Cold-Hearted Bastard

I can't figure out how to start this post. It should be one of the following two:

"My coach is trying to kill me. He's great."
"My coach is great. He's trying to kill me."

In the sick way that cycling works, both of these statements are equally true (if somewhat exaggerated) and equally important.

Alessandro used to race for Rutgers, so we were friends before he ever took me on as a client. That's probably what makes our coach-coachee relationship so successful; he knew going in that he'd be able to push me, and I knew that he would be a reasonable, attentive coach. He knew that I am serious about getting better, and I knew that I could vent about his sadism (my emails generally start something like "Dear evil torturer,") without offending him.

When I say "reasonable", I mean that he'll change his instructions mid-plan if I feel overtrained. Towards the end of April, he has me doing 40 sprints in a workout... this is down from 75 last year, because we've established that no matter how well trained I am, I can't do more than 60 without cramping up. Reasonable and attentive.

But also a little crazy.

On the last weekend of the plan, he wants me to do a test, a hard Time Trial effort to see how my heart rate behaves. Along with specific instructions about terrain, duration, and so forth, he sent me the following clarification:

treat this TT as it was a race....imagine a little girl behind you who is about to pass you on a walmart bike.

Honestly, it's color like this that makes the coaching palatable. You can criticize his coaching philosophy all you want (yes, 40 sprints is about 5x more than most coaches will assign), but his style is uniquely salving. He is simultaneously the good cop and the bad cop.

I wonder if I might have Stockholm Syndrome?