came down to a feeling. Trying to make the US Team made me feel the same way entering my first triathlon did in 1996: Electric. Alive. Completely immersed in the possibilities of doing something bigger than I ever could be. When it came right down to it, I knew I needed to be happy – I needed to do something I enjoyed, rather than something I felt obliged to do.
So on that June day in Philadelphia, I threw a luau for myself. With a $12 Hawaiian shirt bought on sale at Kohl’s the day before the race, a Tiki Goblet and two plastic Lei’s bought from Party City, as well as a well-placed, taped-down umbrella, I became that guy in the race – the costume wearing guy that makes everyone go, “Wait, what?” As he blows by, shirt and leis flying in the breeze.
If my fitness wasn’t going to do the talking, might as well let the style take over.
The best part was catching and passing people, and then hearing their reaction. Sometimes it was just a sigh, other times a good laugh, but there was always that 1% that just went to the zoo. Best one I heard: “Hey, buddy, if you’re not going to take the race seriously, you should just stay the f*ck home.”
Mind you, this was from someone I had just passed. I didn’t say a word – I just made sure Mr. Cervelo P3 Complete With AeroHelmet and Compression Socks stayed firmly dropped. Not that I’m petty, or anything, but if a guy wearing a silk shirt, flower leis, and riding a non-aero road bike can drop your $5,000 ass, maybe the one who should take the race more seriously is the one who put down the Gold Card, and thought it would buy him fitness? I mean, I’m just saying.
So I finished that race at Philly (2:45, mid-AG, too), enjoyed a tailgate with my Philly Tri Club peeps, and went home. The rest of the summer was a blur; I raced in Ithaca and Montreal with the US Team, ran, lifted, and actually ended up weighing 4 pounds less than I did in the past 10 years. I was having fun, keeping fit, and enjoying the change of routine…even though I wasn’t ready to admit to myself what was happening.
Stay tuned for Part 2... |
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