The Men behind the Man

In one’s everlasting quest for cycling, running, and swimming (if there is such a thing) nirvana, one must consider the many aspects of these independent worlds. I race bikes and I run and I try to keep from drowning myself in the pool. I also like to think that when all of these components coalesce into one entity; ie Triathlon…well I do them at a relatively high level. Not an Eddy Merckx high level, not yet ha; hence the “relatively high”. At this very moment perhaps more of a Chris Horner level. To attain a high level many things must fall into place. Let’s face it; triathlon is an industry of products. I don’t care how many watts you push, you are not going to win against the big boys on a Vintage 1985 Huffy ten speed and a Dave Mirra BMX helmet. Unless we are talking about the Team 7-11 Huffy, but everyone in the know knows these rigs were actually a “re-badged” Serotta. Built up in Saratoga, NY by the big man himself; Ben Serotta. Bottom line is: “You got’s to have sponsors boy!”. First off I need to thank my new team USProTri, and proprietor Ryan Bates. Thanks for bringing me on board this season. Ryan has totally mainlined us to some of the best gear out there. I love the Jamis TT rig and the Xenith SL; holy smokes, for those of you who can’t afford a BMW M3, start training and hop on a Xenith SL, it’s the next best thing. I can’t wait to race for the boys this season. http://www.usprotri.com/ Next I would like to roll out the thank you train for Paul and Mark at Precision Bicycles in West Winfield, NY. The shop is a magic portal to cycling goodness. A real live old school bikeshop; the best aspect is, they don’t sell Trek! (I mean no disrespect to my buddies here in town who are a Trek dealer). Paul is wonderful mix of bike guru and motorhead mayhem. A gravel voiced former mechanic and machinist by trade now he immerses himself understanding the world of cycling, this bodes extremely for everyone who visit’s the Precision. Paul has been instrumental in getting the fledgling Hartwick Cycling/Tri team up and running, If we need it Precision seems to have it. Carbon up the wazoo or killer nos vintage ritchey parts for that “steel is real” roadie. The shop possesses everything a first-rate bike shop needs from 8 different road cassette options hanging on the wall to at least 30 various length stems, 20 headsets 1” included, to demo saddles; the shop even has a set of Vittoria Tubby’s hanging on the wall. That my friends…is gospel. http://precision-bicycle.com/ Also, I must give super props to Marty and Dean at Fitwerx2. Recently I schlepped my new Jamis TT from Oneonta, NY to Peabody, MA for a bike fit. For those of you who don’t know Dean Phillips; besides biggest sandbagger out there (he TT’s at 50kph even when he is “not fit”), he is a Fort Knox wealth of knowledge. Although we worked for a minimum of 2 hours to get the most out of my 145lbs 6’ frame, within ten minutes he had me 100% more comfortable and significantly more slippery through the air then I have ever been on a bike. Often during my fitting I was left wondering, “…am I special or is he this meticulous and brilliant with everyone”? Unfortunately I’m not special (well…maybe to my wife and mom) Dean is one of those gifted people who is very excellent at what he does. Take Forest Whittaker’s character in Jarmusch’s Ghost Dog; the Way of the Samurai for example. Methodical and meticulous. He is also the foremost authority on how to race properly while maintaining a healthy relationship with your wife and three boys. Like I said “he’s the man”! http://www.fitwerx.com/ I can’t exclude my man Chris Tomaselli. That’s code for crazy guy whose too young to have his shock of white hair, who goes really fast on ski’s, not so fast uphill on bikes, makes a killer spaghetti sauce, and has almost as twisted sense of humor as myself. I love him. One more…for now. This one goes out to Janda Ricci Munn, the 2nd biggest sandbagger I know. He also happens to be the guy with the less than desirer able jobs of coaching my skinny ass. Janda’s knowledge of the sport of cycling and triathlon is vast. As most of you know; I am a coach myself therefore it is imperative that I be difficult to coach. Janda has certainly been there. Check out www.jandariccimunn.com/. Over and out… Cheers, Tread

Snowshoe racing is fun!

Snowshoe racing is fun! OK, so snowshoe racing may be one of the most difficult racing disciplines I have undertaken but very…very fun. Fun because one is blazing along in the crisp winter air throwing up an albino rooster tail of fine powder and screaming down a 40 percent grade with a 90 degree turn at the bottom, all the time convincing yourself, “you’re on snow, it won’t hurt when you fall”! Ah…a moment of pure blissful disillusionment. Like being a 3 year old again, before you recognized the equation; fall = damage. In truth; the whole race course is your older waiting to whitewash you when you let your guard down to see if the School bus is coming. Difficult because well…when your running through snow it’s hard, and when you step there’s no guarantee that your foot will be where intuition lays it. Terra firma my ass, running over a parfait is more like it. At times I like to drift into a world where I’m running through the silky white sand beaches of the Caribbean. Often the Pixes lyrics on autoplayback in my brain, “I was swimming in the Caribbean…with your feet in the air and your head on the ground. Try this trick, and spin it. But your head will collapse but there’s nothing in it- and you’ll ask yourself; Where is my mind”. Check your head at the door folks, we are doing a snowshoe race. Where you run as hard as you can and 85% of your energy is dissipated horizontally and vertically as thousands of little snowflakes (no two exactly alike I must add) play the steamroller game over each other. Last weekend I did my third snowshoe race. The Empire State Games Championships 5k in Lake Placid. I didn’t fall once. I ran hard, hard enough that my stomach was shambled for the rest of the afternoon and I had a smile on my face well into the evening.

Chicken in the bathroom

OK, it’s 4:00 am and the moon reflects off the snow as you trudge to the bathroom to relieve yourself. The legs that rolled through a steady 15 miler coiling and uncoiling with almost effortless-unconsciousness just hours before now threaten to teeter and tumble at the slightest disturbance. My equilibrium has always had a way of taking a hike at the times when my body is rather disgruntled at being awake. Then again it could be that my first step is usually on the jumbo-size dog bed and/or slumbering 170 lbs dog that sleeps next to the bed. Yes, next to the bed. He slept sleep on the bed with Elizabeth and me until it was discovered that I was unable to keep from rolling into the crater in the middle of the bed, for which he is responsible. Picture a 170 lbs bowling ball lying in the middle of the bed for 8-10 hours a day. Bottom line is...Charlie's a mattress killer! Perhaps we should get a sleep number bed. -It is when I get to the bathroom and right before I turn on the light that I am reminded of the chicken living in our bathroom. Chicken's have this wonderful way of cooing as they sleep. First they slowly breathe in, and then as they breathe out they produce a gentle fairytale soothing coo. It’s lovely. Acorn II is a miniature; a chicken of the feather-footed Bantam variety. He stands about 8 inches at the comb and is a prefect little feather-footed rooster complete with his miniature cock-a-doodle-do. The females produce there own miniature eggs. My wife loves Bantam’s because, “they are the sweetest and make the best mothers, and the roosters all get along.” …there so you know the criteria by which we choose our chickens; hardly substance farming. It is easy in winter to feel that you are the only organism that feels cold, especially when you are out on a 3 hour training ride in 6 layers and a frosty beard and the deer (we have astounding numbers of deer in Oneonta) don’t even own a sweater. How do they get by without wool? -As it turns out Acorn II (I actually call him Egg) got in an altercation with some of his normally friendly neighbors, got pecked at, and at some point must have run through his water dish. The result was severely frostbitten little feathered feet. The end product being a high class all expenses stay upstairs penthouse bathroom. He spent his first night in the shower and has subsequently been given run of the bathroom. He has become quite a little fixture in our room of rest. One now always has someone to talk to when you are doing your business; Charlie has someone to sniff every morning, and the cats (two of them former barn cats) have something to watch during the long winter days. We are hoping that within the next couple of weeks Acorn II can return to general population. Until them as I move from the porcelain throne to put on my cycling bib’s it’s, “Good morning Egg….uh…Acorn III”

Gotta love up-state New York

Oneonta New York …truth be told I love it here. I love it here even when outside the temperature is 4 and the windchill is -12. Even when the boogers freeze to the inside of your nostrils and you can actually, with pinpoint accuracy sense precisely where your mitten ends and your jacket cuff begins. This line so finite and thus definite that one may feel as though they are passing their arm through 1mm thick viscous ice wall, or a 1mm thick wall of lava. It’s that cold…you can’t even tell the difference. Ah, but the sun is bright and the snow porcelain white. One is left with the feeling that everything including the rocks are sleeping, dead, or cryogenically suspended. Your footsteps thump a rhythm and the snow exudes the acoustics of Styrofoam. This is solitude.