What about me?

Well, what about it?

Hmm, there’s been a constant stream of traffic onto this blog since the Scott, obviously waiting for a diabtribe.  But, I really don’t know where to start with this report.  In any case, I should reward my fan for their patience.

But I guess the main thing is that I want to shine the spotlight on two other performances over the weekend at the Scott 24 that far outweighed my own in terms of achievement and tenacity.  I suppose coming within 40s of picking off 3^rd outright after never really being in the hunt makes my result obviously fairly decent, but it still doesn’t fill me with the same level of excitement as the others:

Eddie Baby (Don McEdald for those who don’t know him) took out his first ever solo 24, finally pipping the previously impervious Jason English after the umpteenth time and earning himself some green and gold stripes.

Dugie, my older brother, in his first ever (and quite probably only ever) solo 24 stormed through 370km, doing 30 laps to take 7^th outright and 2^nd in his age category.  I told him pre race I thought he could out this result but man did he ever exceed my expectations.

So Eddie finally got his stripes

With some fast boys. Photo courtesy Sportograf

I was inspired to have a crack at solo 24s after the 2012 edition, which was a horrible muddy affair, where the night was miserable and some team mates piked.  I thought it was incredible that some guys could ride through the night and still rip off spectacular lap times that most of us punters couldn’t come near, despite having only done a handful ourselves. It was around this time I heard about this ‘Jason English’ guy, who happened to be the brother of one of our pastors at church.  Many times Aussie solo 24 hour and also many times world 24 solo champ to boot.  Basically inhuman, so obviously my first solo racing hero.

I can’t remember when I first heard of Ed, but it would have been some time in early 2013.  The main reason I suspect was because he was the only person who could get close to Jason.  In fact Ed won the first ever mountain bike race I competed in on my own – the AMB 100 miler at Stromlo in Feb 2013, beating Jason.  This was my first foray in racing, so I started with the hardest thing I could find, survived, and the rest is history carved in a soap cake for longevity.

Then, at the Easter solos I’d obviously figured out who Ed was.  I would still say that I was cheering for Jason, but I found it pretty exciting to see Ed taking it to him that race.  I think I would have been lapped a dozen times (actually, checking the official results suggests it was only 9 times) and it was cool to be able to cheer on the race leaders – or even more amazingly have them encourage me too.  What a world we live in where elite riders will deign to speak to mere mortals and gumbies to boot.

With heroes like these

I think I probably knew ‘about’ Ed, as much as anything from working with Tricky, who’d roped my into MTBing and knew a few of the cool kids around school. So, somehow or other, during the course of 2013 Ed’s presence as a favourite for WEMBO obviously did enter my mind and I was keen to see if he could take it to Jason. When the race unfolded and Ed took off for 8hrs then went home to bed before coming back for a little play Sunday morning I was subsequently disappointed when I heard the story of his illness and how it out the kybosh on any plans for World Domination.

I look like a gumby with my tongue out. Captured badly by David Blucher.

Ed looks… well. Just captured by David Blucher

Jason looks cool and having a blast. Captured well by David Blucher.

By the summer of 2014 we had managed to form some sort of acquaintance, even to the point where Cal Mac and I raced the Duo Classic together and Ed fed his hand to his front wheel in the start line before chasing us down and generally having a great time.

Through 2014 and 2015 with my loitering around 7hr events plus doing a couple more 24s I got the chance to stand a bit closer to the pedestal and it was all very exciting really.

Probably the most interesting moment was when I actually got 2nd at the 2014 JB 24 at Mt Annan, which served as the Nationals that year.  Ed had some issues in the race and didn’t quite make it through the whole thing and I remembered being more disappointed by that than I was excited for my own race result.

Similarly at last years Scott Ed stormed back to grab 2nd from a badly honking Tobias which showed just how much grit he had – and given it was less than a week after WEMBO in Weaverville in the States, were were left wondering just was it possible to beat Jason. I’d picked Tobias to do it actually, but it turned out I was wrong.

At WEMBO earlier this year at Rotorua the seemingly ever present pre-24 illness reared its head again and since outright Elite aspirations were out the window it was back the glory days on the SS.  Also, since Brett had falling victim to a skippy it was a fitting tribute as well.

Which brings us to around about now. On the facetubes I’d make the claim that 1st and 2nd in the blokes were done all bar the shouting and it was down to Jason and Ed with the rest being anyone’s guess.  My assertion it wasn’t going to be much of a race was also a sly poke of the bear to see if Jess Douglas would take it (the comment) seriously, but I didn’t get much of a bite.

Leading into the race Jason had been having a hair racing adventure in India while Ed was just ticking along and staying off Strava. What would prove to be the ideal lead-in to a massive race? Would Jason’s legendary training and time at altitude help or hinder?

Best pit crew evar! (Gonna claim it cause it wasn’t even me)

Doug had actually pitted for Ed his last 2 times out, at the Scott and WEMBO. Ed had actually said that the 2015 Scott was actually the best he’d ever eaten at a 24 and it obviously showed by his consistency into the morning. He’d been similarly consistent at WEMBO too, but just not as strong as the mad Pom on the day.

What with Doug racing and all it was back to Ed roping on his mates again, which was helpful as their mad Skillz were put to use on mine and Dugies bikes as well.

Some mad pit crewing. Captured with Ben English

Got me new specs ready to go. Photo by Ben English again.

So, some racing or something.

The beauty of a solos only start to a 24 is that no one at all on the start line has anything significant to be gained from first lap shenanigans, besides a bit of sledging on the crit track and up the first fire road climb.

I don’t know if Ed or Brett was referred to as ‘Contador’, but it was funny either way.

The first lap was pretty sedate really. I’d asked Ed if he was going to go for the stupid attack to try and put Jason under pressure early, but with no Tobias or Canadian lumberjacks (who are OK and have no obvious cross dressing predeliction) it seemed neither was going to go out hard.

Some mud.

The mud was worse than it looks in these photos!

I was being deliberately cautious myself.  After some hard days on the SS due to the wet and then finally getting to the HoP my hammies were tight as anything and I fully expected an early and spectacular implosion. While making sure I didn’t plod along getting bored I deliberately made sure to NOT try and bridge the 10-15m gap to Ed and Jason on the climb.  I was pretty happy with the pace in that it was reasonably high but not going crazy into the red zone, so pretty enjoyable.

When the gap formed it was just me with Maxie and Chris.  Jason and Ed looked to be having a friendly chat but the 3 of us weren’t very talkative.  I didn’t really have clue as to what to say actually, which was the main reason for not chatting. I did tell Max to not attack but had to ask Chris who he was.  Being from Darwin meant I hadn’t seen him around and I hadn’t paid enough notice to last years results to know he was a serious competitor in the long run.  The chat didn’t get much of a chance to continue though, as I had some issues with my rear tyre coming down the end of skyline into luge.  I realised I didn’t even have a CO2 nozzle and therefore wasn’t going to get any air into the thing.  Since it turned out to be a dodgy valve that wasn’t sealing properly I was able to limp it back in behind the Bellchambers group.  I had a giggle coming down Breakout when Brett finally had to let those with gears and a fork through and stop holding them up.  Luckily I only lost a few minutes.

Be quiet and just find the zone.  Photo courtesy Sportograf

So, I was now a bit out of sync with the guys I was probably racing against, but I figured it wasn’t worth trying to get that time back, at least not in the short term.  As per usual pre race when asked how I felt I replied that it didn’t matter.  I knew my back was going to cause problems but I wanted to hold off the drugs as much as possible. So thus began the process of ticking off laps, eating and drinking, waiting until dinner time and to be lapped by the leaders.  I was secretly wondering who I would see first:  Dugie or Ed/Jason.  I was thinking Dugie at about 4hrs or so…

Just thinking random thoughts.  Photo courtesy Sportograf

I first got lapped by Ed at 9:30 or so in the evening.  This was in fact a record hold off from the leaders for me.  Last year it’d taken only till about 7-7:30.  Ed was on his lonesome and I was at first surprised he was out in front.  But then after some excitement and encouragement I was told Jason was ‘not far behind’.  Ed got me on the climb and I expected to see Jason not long after, but I rolled into transition, then had to faff around with my lights a bit and assumed I missed the lapping, as I never saw him at all.

The morning zone. Photo Sportograf

Meanwhile: Dugie is a machine

In my WEMBO write up I used Doug as an example of someone who could smash out a solo 24 race, even without specific training for it or anything else.  This would be achievable mainly through ticker and having some legs (you’ve got to have at least some).  I dunno when Dugie decided he was going to enter the Scott.  After having him in my pit for my first ever solo and a couple of times since, plus as I mentioned earlier he went over to Rotorua to pit for Ed earlier this year, so he obviously had some idea of the kind of pain he was probably going to be in for.  I was kinda surprised he intended to enter, as I specifically didn’t challenge him to do a 24 in my write up.  But anyway maybe he still saw it as one as I’d used him as a specific example.

When I saw Dugie in the pits he didn’t seem this excited.  Photo Jason Archer

He was definitely nervous.  While you can say it’s probably harder to be in the pits, I’m not entirely convinced, as much as I value the great efforts, particularly of Sonja in the my last few races. But in the end I barely saw him all race.  While I’d expected I might see him around the 4 hour mark, but as time ticked on it seemed I had greatly underestimated him.  When I lapped Brett Bellchambers for the first time he said Dugie was up in front smashing it out.  I was pretty stoked but surprised at the same time.  Apparently I did pass him on track but don’t remember it.  He claimed I said he was doing awesome and some other random and generic words of encouragement.  I asked him at the end if I actually used his name.  He didn’t think I did so I said it was likely I was doling out generic encouragement – even though I was looking out for him.  A bit of lap analysis and strava flybying showed that I passed him in the pits when he had his flat at about 8am, so we pretty much kept the same schedule all race.

The only time I saw him that I remembered was at around 4am when he was in the pits have a quick break when I came in.  It appeared he wasn’t enjoying Slant 6 much.  I would agree that that trail was the one that was holding up the worst due to the growing mud, but it was hilarious to catch his loud outburst about its condition, apparently aimed at Kris Nicholls and hopeful we’d get a complete firetrail bypass.  I actually wanted the 6+6 riders to have to endure it in the morning.

With the beast before kickoff.  Just doing stuff.  Photo courtesy Coops.

So, he clocked up a 370 odd km in his first ever solo race.  He said afterwards he never felt like quitting, never had any deep struggles.  I had warned him beforehand that wanting to quit was a pretty normal feeling.  I myself desperately wanted to stop and go to sleep at about midnight.  Both Ed and I were rightly chuffed and immensely proud of his achievement.  I think the numpty doesn’t quite realise how amazing his effort was his first time out.  I only got a couple more laps in than him, and I’m something of an old hand at this game now.  I suspect that the complete lack of expectation really did help him out.  If he put any pressure on himself he may have found it different, but freedom is great.

Back to Eddie smashing it out off the front

The next time I saw Ed was about 2:30 in the morning.  He was on his own again and still smashing it.  Still in the zone.  Still.  I had last seen Chris at midnight as he easily rode away from me after recovering from his flats, while I was just feeling flat as a tack. I was surprised to have survived that long without a major back explosion or similar disaster, but had starting sucking down as many caffeinated things as I could procure as well as some bbq sausage sangas.

Climbing with Kev.

Bombing with Maxie

Luge with Donkey

Every subsequent lap I came through transition I was still in disbelief and unsure if I’d just missed it.  My own pits weren’t the smoothest, but as usual Sonja was doing a better job of organising me than I was of being organised.  Doug has said that Ed is much easier to pit for, because he just does whatever he’s told whereas I’m fussy and picky and generally a pain.

Eventually Jase rolled onto my wheel at around 5:30.  The strangest thing at this point was that he wasn’t racing to go past me, which I had sort of assumed he would’ve at that stage.  This was the first 24 since I’ve been involved (and really in 25 races) where Jason was not only not leading going into the last quarter, but was also down a significant margin.  At WEMBO at Rotorua earlier this year Jason and Cory Wallace fought hammer and tongs together until the very end.  This time around Ed was putting time into Jason with dare I say it, a Jasonesque performance.  Last year at the Scott, having been force fed by my brother Doug who was pitting for him, Ed had one of his best race finishes ever, reeling off quick lap after quick lap throughout the morning to eventually jump Tobias (who we  – or at least I – thought would be the one to take Jasons mantle) for a fantastic 2^nd.

I looked so cool for 3s in the morning Ed even included this on his blog. Photo courtesy Sportograf

Jason was actually surprised it was such a long time since I’d seen Ed.  It was in fact so far in the past that I couldn’t actually remember exactly when it was.  The night laps of a solo 24 are always something or a blur but I did know it was longer than I had expected, but I was cheering for Eddie so hard I was pretty stoked and excited by it all the same.

Jason and I chatted about how our respective races were going. Jase was lamenting his lack of top end, having seemingly burned it all away in India – a place you apparently don’t visit for the bike riding, but just for the experience in general.  The Himalaya challenge was about as loose and crazy and dangerous as anything you’d just want to survive.  I suspect it was type 2 (or maybe just 1.5) fun a lot of the time.  I had the obvious complaint that I couldn’t actually push and just had to spin.  Saving the legs for the sake of the back basically.  Both of us were thinking of mere survival to the end, though I did ask Jason if he was planning on ripping it up in the morning as per usual. He was planning on trying but didn’t seem too hopeful.  In fact he seemed even more pessimistic than last years Scott or a WEMBO, when we had conversations where he claimed to be suffering and getting smacked up by whoever, or just being tired – but still ended up pulling a win out of the bag.

So much for staying consistent

One thing about being lapped by the leaders, is the optimism that this will subsequently happen at the same intervals later in the race.  So it was 9:30pm for the first, then 2:30am for the second.  The third was around the 7-8am mark or something and then the final time was at about 11:30. As per usual the race leader was firing on all cylinders and keep lap times both low and consistent.  Despite the obvious disappointment that I was getting lapped subsequently quicker each time, my excitement was growing and my cheering  more manic.  I still had a voice, but not quite enough to get the high enough pitch for a “yeow” when he went past the 2^nd last time.

Ed rocking the impressive lap times all night

The final time I saw Ed was up Red Rock lookout, just near the big rocky A line I can’t ride and usually fall off on.  I only saw about 4 6+6 riders (all of whom are properly elite) take that line while the rest of us strugglers went around the long way around.  To be fair it’s not a huge saving in time versus the effort involved, compared to a few of the other lines on the climb.  Ed was with Seb Dunne this time around, enjoying a lap that would put him in the unassailable lead.  I was feeling a little bit more smashed at this time, as I’d just had a little bit of a go the lap before and was not taking it completely easy this time around – all to ensure I got my last lap (number 33) in.  I managed to hang onto them for most of the descent before they took off up the last fire road climb.  Since I was going out again, Ed was planning on waiting in the pits for me to arrive, then the 3 of us would venture off for one last glory lap.

Not   what I was planning at all

After 23 hours and 50 minutes my plans took a nasty turn and I got a very rude shock.  After not pushing a pedal in anger for pretty much the entire race (I’d been thinking up Strava ride titles to this effect as a mental exercise throughout the race) for the finale I had to push a little bit more.  In fact a lot more than I was comfortable with, but that’s the way it goes.  Rolling into to grab my bottle for the last lap I got the confusing, factually incorrect and potentially misleading advice/race update:

“You’re in 3^rd”

What?

You must have passed him that lap, we haven’t seen him come through yet….

Now, I was pretty sure I might have noticed Chris if I’d caught him up.  Not that I could actually remember his kit, but it probably would’ve come up in conversation. I suspect I’d have asked him how his race was going and then by process of deduction we would have figured out we were racing against each other for outright honours and sheep stations and then panic stations would have set in.

Still, I reasoned thusly, that if I had indeed just passed Chris he wouldn’t be far behind.  Certainly about as close as a flat tyre or just a slow lap to put him back into 3^rd.  So, with no better information available at that time (since Sonja hadn’t been following the timing much as I wasn’t ‘racing’ per se) I had to make do with what I had.  Looking at the graph below you can see the gap had blown out to about 26 minutes at 9:30 in the morning.  Certainly to the point where any sense of urgency or even really excitement had seeped away.

The gap to Chris throughout the race.  Was never really racing for it

With the fire abruptly lit I ended up blasting past Ed in the pits, then saw Jason waiting at the top of the fenceline fire trail with his dad while debating finishing one last lap.  He was obviously waiting to see if Ed went out again or something and in the end finished up without going up the hill one more time since he didn’t need to.  I didn’t have time for pleasantries and by the time I hit the base of Cockatoo switchbacks and started boating the river Ed was only just in view near the playground and that was the last I got to see of him.  I actually thought he wasn’t going to finish the last lap, but since he was on, he finished like a boss. He cracked the 450ks and even broke his Strava blockout too for such an awesome ride.  Sonja had warned him that he might want to get a little head start out of the pits and then let me catch him up, but I don’t think either of us had any idea of the flogging I was about to endure and that Ed wasn’t going to want to have to try and make up the gap!

In the end I nearly caught Chris and crossed the line all of 37s after him.  But in the aftermath I wasn’t disappointed or upset or anything like that at all.  Frankly when I’d last seen him at midnight I was pretty sure he deserved 3^rd as he was smashing it while I was in 2620 (a joke that only Canberrans will understand and some from nearby might feel offended by).  That it came down to such a close margin after a day of racing is pretty crazy.  I wonder how it would’ve been if I’d actually caught him up and we had to sprint for the finish.  It could’ve been interesting, according to one of my other mates who used to ride with him in Darwin he used to do road bunches on his mountain bike and outsprint him.

About time too

Onya boys post race.  Ed has a muddy face and I have pizza on mine.  Photo courtesy Mick Haines

Post race Ed said the result hadn’t sunk in. I’m not surprised. This was actually the first 24 he’s won outright.  Every single other solo 24 he’s entered in he’s finished behind a certain Mr English.  The reality of finally climbing the mountain is definitely likely to be surreal.

Managed to pip a couple of single speeders in my own category too.  Photo courtesy Sportograf

I was pretty excited to get to share the podium with the boys. Ed was even wearing my Onya hat too!

Only one thing now remains and that’s to get himself some proper custom Aussie champ Onya kit and maybe rock it at WEMBO at Finale Ligure in 2017. The bugger better not retire just yet either. I’m not fast enough to deserve outright stripes.

 

Official results 

Strava

 

 

The anatomy of elite sports stars – the difference between winning & losing

Or, why Nick Kygrios is a bit of a dropkick. Don’t worry, I’m not really picking on him.

This bizarre line of discussion somehow popped up over morning tea yesterday at church between myself and a couple of mates while considering why Stuey O’grady seemed to have largely ignored by a bunch of cyclists at a Sydney Criterium event, where he had a stand. I think our reasoning was something along the lines of ‘public perception that he might have been the only Aussie to have gotten caught up in the doping going in professional road cycling in the 90s’. Yeah, because that’s likely, Aussies would NEVER do anything like that, even if everyone else is, we’re all top blokes who would never give in to peer pressure in the pressure cooker environment of pro sport…. I’d put in a rolling eyes emoticon here, except that I don’t like them.

So anyway, this ramble will consider the difference between winning and losing and more importantly (I feel) how it impacts athletes and their (or just generally) fans.

The difference between winning & losing

Firstly, there is a significant difference between winning and not winning. Now obviously in many sporting events there can be a close margin, with photo finishes and the like to determine a winner – like the blue ribbon Olympic race, the 100m on the athletics track, whereas in other events the loser can cop an actual beating at the hands of the winner – I prefer MMA over boxing for this type of example. But no matter how it is decided, there can only be one winner, no matter how many losers also got to take part. And being the winner sets you apart.

If you win, you are the best. Period. Sure there is a reasonable argument to be made about levels of competition, who actually turned up to the race, who was injured, what may have happened to the favourites earlier on and so on ad nauseum; but the fact remains, for that moment in time you were number 1. It’s a different feeling knowing you’ve beaten everyone, rather than like everybody else, you were beaten.

And a winner typically will progress up through a given sports pyramidic structure. If they can continue to win then hello elite level competition. It’s very congested below the top and the further up the line you go the harder it is to crack through. Call it depth if you will. The amount of depth in any given sport will typically determine two things:

1. How much practice/training/support/skill/sponsorship will be required to cut it at the very pointy end
2. How much reward (usually measureable in financial terms) for cracking the big time and then being successful

Now is when you start to see the gulf between winning & losing. Winners can make an absolute truckload of cash, while the also-rans in the same sporting arena make 2/5 of bugger. Take Pink Floyd whatchamacallit (the boxer), he pocketed some hundreds of millions of dollars for his recent and Manny the manly man. The guys on the undercard for that fight probably could barely afford their dental work after the fight. And such can be the difference between winning & not winning.

What it takes to win

Now, I have already mentioned briefly the bleeding obvious, that the higher up you progress in a sport, the harder it gets to be competitive and the harder it is to win. But irrespective of the level of competition you’re involved in, there is one key element to winning.

Doing that little bit more.

You have to be faster, you have to be stronger, you have to be more technically correct, you have to be tougher. Whatever it is that is the defining characteristic of your sport, to win requires you to perform at a level over and above what your competitors can achieve or produce.

You might also have to suffer more.

<Digression> My wife reminded me recently that I’m not really a “rugby player who rides bikes a lot” anymore, since I haven’t set foot on a field even to referee in the past season. So, since I’m more of a cyclist than anything else going at the moment, I will utilise the following cycling specific example of suffering to articulate my point in a sportingly generic ramble. </Digression intro>

The Tour de France has just wrapped up. It’s arguably the toughest race of any kind out there, due to its competitiveness and extreme nature. Held over 3 weeks, with 21 days of racing and 2 days off for the most sought after jersey in professional cycling. Clocking up about 2,500km in the process, at an average speed of over 40km/h. Apparently it’s the most popular yearly sporting event in the world, with millions (yes, that’s right millions) of fans ling the roadside to cheer on their heroes.

And because it’s cycling it has a uniqueness of its own – in that anyone can experience the terrain being raced over. Particularly this means any cyclist can take out their bike (which may even well be lighter than what the pros are allowed to race on) and ride up the same epic hills as seen on tv, albeit at a much lower speed and without aforementioned rabid fans cheering them on to greater heights of physical achievement. It’d be liking being able to have a pick up football (soccer) match with your mates at Wembley.

Being able to experience a steep climb that lasts over an hour and grovelling to the summit – all without having even made the slightest attempt to “ride fast” is a humbling experience as well as an exhilarating one. I myself have this itch (probably disease related in all honesty) to go to Italy and ride up (and possibly Everest) Monte Zoncolan, the Mortirolo and other insane climbs – 15km at 15% sounds like a worthwhile challenge. But, here’s the thing – I can do this at my own pace, without racing against anyone, not even myself. The only battle will be to simply survive to the top (and maybe do it again because, well, idiots will be stupid) and then enjoy the views and savour the feeling of mere achievement.

Now, to win a bike race to the top of one of these hills requires one thing more than powerful legs and a good team to help pace you. When the sheep are sorted from the goats, the winners from the losers, the key differentiator will be:

Who was willing to suffer the most.

It gets complicated in a bike race with teams and team mates, because some riders can have a great day one day – win a stage and all that – and the next be completely rubbish and shelled out the back of the group to crawl along at the rear of the race, completely out of contention. Some guys (who are racing for the overall best time) have to be near the front every day. But it comes down to the same thing on any given day for these guys – to win the day (or the whole thing) they must suffer immensely to take home the prize. If you’ve ever watched the tour or other big bike race on tv you may have noticed that instead of the big bunch you see on a flat stage, the groups on days in the big mountains get very small, often riders end up out doing their own thing entirely. But if you see the looks on the riders faces you’ll note they don’t look overly happy. Some guys have naturally smiley faces and most riders will have sunnies on hiding their eyes but this is all deception. They are pushing themselves to breaking point and to utter exhaustion.

I actually think it’s more helpful to see them after they cross the line – they typically collapse, spent and unable to process what’s happening around them. Assistants from their teams will give them a shoulder to lean on as they get to wherever they need to go – usually a massage, feed and lie down.

A similar thing can be said for many other sporting environs – at the end of intense competition you are faced with an emotional and physical vacuum. You have just put all of your efforts and energies into competing, and then you have to deal with the aftermath, much of which is simply recovering from what you’ve just been through. By the same token, you might not have won because you simply couldn’t push yourself to suffer enough, either in training or on game day.

What happens when you win?

But.

If you win, there is a whole level over the top which is layered on following your efforts. Glory, adulation, adoration, a fat cheque, press interviews, sponsors knocking at your doors. In short, you’re noticed. Your name will go down in the history books, your performance may forever etched in folklore if it’s good enough or the battle was epic enough. Sometimes losers may be remembered after a grand battle, but more often than not they’re immediately forgotten, cast aside and discarded like an empty gel wrapper and treated without as much reverence. Once the presentations are over an immediate interviews are conducted, only the winner’s name will continue on. It will be their photograph that goes on the back page of the newspaper, or the main spot on the website.

If you continue winning, your name will become more and more well known. You might transcend your sport and enter the general consciousness of the public. You may bring new fans to the sport (like Conor McGregor bringing MMA to the Irish) who would otherwise have no interest. All of this is contingent on you continuing to win and the elite can have an enormous impact on the following of their sports. Win enough and you create a legacy.

I’m going to hop off the current train of thought for just a moment. It’s rolling down the tracks slowly enough that I can rang and catch but up than hop back in without losing my place. I just want to consider the word legacy for just a moment just to hammer home what and who we remember about sports with a bit of name dropping: Don Bradman, Babe Ruth, Michael Jordan, Muhammad Ali, Tiger Woods, Michael Schumacher, Usain Bolt, Lance Armstrong, Roger Federer. Irrespective of their off field behaviours and reputations, these people are well known by people who have no general interest in their sports because of one thing: they won, a lot. Usually more or by a bigger margin than anyone else.

Is winning really worth it?

Being a winner, getting paid and getting noticed do come with significant costs. Being noticed means that people will follow YOU, and not just on the sporting field. A few of the names I just mentioned have gone through substantial off field dramas and in some cases on field as well. Some legacies are ‘tarnished’ by these things, while some issues are swept under the carpet. But the thing is:

Would anyone (ie, test case me) give a stuff about any of these non-sport things if they didn’t win and thus enter the public consciousness?

I think the answer would be know. I wouldn’t even hear about it. I read the sports pages, mainly for the sports news. But they’re still filled with dramatic stories about this that and the other famous sporting personality being caught up in some drama – mainly because it will sell because enough people are interested in that kind of thing. So therefore I’ll hear about lots of stuff. So, I know that Schuey hurt himself skiing, I know that Tiger had a few girls on the side, that Babe liked to sample beverages, Lance was an outright naughty boy and blah blah.

Now this is the scrutiny that goes on at the very top, but it seems to extend further down into the ‘elite’ categories of sports. A footballer getting drunk on the weekend is likely to end up in the news that week, but will obviously be forgotten shortly after by most of the public. But, while I think the private lives of sports stars should be largely ignored, I’ll leave that for another excessively long ramble on another day. I want to focus on what ‘winning’ does to an athlete.

You don’t change who you are when you start winning. It sounds like a pretty obvious thing and could possibly be debated in some circumstances, but I think in general it’s fairly true. Who we are, how we prepare, how we think, how sporting (ie sportsmanship) we behave, how much we like to party, all of these things will be generally fairly well established by the time we are noticed by Joe Public because we won a big enough event.

One thing that will change will be expectations of performance and results. This goes for both the athlete and the public and both are relevant, indeed central to the entire premise of this extended dribble (yay, you’ve nearly reached the point!). Once an athlete gets a taste of winning they experience a huge swing between how they feel (and how they’re treated) after winning…or after not. One interesting way this manifests itself is non-participation when not at top form and/or (often therefore) don’t have a chance to win.

By definition a professional athlete is at one basic level competing to earn money. If prizes are dolled out primarily to those who win (and loses are left with the 2/5 bugger all previously mentioned) then there is often little incentive to enter a lower level competition you won’t lose, when you could just train for the bigger even a little later on. This is obviously about prioritisation. If you’re Usain Bolt and want to win the Olympics, you’re not going to be trying to set records at the trials. Duh.

But by the same token, participating and not winning can still be seen as an abject failure, particularly by Joe Public who hasn’t thought about when someone might be peaking, but merely mocks said athlete after consuming the headline ‘star athlete beaten at poxy side event’ or something similar. Unless we’re actually a true fan, with some inkling of how sport works in the overall scheme of things, we tend to expect stars to always perform. Always. At the very top of their game. Nevermind this is an off season holiday and exhibition match. Damn it.

I’m not saying the pressure to perform is a bad thing. Elite athletes “earn” pressure. It’s a sign of recognition that they are at the top, that there is expectation, but this can only be only reasonably applied so far. Where I think it steps over the line (and now we actually get to the point of my argument) is that we expect athletes to be “in the zone” all the time.

“The zone” is a concept that I can’t really explain adequately. However, since you’ve already committed an age to get this far down the page I might as well reward you with an attempt though. “The zone” is that place where you forget about the suffering and are able to enjoy the fruits of your training and just feel the awesomeness of your performance. In “the zone” there is immense mental freedom, and hopefully some temporary physical freedom too. Some examples from a variety of sports where you might hit “the zone”:

• A golfer lining up a crucial, tournament winning, long putt. Feels relaxed and just nails it perfectly – both aim and pace. Sinks the putt, gets the jacket.
• A rugby player who has broken through the line, beaten the last line of defence and sprints away from the opposing winger with jet shoes to score a try
• A racing driver who feels like the car is on rails
• A basketballer who hits any shot from anywhere on the court and moves around the defence like they’ve got concrete shoes on
• Endurance mountain biker, on their last lap, on the last descent, soaking up the corners knowing umpteen hours of pain and effort is about to come to an end – because I can see it, just there!

What happens if you’re not winning?

But anyone who has been to “the zone” knows you can’t live there. It’s like a holiday destination. Everything is awesome for a time, but you know you’re gonna have to leave sometime, and that time is not so far away. You might think ‘there are people who live there’, but in reality they’re seasonal holiday workers who aren’t having a whole lot of fun, so don’t try push the allusion too far. You can also try and reproduce the “holiday at home” thing, but it’s just not quite the same. Mostly because you still have to do cook and clean.

So, the zone is temporary. But how do we deal with not being in the zone? How do we deal with drifting a long way from the zone? Is there such thing as an “anti zone”? These particularly questions need to considered from the perspectives of the athlete and the audience, because there’s some interesting differences.

I’ll start with the audience. I think there’s the ‘informed’ viewer, who has played or still plays and hasn’t forgotten what it’s like and then there’s the standard armchair critic. Also, it will depend what sport you’re watching and how much you know about it. However, I think most people tend to fall into the armchair critic category of fan. Quick to lavish praise but also equally quick to heckle and ridicule and complain about a perceived ‘lack of effort’. I’m going to pick on my dad a little bit here (just a little bit tongue in cheek, don’t make too much of a fuss). When we’ve been to watch the Brumbies play he could be reliably counted on to at some point of the match make a passing comment about how “he shouldn’t have dropped that pass or missed that kick because he’s a professional”. Now while I believe Dad was deliberately baiting me with those comments, he does cut rather close to the bone and it invariably made me bite.

Winners have a hard time accepting failure, in general. Because if winning is the goal there is natural disappointment at failing to reach that goal. But failure is part and parcel of being human. It’s bad enough trying to accept it yourself, but Joe Public also seems to think you should be infallible, especially as they’re paying money to see you. I think I may have mentioned it in passing earlier, but the only thing less appealing than an “never was” is a “has been”. We might tolerate a sub standard performance (ie not elite) from someone who’s not even at that level, but you’d better perform to 100% if you are properly elite.

For the elite athlete, this will often manifest in being unwilling to appear weak, ever. To be defeated, it must take a superhuman effort by the opposition. Because sport is so much mental, this can mean living in a bubble of positive vibes. The athlete might need a constant reminder that ‘failures’ were just little hiccups on the side, or that they’re peaking at such and such a time in a future and so on.

But is that really the case?

I think not – and herein lies the conclusion and thrust of my argument. Sport requires suffering, already discussed and highlighted. However, sport also requires coping with intermediate periods of doubt, lack of zone, times when the suffering feels like too much etc. Ask any athlete, at any level, whether there are times when they just “don’t feel like doing X” and they’ll be right on board. If there are any highs, there will also be lows. Depending on your levels there might be a small gap between output at high and low levels, but the mental swing will be much greater.

For apparent reasons of enjoyment, I have been known to ride my bike for 24 hours straight in circles, on the side of a hill covered in dirt. Some people run marathons, others try and smash the 120kg monster wearing shoulder pads in front of them harder than they can smash back. Whatever sporting venture floats your boat, in just about every contest there are dark moments. 3am when you’re nearly falling asleep and your legs hate you, 35km into the run when every joint is on fire and you think you can feel blood starting to seep from the rash between your thighs, or late in the quarter when you’re at the bottom of a pile of very heavy bodies and you don’t know if you have the strength to just stand up. These are examples of times when the body feels like giving up through exhaustion. These moments can be understood. These are moments that give foundation to epic glories later on. These are times we look back on and say to ourselves “I didn’t give up despite the pain” and these are the moments that we are rewarded for surviving with a huge dose of endorphins.

Even more funny is that even while suffering you can appear impressive to outsiders. On a long bike race you may be struggling along feeling like everything is hopeless and rubbish and wondering why are you doing this stupid thing…but you’ve just lapped some guy who’s probably struggling just as much, only at lower speed. Sometimes it can be cruel to answer “how’re you going?” with an answer like “barely getting there, but I’ll struggle on”… but then again they might not be suffering as much as me because I’m pushing harder. Who can tell?

But, what do you when you’ve getting so outplayed you look like a rank amateur? When your coordination seems gone and your speediest movements look flat footed and sluggish. No amount of sheer grit and determination seems likely to dig you out of your hole. If you’re not expected to win there’s no pressure. It’s often easy in the breakout period of your career to not feel like this, because if you win “hey that’s awesome” but if you’re not quite there yet “hey that’s alright, pretty soon you’ll beat that guy”. Eventually you get used to winning and you need to. You need to find a way to shake yourself up mentally so you can get back to the level you know you can perform at. You know you can because you have before. Everyone else knows it to – they’re currently wondering why you’re so below par.

It’s easy to forget that sport is 90% mental. The mind leads the body, the body follows. It can often take a while to convince ourselves what our bodies are actually capable of – either strength wise or technical dexterity wise. Even after we know and understand what we’re capable of it can still be hard at times to free the mind to allow us to perform (just watch a golfer lose the plot and you’ll know what I mean). What then?

Giving up

Giving up is an interesting concept and varies across sports scenarios depending on how winning, losing, and continuing to race are defined. Giving up can be as extreme as quitting an event early and going home in a sulk, or at the other end realising you’re not going to be first, but maybe you can sneak 2^nd or even a podium – or even like Steven Bradbury hanging out at the back of the group and waiting for everyone else to fall over.

We’ll cheer for Steven Bradbury – mainly because he won, but also because he had a good crack and even though he might not have been the absolute fastest (speed skater) he was quick enough to be competitive and get the win when everyone else fell over (in two different races). But, we won’t cheer for a tennis player who has a little set to with themselves. This is where Nick Kyrgios gets a bit of a mention, and I can nearly get away from this wretched keyboard and you can get back to doing something more worthwhile with your time.

Apparently young Nick was recently heard to utter the phrase “I don’t want to be here” either before or just after a few points where he played particularly “lamely”. It may have been Wimbledon, I don’t actually know. I don’t actually care if it’s true or not, because I can sympathise or empathise with him irrespective. So I’m going to assume that something similar did happen and give my thoughts accordingly.

Firstly, what can get captured by a courtside microphone in a single second is subsequently misconstrued by every numpty out there on the basis that “he’s a quitter” or some similar nonsense. Really, a sportsman went through a low patch? For a brief moment they wanted to escape their troubles? In the heat of battle they forgot the privilege it is to be able to play sport for a living? Get off your high horses and give them a break. In the possibly true story about Nick I think he went on to win the watch after this low point. So did he really give up? Or is anyone giving up at a time like this. Tennis in particular is a funny sport where you might just play out a losing game or set to come out firing for the next one. That’s called ebb and flow, not quitting.

Secondly, after the fact 3 seconds can easily be blown out of proportion. Certainly there are incidents that should be focused on, but there are many incidental things are attributed intent and a level conscious thought that just didn’t happen. An off hand backhand slap at the opponent grabbing your shirt from behind while you running in support of a team mate, or making a face at the photographer as you ride past. As a (nearly humorous and final, I promise) aside I often fall victim to this last one. I like to chat and say hello or make faces at the photographers trackside at races I’m involved in. Quite often this is because they invariably seem to be admiring their own handiwork and not looking to capture more impressive form as I’m making my way past. But post race, when all the photos go online I get the reminder of just how ridiculous my faces look, when that 2s moment of being silly is actually captured, and recorded, and stored, and kept preserved….

Luckily, I’m sub-elite in the mountain biking world, but even so, I wouldn’t receive any wide recognition unless I was really really really elite, and just ask Jason English how much of a maybe it still is then. But I’m considering elite and recognised winners here. Every mistake they make is magnified and THIS is often what is reported, read and ultimately believed by “the people” and this reputation or perception becomes the reality for “society” or the nation.

Is it possible to cope?

The ups and downs of the professional sportsperson isn’t something that can be publicly discussed – at least easily – it requires a huge invasion of privacy to have enough time with someone to know their ebbs and flows. Joe Public isn’t (quite rightly) that privileged to have this kind relationship with our sporting heroes, as much as they seem to want to. But throwing stones when they’re having a bit of a down typically ignores the fact that we have the same faults and just demonstrates that we have no empathy. This doesn’t surprise me as it’s typical of a self centred and godless or god ignoring society.

It may be easier to continue to push on if doing well than badly – but we need to define our own, realistic parameters of what good or bad performance actually means. This goes for everyone at every sporting level. Pressure is hard to deal with and takes time to learn how to cope, because it creates mental tension we haven’t experienced before. We also can only take advice from someone we trust. If the people we trust don’t have the answers we need and the right advice and way of giving it we’re in trouble.

Letting Jesus being the boss of life goes some way to helping me avoid being like this (it could do more if I let him)– I’m reminder of my own ultimate weakness and I’m not fooled into thinking I don’t have problems. It also doesn’t help to just criticise, EVEN WHEN SOMEONE MAY BE WRONG AND/OR REALLY STUPID. Because, that’s not the point

So, Australia, give you Nick a bit of a break. What’s got him so far already are the very same things that you’re now having a go at. Sure, he probably needs some trusted people around him to give him a clip around the ear and tell him to pull his head in a bit, but what 20 year old doesn’t need that? He’s a pretty good tennis player and about the same level of dropkick as I’d expect from someone his age and with his situation in life.