first race

originally written for the USC Triathlon Newsletter 02-09-06

The first time is always a little...interesting. Strange things happen. Things that you wouldn't expect, or even know to expect. Like a GU misfire that goes sideways into the spectators instead into your mouth. Like a flat tire that magically appears just as you're getting set to power out of T1. Or a wetsuit that somehow manifests an irritating seam at your neck that rubs your skin raw and sends salt water into the open wound. Or a burr in your shoe that goes from an annoyance to a hotspot to a blister that pops just as you're trying to make the homestretch to the finish. Many strange things happen.

And there's really nothing you can do.

It's just part of racing. Things sometimes happen that are beyond your control. Chaos still rules the universe. Equipment failure. Bad course directions. Crashes. Bad refereeing. Bad penalty calls. Malfunctioning alarm clocks. Power outtages. Things sometimes just happen. The japanese have a word for this: shikataganai.

The question is, what do you do?

Well, for one thing, you don't give up and sit on your coach and whine. If you've decided to race, you might as well finish. If you've decided to show up, you might as well commit. If you've expended the time and training, you might as well give it your best shot.

Because you can't control everything. That's just life. All you can control is yourself. All you can do is to decide what you want to do, and to do what you've chosen to do. All you can do is to do your best. All you can do is to make sure you are as best prepared, most ready, most committed, most passionate, most determined person you can be. And then leave nothing on the field, so that when the game day is over and all is said and done and no matter what the outcome, you can honestly look yourself in the eye and say you did everything you could.

Lance Armstrong described his mentality in responding to a challenge during a particularly difficult day at his last Tour de France: "You can either stay and fight, or you can go home and cry to your momma...I chose to stay and fight."

Given the vagaries of race day, given the chaos of life, that's all you can do. Regardless of the outcome, that's all you can do.

citius altius fortius

Citius. Altius. Fortius.

The words are inscribed on the stones of the main entrance to the original Olympic stadium of the ancient Greeks. They have been adopted by the modern Olympic movement as a sign of continuity with the original Olympic ideals.

Faster. Higher. Farther.

The words call upon athletes to surpass the achievements of the past and aspire to greater performances. They command abandonment of complacency and stupor, and assert a spirit of motivation and ambition. Implicit in their meaning is the need for progression, growth, and improvement. In accordance with the ancient Greek beliefs, this meant not just in athletics, but in all facets of human existence: in body, in mind, and in spirit.

The words are a creed of a species seeking to make something of itself greater than what it is; a creed of the ideal of perfection, and the belief that perfection is possible.

There are those who say that perfection is not possible. That perfection is but a dream. That human existence is a record of weakness and frailty, mistakes and misadventures, indolence and apathy. They point to the long history of human suffering, and mark our nature as one inclined to the basest instincts and worst desires. These are the voices who repeat that human legacy is a nothing more than a funeral pyre to the futility of life.

In some ways, such voices may be right. Perfection may not be possible. Perfection is an ideal, and so by definition may beyond the realistic hope of our species.

But in so many ways, such voices are wrong. We are so much more than the most horrific moments of our history. We are so much more than our worst fears. We are so much more than our weaknesses and frailties, mistakes and misadventures, indolence or apathy.

We are those who say we can be more. We are those who wish to arise from history, and pursue a future of noblest virtues and highest hopes. We are those who insist that human existence can be greater than what it has been, who seek a human legacy that is a guiding beacon to what life can be.

We believe that perfection is possible. We believe that progression is possible. We believe that we can be better than what we are. We believe that even though we may fall short of perfection, that the effort of our labor and the energy of our belief will have carried us far beyond from where we were before, and that will have caused us to transcend life as it is and brought us closer to what life can be.

And we believe that this alone is enough to justify our beliefs, and that this alone is ample reward for all that we have done.

Faster. Higher. Farther.

In body, in mind, in spirit.

Citius. Altius. Fortius.

greeting competitors on the race course

originally written for the USC Triathlon Newsletter 01-26-06

Having talked last time about how to greet your fellow Trojans on the race course, our attention now turns on how to greet your competitors.

Generally, we all want to be committed to the spirit of good sportsmanship, and endeavor to share the triathlon experience and everything it means to our lives with the people we meet on race day. In addition, the university itself maintains a Trojan Spirit Code (see the lobby of the Lyons Center) on sports etiquette and our representation of the Trojan community. That, and as decent human beings we want to be able to treat our competition as people at the end of the day.

Having said that, you should be warned that you will likely (in fact, very likely) encounter at least one person on race day who does not follow the athlete’s code. You know these people: the really obnoxious ones who give you attitude in response to your morning hello, who won’t follow the pass rule on the bike, who push you in the back on the run, who steal your GU and unrack your bike onto the ground in the transition area. They’re the people who stick a finger in your face and dump a pile of verbal trash on your lap. The ones who’ll cut you off and follow your car home.

Your initial temptation may be to give them the patented Sunny Garcia head-butt (see: http://the.honoluluadvertiser.com/article/2003/Jun/26/ln/ln01a.html). There’s also the temptation to react and retaliate in kind. And every once in a while, in extremely provocative cases, there’s the very real temptation of escalating the confrontation and bringing down the hammer.

While such thoughts may filter through your mind, you should take a moment to understand that there are far better options available to you. You do not have to be a passive victim of another person’s poor behavior, but you can exercise actions better than unmitigated violence. Keep in mind these jackasses are doing it because they’re insecure, are trying to take you off their game, and are just plain idiots.

Against violations of race rules, you can always contact race officials, who are more than happy to monitor and punish infractions. Against opposing teams, for serious misbehavior, there has been precedent for communication to the opposing school and coaching staff. And of course, there’s always the simple brush-off and decision to ignore the other bastard—because, after all, it’s 1) ice cold cool, 2) the classy thing to do against fools, and 3) a rule that referees only see the retaliation (yours), but never see the initial act (theirs).

You should also remember that there’s also the classic acts of competitive ire. There’s the good, old-fashioned, home-grown, street-based trash talkin’—the kind your homeboys down the block fed you when you were young (see: http://www.10ktruth.com/the_rage/smackvstrashtalk.htm, and also reference http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1208/is_51_229/ai_n15956029).

And there’s the fundamental, eternal, reliable middle finger—believe it or not, it’s thousands of years old, even known to ancient Romans as the digitus impudicus (see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_finger, and also reference http://www.chiprowe.com/articles/legal-history-finger.html).

greeting team-mates on the race course

originally written for the USC Triathlon Newsletter 01-19-06

So often triathlon is made out to be a solitary sport. From sessions in the pool to the miles logged on the bike and run, you’ll often find yourself rising and training in long solitary hours with ne’er a sight of friend or acquaintance. Even in races, you’ll be obsessed with nothing more than yourself and the time on the clock.

However, it isn’t always that way…or at least, it doesn’t have to be. One of the benefits of collegiate triathlon is that you are part of a team, and can train and race in a team environment, with all the support and reassurance that comes with seeing allies alongside you. As much as the sport itself may be about individual times and performances, collegiate triathlon at least affords the knowledge of additional strength in numbers built upon the camaraderie and esprit de corps of you and your team-mates.

That said, there is no greater feeling than to be out on a race-course in the heat of competition and to suddenly come upon a fellow team-mate. Team spirit calls for a greeting, and perhaps a word of encouragement or comfort. But the problem is how best to do this, especially considering that challenges of reaching out in the middle of a swim, a bike ride, or a run.

Well, never fear, citizen of Troy. We have devised this list of options that you can exercise to use, complete with critical comments to consider. So next time you see fellow Trojan on the race course and wish to give a shout-out for the team, consider the following:

The Nod—this is the basic silent nod of the head, usually done in conjunction with eye contact. Also sometimes done in conjunction with The Salutation (see below). This is a universal greeting understood everywhere. It implies a cool, calm, collected demeanor, and gives the air of ice water running in your veins and supreme confidence in the team’s performance.

Be warned though: this can be confused with the Lance Armstrong Stare-Down, which is the confrontational act made famous by Lance on his 3rd Tour de France victory, when on an uphill battle against Jan Ullrich the laconic Texan looked over, waited to make eye contact with Jan, nodded, and then powered away to a demoralizing stage victory. This has been recorded as one of the supreme acts of self-confidence and contempt in sports history. Not the kind of thing you want to be caught doing against a fellow citizen of Troy, since you want to help your team-mates, not hurt them. The recommendation to avoid any confusion is to do The Nod with a smile.

The Salutation—the greeting with the greatest potential for creativity and expression, this can be either monosyllabic (as in “Yo”) or polysyllabic (as in “Yo, sucka, wassup?” or “Yo yo yo, punk-ass, wassup?”), and can encompass the full range of communication (from an erudite “My, it appears you have encountered your lactic acid threshold and need a 10-gram portion of electrolytes in liquid form” to a primal, emotional “Sucka, now’s the time you gotta punk somebody’s ass and rip off their heads and make them spit out their momma’s name!!!”). Highly recommended for its clarity, range, and flexibility.

The High-five—the physical act of team spirit that has been popularized and made universal in recent decades. It can be done in combination with The Salutation (see above) or any of the other physical actions described herein. Variations include the single-hand high-five (right or left-handed) or the double-hand (both hands for the ambidextrous). It implies supreme friendship, unity, and excitement in the heat of the moment.

However, it loses its potency with over-use (you do NOT want to high-five everything…like high-fiving your swim exit, high-fiving the beep of the ankle chip monitor as you enter the transition zone, high-fiving a successful strip-off out of the wetsuit, high-fiving a pop of the swim-cap, high-fiving a completed intake of GU gel, high-fiving a good strap-in to bike shoes, high-fiving a de-rack of the bike...all this and you’re not even out of T1 yet…). Your team-mates will get annoyed with you, and they may start to deliberately avoid your seeking, exploring, wandering hands. And you know what they say about wandering hands…

The Chest Bump—another physical act of team spirit common in the 90s, not so common now. Has the benefit of primal intimacy. Also has an air of nostalgia. As a result, it not only implies a spirit of passion shared with a team-mate so close as to be included in your family, but also implies the notion that you are all old-school Original Gangstas out to school your punk-ass competition right back into pre-school. While other forms of expression presented herein may be more refined and sophisticated, nothing carries the primordial, animal impact of a good firm chest-bump and a unison shout of “Ooooo-rahhhh!!!” and bestial barking.

Problem is that you can only do it with someone you really know, and who knows what you’re doing, otherwise that chest-bump will turn into a good push into the next row of bike racks. In addition, you can’t do it comfortably in a race—doing it in the swim or bike course requires a supreme measure of balance and skill, not just by you but also your fellow chest-beater. However, it can be done on the in the transitions and on the run.

The Fist—the most subtle physical team spirit acts, The Fist simply involves team-mates each making a fist and connecting them gently. May be combined with The Salutation or The Nod (see above). Like the nod, it implies a cool, calm, confident demeanor, but is also unmistakeable as an act of friendship and camaraderie. In addition, it has the advantage of being quick, easy, and easily do-able during a race, whether swimming, biking, running, or speeding through transition. The trick is to do it with someone who’s actually hip enough to know what you’re doing (believe it or not, some clueless geeks don’t).

The Butt Slap—ah yes, the butt slap. There’s nothing like reaching out in the midst of competition and putting your hand on a friend’s steamy hot sweaty butt. The ultimate display of love and affection, it lets your team-mate know that “Hey, I like you, I respect you, and I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

Made prevalent among other team sports like football and basketball, it declares a team bond so strong that it rises to a comfort level welcoming physical intimacy. A recent article in a certain triathlon magazine covered this in depth. However, it should be noted that it carries carries the risk of being seen as an act of foreplay and thereby potentially introducing you to the full power of U.S. sexual harassment law. In addition, some may see it as an manifestation of our society’s latent homo-erotic undertones (Brokeback Mountain style).

Having said that, we still believe that it’s a beautiful way of expressing your feelings, and we’d be happy to be slapped across the butt any day.

southern california

originally written for the USC Triathlon Newsletter 12-01-05

This is the time of year when those of us at USC can sit back in our t-shirts, boardshorts, flip-flops, and sunglasses, and call our favorite friends and relatives on the East Coast, Midwest, or Pacific Northwest, and with the biggest stupid self-serving vacuous grins say "Duuuuuuude, what is up with all the sun? It's like so not snowboarding weather." Oh yeah. Soooooooooo Cal. You gotta love it. Let the rest of the country drool. Let the rest of them whimper. Let them gnash their teeth in jealousy and rage, let them utter their lamentations of envy and despair. Let them worship the land of surf and sun, and all the blessed who inhabit this realm. Let them suffer.

Truth be told, this is really our competitive edge. Against all the competition we're likely to see from the rest of the country next season at races like Nationals, those of us in SoCal have the opportunity to take advantage of the climate and train all year round. Swim. Bike. Run. It's all possible. Just for you, you perky little obsessive-compulsive exercise rat you.

And you can do it all with the knowledge that all the other schmoes in New York, Massachusetts (tell my brother MIT sucks), Minnesota, or various other random snow-flooded locales of your choice (South Korea, Dave?) are stuck indoors sucking eggnog and getting fat. And all those holiday parties people here are slinging around? Consider it carbo-loading for that extra-long training day. All the cookies and pies and cakes? Energy bar substitutes, my friend, energy bar substitutes. Hot chocolate and cider? Recovery drinks! Fuel to the fire that is the furnace of your raw, flame-throwing, high-octane, high-tuned, high-performance aerodynamic cheetah-sleek supersonic warp-speed perpetual-motion mega-dynamic bio-nuclear body!!! All of it, just mere excuses to suck up sun and surf and 70 degree days under crystal-clear blue skies calling your name.

stamford bridge

On September 25, 1066 at the Battle of Stamford Bridge, a lone Viking warrior held the bridge at the River Derwent against the full array of the armies of the English King Harold. Bereft of shield or ally, with nothing more than armor and axe, the Viking repeatedly repulsed the Anglo-Saxon soldiers and refused to surrender the bridge. His own armies defeated, his own king destined to death later that day, his entire civilization in the British Isles crumbling to a close, the Viking stubbornly persisted against his own fate. Historians have always wondered what drove that Viking that day, alone against an army and annihilation.

Our sport is in many ways a solitary endeavor. The quiet struggle to wake up for an early morning workout, the drudgery and cacophony of juggling competing priorities around a working schedule, the personal reflections conjured within laps and miles and stride count and hours and minutes, the lonely torture of race day stretching from water to wheel to rubber sole...And with the only promise of more tomorrow, and the only memory of what happened yesterday.

It's a lot like life. Like the pile of work sitting at your desk. The endless questions and exams. The legion of papers and performance reviews. With no one else to help you, and everything resting on you. The solitary figure making a way in a wide, wide, very wide world.

The daily grind. The Sisyphean curse. So much of it is predicated on faith. Faith that things will work out. Faith that there will be some reward. Faith that you'll become stronger and that the sport becomes easier. Faith that somehow, someway, it all means something.

But what if it doesn't? What happens if that faith is broken? What happens when the performance gains don't happen? What happens if things don't get easier? What if everything you depended on simply fails? What happens then? What's left to drive you?

There is always disillusionment. Cynicism. Anger. Despair. The descent into neurosis and doubt and crisis. The usual panopoly of negative emotions and psychic burdens that haunt the loss of faith. The kinds of things that drive some to darkness and self-destruction.

But the funny thing is, beneath the storm and tide and descent into self-destruction, there's still something left to hold onto.

What happened at the bridge? What happened when all dreams were shattered, when an entire civilization disintegrated? When it was nothing more than a lonely figure against an army and all the gods, and when all faith had been left to annihilation? What drove a solitary person to continue to hold a bridge?

In the end, there's still you. There's still muscles and sinew, heart and lungs, mind and soul. There's still you, waking up every day. Through training, work, and race day. There may be nothing else, but there's still you.

And that's what gets you through the suffering. That's what gets you through the miles. That's what pulls and pushes and kicks and thrashes against the heat and cold and waves and asphalt and cramps and exhaustion and deadlines and exams and workweeks and the living of day after day after day after day after day. You. Because you can do what you do. Every day. Against everything there is against you. You.

And that's what there is to hold onto. That's what there's always left. That's what will always remain to reward faith. That's what will always drive you. You, and anything you choose to do.

attitude

Attitude. You've been beaten down so much and told so often to get rid of attitude. But the funny thing is, sometimes attitude is a good thing. It's just a question of what kind of attitude.

Part of endurance sports--and part of sports in general, is the need to develop and maintain mental skills necessary to achieve your goals. Without them, your training and your race day experience will suffer. Poor mental acuities will cause you to consistently underachieve, fail to reach target objectives, and set inferior standards. Good mental ability will allow you to fulfill potential, complete target objectives, and encourage an ambition for superior standards. The Navy SEALs have a maxim: you are capable of 4x as much physical output as you believe possible. To unlock the potential for such output, you have to engage the proper attitude.

So what is the proper attitude? Positivity. The constant belief that you can do anything you want to do--you just have to go out and do it. In your mind, there may be a struggle between a "Mr./Ms. Positive" telling you "you can", and a "Mr./Ms. Negative" telling you "you can't." Negative is going to sit your shoulder and climb on your back and become a 900-lb. bear clawing at your insides, and go from whispering all kinds of excuses for laziness, underachievement, and failure to roaring a stream of denials and impossibilities. Positive is going to tap you on the head, throw you a smile, and point you forward--and make everything a crystal clear landscape of choices and consequences and options and rewards, with the seemingly impossible and unrepentantly intimidating nothing more than illusions that dissolve like 1...2...3... Which one you listen to is up to you.

It's like the song goes: You have to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative. And don't mess with Mr. In-between.