Like so many things these days, the article was forwarded by a friend. The interview with cyclist Kevin Metcalfe in Slowtwitch, a website dedicated to triathletes, reminded me of an article I've been ruminating on, the gist of which goes like this: if you take care of yourself and play your cards right, vast improvements in technology can allow for continued improvements as a competitive athlete, particularly on the bike. I know I've expressed thoughts on this idea before in another posting. However, recent personal events, and now Kevin's story, have conspired to prompt a postscript.
Kevin is a 50-54 inspiration, a paragon of fast cycling who happens to be the age of many a competitive cyclist's fathers. Since he's probably 53 and I'm certainly 52, I'd like to call him a peer, but he recently went 49:29 for 40K on a bike, and I'm fairly certain I can't do that - at least not this week (this latter bit being the thesis of Kevin's larger message to each of us, not braggadocio). By setting a national record (while breaking his own!), Kevin continues to show what might be possible for others, like Kevin, with more than a half century on the odometer. And that's particularly why I like his bio.
What makes Kevin's story so fascinating is that he has stayed active and fit over the years but has continued to fine-tune his training protocols, leading to some astonishing accomplishments. During Kevin's competitive life, which is to say during mine and countless others', the cycling world has seen unparalleled changes in technology, leading to faster and faster bikes. For at least a few, this has opened the door to unprecedented feats.
Over the past four years, and by luck, not design, I've run an informal personal experiment: I've gotten older (whew!) but have continued to do the same KAUST bike race on the same course with pretty much the same group of folks. Picture a small compound in Saudi Arabia, replete with many inactive folks and a few sundry diehards on bikes and you have a sense of what our motley group was like. In 2010 the campus was completely brand new yet lacking a culture of activity, so a group of us sat down with the powers that were then and organized a bike race, an event which has since become a regular on the KAUST activity calendar. This being the Arabian peninsula, our February date still had to answer to possible temps approaching 100F, so for the adults we decided to make the race about 10 miles on a closed loop.
In 2010 I'd not yet caught the Kona Reprise bug, so cycling three times a week with friends, or alone, comprised the lead-up to the race. I'd never raced any of the guys I was training with, so it came as some relief that I was able to break away from the pack with about a mile to go and gain about 10 seconds on the field.
In 2011 things were vastly different. I now had the idea of returning to Kona to compete at a top level again in my sights, was only a month out of the tune-up Abu Dhabi Triathlon and two months out of my qualifier at Ironman South Africa. Although I was cycling more, I was also running and swimming a fair amount, and the cycling I was largely doing was attempting to get me ready for a 112-mile TT and not a 25 minute road race. Still, being in the best shape of my middle-age life must've helped, and I again broke away from the pack, this time a bit earlier, allowing me to gain maybe 20 seconds on the peleton by the finish.
2012 was different yet again. Though I didn't know it, thyroid cancer had already walked in my body's front door, uninvited, and was making itself right at home. A lack of motivation and general lethargy was explained away on a protracted Kona recovery and the general demands of being a father, husband, and full-time teacher. For the first time I was scared, unsure of what to expect. I hadn't ridden nearly as much as 2010 and certainly not as much as 2011, and my legs just didn't have that feeling that all prepared cyclists generally possess as they go into competition. I had begun having increasing, unexplained cramping, mostly in my legs, and this, combined with a paucity of mileage, made me nervous about my ability to defend my consecutive titles. So, like any aging cyclist who knows he can't break away due to the lack of an aerobic base, I relied on my racing experience and attacked on the penultimate turn, gaining just enough anaerobically and tactically before that last stretch to avoid a final sprint I knew I couldn't possibly win. It was a victory, but by the narrowest of margins to date.
In January 2013 Jennifer and I flew to London to interview for jobs and came away with positions at the International School of Stuttgart, so going in I knew the 2013 edition of the annual KAUST bike race was going to be my last. Although I'd ridden my '86 Nobilette road bike for each of the previous editions of the race, this time I decided to run an informal experiment and ride my 2009 Scott Plasma, the same one I'd ridden in Port Elizabeth and Kona, the one I'd gotten from my buddy Scott Tucker, who in turn had purchased it from a guy who'd had it a year. Every other KAUST cyclist of repute was on a carbon fiber steed of some variety, so rather than trot out the same steel bike once again, I decided to somewhat meet them on their own technological terrain and for a change ride a bike that was made in the same century as theirs. And, just to add spice to the race and get a good workout, I decided before the gun to attack early on and let the chips fall where they may. Nine laps and 25 or so minutes later I found myself lapping the field and still going strong, ahead by 3 minutes. The extra calcium I'd taken the previous 24 hours had staved off the dreaded cramping, now a regular feature of my life, and the modest miles of training had proved just enough to hold the 42 - 44 kph pace. Although I was older than I'd ever been, had just battled cancer, had only ridden a few times a week and never pedaled longer than an hour at a go, being on a carbon fiber bike made all the difference and emphasized once again what a huge difference this technology has meant for the sport of triathlon (not to mention all cycling sports). Instead of gaining seconds over the course of the race on a steel bike, I was gaining minutes, or the equivalent of about 20 seconds per lap, or around 18 seconds per mile. Looking at the differential between steel and carbon fiber, this time gap would grow to 25 or 30 minutes over the course of an Ironman-distance bike leg, underscoring once again the predominant time savings over the course of the race for most triathletes.
Apart from being more crowded than it was in the '80s, the swim at Kona hasn't changed much. Same for the run; apart from a different course, triathletes still have to slog through 42+ km of the marathon. The cycling leg, on the other hand, is vastly different than it once was, delivering many riders a half hour or more faster to the run than it would have two or more decades ago - all thanks to cycling technology. I'll write more about this evolution in pedaling revolutions shortly and what, in part, this means for the sport. For now, suffice it to say that the bike allows guys like Kevin and me to compete as well as, if not better than, the guys we were a generation ago.
Kevin is a 50-54 inspiration, a paragon of fast cycling who happens to be the age of many a competitive cyclist's fathers. Since he's probably 53 and I'm certainly 52, I'd like to call him a peer, but he recently went 49:29 for 40K on a bike, and I'm fairly certain I can't do that - at least not this week (this latter bit being the thesis of Kevin's larger message to each of us, not braggadocio). By setting a national record (while breaking his own!), Kevin continues to show what might be possible for others, like Kevin, with more than a half century on the odometer. And that's particularly why I like his bio.
What makes Kevin's story so fascinating is that he has stayed active and fit over the years but has continued to fine-tune his training protocols, leading to some astonishing accomplishments. During Kevin's competitive life, which is to say during mine and countless others', the cycling world has seen unparalleled changes in technology, leading to faster and faster bikes. For at least a few, this has opened the door to unprecedented feats.
Over the past four years, and by luck, not design, I've run an informal personal experiment: I've gotten older (whew!) but have continued to do the same KAUST bike race on the same course with pretty much the same group of folks. Picture a small compound in Saudi Arabia, replete with many inactive folks and a few sundry diehards on bikes and you have a sense of what our motley group was like. In 2010 the campus was completely brand new yet lacking a culture of activity, so a group of us sat down with the powers that were then and organized a bike race, an event which has since become a regular on the KAUST activity calendar. This being the Arabian peninsula, our February date still had to answer to possible temps approaching 100F, so for the adults we decided to make the race about 10 miles on a closed loop.
In 2010 I'd not yet caught the Kona Reprise bug, so cycling three times a week with friends, or alone, comprised the lead-up to the race. I'd never raced any of the guys I was training with, so it came as some relief that I was able to break away from the pack with about a mile to go and gain about 10 seconds on the field.
In 2011 things were vastly different. I now had the idea of returning to Kona to compete at a top level again in my sights, was only a month out of the tune-up Abu Dhabi Triathlon and two months out of my qualifier at Ironman South Africa. Although I was cycling more, I was also running and swimming a fair amount, and the cycling I was largely doing was attempting to get me ready for a 112-mile TT and not a 25 minute road race. Still, being in the best shape of my middle-age life must've helped, and I again broke away from the pack, this time a bit earlier, allowing me to gain maybe 20 seconds on the peleton by the finish.
2012 was different yet again. Though I didn't know it, thyroid cancer had already walked in my body's front door, uninvited, and was making itself right at home. A lack of motivation and general lethargy was explained away on a protracted Kona recovery and the general demands of being a father, husband, and full-time teacher. For the first time I was scared, unsure of what to expect. I hadn't ridden nearly as much as 2010 and certainly not as much as 2011, and my legs just didn't have that feeling that all prepared cyclists generally possess as they go into competition. I had begun having increasing, unexplained cramping, mostly in my legs, and this, combined with a paucity of mileage, made me nervous about my ability to defend my consecutive titles. So, like any aging cyclist who knows he can't break away due to the lack of an aerobic base, I relied on my racing experience and attacked on the penultimate turn, gaining just enough anaerobically and tactically before that last stretch to avoid a final sprint I knew I couldn't possibly win. It was a victory, but by the narrowest of margins to date.
In January 2013 Jennifer and I flew to London to interview for jobs and came away with positions at the International School of Stuttgart, so going in I knew the 2013 edition of the annual KAUST bike race was going to be my last. Although I'd ridden my '86 Nobilette road bike for each of the previous editions of the race, this time I decided to run an informal experiment and ride my 2009 Scott Plasma, the same one I'd ridden in Port Elizabeth and Kona, the one I'd gotten from my buddy Scott Tucker, who in turn had purchased it from a guy who'd had it a year. Every other KAUST cyclist of repute was on a carbon fiber steed of some variety, so rather than trot out the same steel bike once again, I decided to somewhat meet them on their own technological terrain and for a change ride a bike that was made in the same century as theirs. And, just to add spice to the race and get a good workout, I decided before the gun to attack early on and let the chips fall where they may. Nine laps and 25 or so minutes later I found myself lapping the field and still going strong, ahead by 3 minutes. The extra calcium I'd taken the previous 24 hours had staved off the dreaded cramping, now a regular feature of my life, and the modest miles of training had proved just enough to hold the 42 - 44 kph pace. Although I was older than I'd ever been, had just battled cancer, had only ridden a few times a week and never pedaled longer than an hour at a go, being on a carbon fiber bike made all the difference and emphasized once again what a huge difference this technology has meant for the sport of triathlon (not to mention all cycling sports). Instead of gaining seconds over the course of the race on a steel bike, I was gaining minutes, or the equivalent of about 20 seconds per lap, or around 18 seconds per mile. Looking at the differential between steel and carbon fiber, this time gap would grow to 25 or 30 minutes over the course of an Ironman-distance bike leg, underscoring once again the predominant time savings over the course of the race for most triathletes.
Apart from being more crowded than it was in the '80s, the swim at Kona hasn't changed much. Same for the run; apart from a different course, triathletes still have to slog through 42+ km of the marathon. The cycling leg, on the other hand, is vastly different than it once was, delivering many riders a half hour or more faster to the run than it would have two or more decades ago - all thanks to cycling technology. I'll write more about this evolution in pedaling revolutions shortly and what, in part, this means for the sport. For now, suffice it to say that the bike allows guys like Kevin and me to compete as well as, if not better than, the guys we were a generation ago.
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