My first encounter with a triathlete Met an old cycling friend this week who popped back from Australia for a few days. He still cycles 6 days a week over there, every day with a different group.
Each group with its quirky mix of ex pros, wannabe pros, club champs, boy racers, old boy racers and whoever else gets thrown in the mix.Like a sunny version of here I suppose.
It didnt take long for the chat to turn to his son who is making waves on the national cycling scene over there and how does a country like Australia do so well in nurturing its talented young riders. The answer was pretty simple, miles upon miles with a supervised structured programme based on hard training and recovery.
All the talk of Oz brought the memories flooding back (cue the dreamy music and blurry images), having spent 2 years there at the end of the last century, its not hard to get me nostalgic about the place. It had been three years since I raced my bike and it was the furthest thing on my mind when jumping off the plane in Sydney. After a few weeks of a ‘settling in’ period, I realised a bike might not be such a bad idea. Got my hands on one and headed for Centennial park in shorts and a tee shirt. First night in and I come across a group of about 20 guys, The guy on the front looks familiar, doesnt say much though, I get some funny looks and not so sure im all that welcome. One hour later the group is down to six an im still in there, the initiation was over and I think I was hooked again. better buy a jersey. who was that guy?
Next day Im down to the local bike shop, nice machines hangin on the wall stirring up the cycling vibe all over again, Bike shop guy tells me about some weekly race that goes on in Maroubra on Thursday nights and the Sunday club run into the national park. Cool. Come thursday I head for Maroubra. ‘Ah Paddy, your here’, Colnago C40’s seemed to be the order of the day, I sheepishly lined up my 531 steel Raleigh somewhere in the middle of the group, this was the b grade race but having not raced for a while and not knowing these guys, I braced myself for a hammering. Luckily it didnt come and in the finish Paddy showed bike shop guy a clean pair of wheels in a three up sprint for 1st. Have to be careful now, if I get hooked again it could ruin my social life! On the way home I stop at a newspaper stall and get a coke and ‘cycling weekly’ magazine from a few weeks back. page 2, theres your man from the park! Brit 25 mile TT champ and Olympic hopeful, Stuart Dangerfield, wintering in Sydney.
The buzz is back and I have to check out the Sunday group. Leaving at 6.30am to avoid the traffic and the heat was going to be my biggest challenge. Dodging saturday nights party goers, I make it on time and 20 of us head south for the hills of the royal national park. Lots of muscle here, might be out of my depth. Nice cruisy ride out of town for the first two hours, then we turn for home and the chain gang starts to move with a bit more conviction. Iv singled out two guys that might be instrumental in dishing the pain and keep close to them in the line. One of them kitted out in full ‘Giant’ kit and a carbon monocoque frame under his ass, (this was 1999 and these were rare), the other in ‘Kona’ kit sitting on a ferrari red carbon Kona. Im told there’s always a big wind up to the outskirts of the city and like home there’ll be a big sprint for ‘the sign’.
After holding my own on the fast run into town i decide im entitled to go for it. coming from back the line is an advantage, neearrgh ………. got it. that felt good. I glance over and see mr. ‘Team Giant’ whos grinning at me while trying to make sense of what just happened. we get talking for the last few miles in the road. turns out he’s a nice guy, told me hes into Triathlon. Next Sunday, same again, Crisp morning air, out under the main runway of Sydney airport on the road to Wollongong. Today due to the onset of the Ozzy winter, the 8 degree morning air and a heavy mist has whittled the starting group to four. Myself, Fergie (who had heard my enthusiastic tales of the previous week and decided he wanted to have a go), and Craig and Mike. Same route but more work involved when theres only four of us. Craig sat on the front and we took turns riding shotgun.
‘Jeez, he’s strong for a triathlete’,
‘you bet hes strong mate, Hes ranked number 5 in the world’.
‘wha?’
I didnt miss a sunday spin for the next 2 months, to have the opportunity to train with guys of this calibre is rare and gives everyone in the group a lift. After finding out who this guy was and how good he was, It wasnt as easy to come round him in the sprint to the sign anymore, or maybe he decided he wasnt going to get caught by a Corkman again. His Sunday routine was a 3/4 hour ride with the group, home for breakfast then a 3k swim on any one of the many eastern suburbs beaches, followed by a run of sorts that evening. Mine was group spin, back to bed, up the road for bacon and eggs at noon, Sunday stroll and a few beers. Triathlon was still an alien sport to me at that stage, I knew nothing about it and had no ambitions to give it a go. The seed may have been planted though.
Closer to the edge, surveying the waters before the big race
Back in Ireland the following September I made a point of watching the first Olympic triathlon at the 2000 olympics in Sydney. Crossed my mind that my triathlon ‘buddy’ might be in it. Pre internet (for me anyway) and not a big tri fan at the time I didnt go out of my way to find out and was more interested in seeing what the harbour looked like from the air. The gun goes off and im sitting there with my coffee. F***, hes leading the swim, ‘Craig Walton’s leading the swim!’, ‘dya see him, I trained with him in Oz’, first out of the water, a torpedo like 1500mtrs in 17.17 gives him a huge reception into T1 in front of thousands on the steps of The Opera House. Swimming was his thing. I imagine, even for a cool cookie like him, the hairs must have stood on the back of his neck, in front of the home crowd being watched by millions worldwide, This was his reward. From there he drifted back into the field with a mediocre for that level 59min 40km bike and a 33min 10K run to finish his Olympic dream in 27th place with a time of 1hr and 50 min.
I dont know how he felt about his performance, I hope he enjoyed it. It gave me great pleasure and a realisation that theres not a whole lot of difference between the big guns and the mere mortals. While many factors combine to be able to play at that level, Seems the old chinese proverb ‘you wont get there without hard work’ still holds true.
‘Till next time
https://kealansbikeshed.blogspot.ie/
It didnt take long for the chat to turn to his son who is making waves on the national cycling scene over there and how does a country like Australia do so well in nurturing its talented young riders. The answer was pretty simple, miles upon miles with a supervised structured programme based on hard training and recovery.
All the talk of Oz brought the memories flooding back (cue the dreamy music and blurry images), having spent 2 years there at the end of the last century, its not hard to get me nostalgic about the place. It had been three years since I raced my bike and it was the furthest thing on my mind when jumping off the plane in Sydney. After a few weeks of a ‘settling in’ period, I realised a bike might not be such a bad idea. Got my hands on one and headed for Centennial park in shorts and a tee shirt. First night in and I come across a group of about 20 guys, The guy on the front looks familiar, doesnt say much though, I get some funny looks and not so sure im all that welcome. One hour later the group is down to six an im still in there, the initiation was over and I think I was hooked again. better buy a jersey. who was that guy?
Next day Im down to the local bike shop, nice machines hangin on the wall stirring up the cycling vibe all over again, Bike shop guy tells me about some weekly race that goes on in Maroubra on Thursday nights and the Sunday club run into the national park. Cool. Come thursday I head for Maroubra. ‘Ah Paddy, your here’, Colnago C40’s seemed to be the order of the day, I sheepishly lined up my 531 steel Raleigh somewhere in the middle of the group, this was the b grade race but having not raced for a while and not knowing these guys, I braced myself for a hammering. Luckily it didnt come and in the finish Paddy showed bike shop guy a clean pair of wheels in a three up sprint for 1st. Have to be careful now, if I get hooked again it could ruin my social life! On the way home I stop at a newspaper stall and get a coke and ‘cycling weekly’ magazine from a few weeks back. page 2, theres your man from the park! Brit 25 mile TT champ and Olympic hopeful, Stuart Dangerfield, wintering in Sydney.
The buzz is back and I have to check out the Sunday group. Leaving at 6.30am to avoid the traffic and the heat was going to be my biggest challenge. Dodging saturday nights party goers, I make it on time and 20 of us head south for the hills of the royal national park. Lots of muscle here, might be out of my depth. Nice cruisy ride out of town for the first two hours, then we turn for home and the chain gang starts to move with a bit more conviction. Iv singled out two guys that might be instrumental in dishing the pain and keep close to them in the line. One of them kitted out in full ‘Giant’ kit and a carbon monocoque frame under his ass, (this was 1999 and these were rare), the other in ‘Kona’ kit sitting on a ferrari red carbon Kona. Im told there’s always a big wind up to the outskirts of the city and like home there’ll be a big sprint for ‘the sign’.
After holding my own on the fast run into town i decide im entitled to go for it. coming from back the line is an advantage, neearrgh ………. got it. that felt good. I glance over and see mr. ‘Team Giant’ whos grinning at me while trying to make sense of what just happened. we get talking for the last few miles in the road. turns out he’s a nice guy, told me hes into Triathlon. Next Sunday, same again, Crisp morning air, out under the main runway of Sydney airport on the road to Wollongong. Today due to the onset of the Ozzy winter, the 8 degree morning air and a heavy mist has whittled the starting group to four. Myself, Fergie (who had heard my enthusiastic tales of the previous week and decided he wanted to have a go), and Craig and Mike. Same route but more work involved when theres only four of us. Craig sat on the front and we took turns riding shotgun.
‘Jeez, he’s strong for a triathlete’,
‘you bet hes strong mate, Hes ranked number 5 in the world’.
‘wha?’
I didnt miss a sunday spin for the next 2 months, to have the opportunity to train with guys of this calibre is rare and gives everyone in the group a lift. After finding out who this guy was and how good he was, It wasnt as easy to come round him in the sprint to the sign anymore, or maybe he decided he wasnt going to get caught by a Corkman again. His Sunday routine was a 3/4 hour ride with the group, home for breakfast then a 3k swim on any one of the many eastern suburbs beaches, followed by a run of sorts that evening. Mine was group spin, back to bed, up the road for bacon and eggs at noon, Sunday stroll and a few beers. Triathlon was still an alien sport to me at that stage, I knew nothing about it and had no ambitions to give it a go. The seed may have been planted though.
Closer to the edge, surveying the waters before the big race
Back in Ireland the following September I made a point of watching the first Olympic triathlon at the 2000 olympics in Sydney. Crossed my mind that my triathlon ‘buddy’ might be in it. Pre internet (for me anyway) and not a big tri fan at the time I didnt go out of my way to find out and was more interested in seeing what the harbour looked like from the air. The gun goes off and im sitting there with my coffee. F***, hes leading the swim, ‘Craig Walton’s leading the swim!’, ‘dya see him, I trained with him in Oz’, first out of the water, a torpedo like 1500mtrs in 17.17 gives him a huge reception into T1 in front of thousands on the steps of The Opera House. Swimming was his thing. I imagine, even for a cool cookie like him, the hairs must have stood on the back of his neck, in front of the home crowd being watched by millions worldwide, This was his reward. From there he drifted back into the field with a mediocre for that level 59min 40km bike and a 33min 10K run to finish his Olympic dream in 27th place with a time of 1hr and 50 min.
I dont know how he felt about his performance, I hope he enjoyed it. It gave me great pleasure and a realisation that theres not a whole lot of difference between the big guns and the mere mortals. While many factors combine to be able to play at that level, Seems the old chinese proverb ‘you wont get there without hard work’ still holds true.
‘Till next time
https://kealansbikeshed.blogspot.ie/
