Monday, April 14, 2008

Doping in (Motor) Sports

Sports and Cheating go together like cottage cheese and jelly ... it sounds horrible at first, but once you try it, it'll change your life. This is as true in motor sports as it is in sports that actually require athleticism (oh, snap!), and there are plenty of stories where racers bent the rules rather creatively to get an edge. These modifications are made to the car, though, not to the driver.

In a recent article on ESPN.com, Terry Blount writes about the recent controversy in NASCAR, where over the past few years, a handful of drivers have been caught using drugs.


Fike admitted in an ESPN The Magazine story that he was injecting heroin while competing in Craftsman Truck Series events...

Fike's admission is the long-feared scenario of a driver racing a car at 200 mph while impaired by substance abuse. Odds are it has happened far more than what we know because NASCAR doesn't have a detailed testing plan in place to keep it from happening.


I'm no ethicist. The metaphysics of right and wrong never occupy my thoughts for more than a minute or two, at which point I revert to the comfort of my Holy Trinity: Biomechanics, Bicycles, and Breasts (did you think it was going to include bears, beets, or Battlestar Galactica? don't be silly.)

Still, some things are pretty cut and dry, aren't they? Drugs are bad. Cheating is really bad. Shun the nonbelievers, and death to the infidels.

Not-testing is bad, because not-testing does nothing to prevent competitors from cheating. Testing, therefore, is good. QED, ipso facto and ergo sum.

This doesn't sit right, though. Cheating is bad, of course, but is the use of recreational drugs cheating? Or is it just stupid?

Doping is banned from sports because modifying one's blood chemistry is dangerous, and when it's a race between doctors rather than athletes (pardon the cliche), the athletes are invariably put in danger. As the competition uses more performance enhancers, so must you, until eventually someone's blood turns to sludge or what have you. It is the escalating nature of doping that is dangerous.

The parallel in motor sports is mechanical, rather than biochemical, but its logic is analogous. Lighter materials or altered geometry may make the car go faster, but they compromise the safety of the driver. If teams were to try to one-up each other at the expense of safety, that would be bad. Cheating is bad.

But what about the downhiller who rocks the occasional doobie, or the driver who shoots up heroin? I'll tell you what, man, I've seen Trainspotting, as well as Half Baked, and those are not the sort of representatives with which these sports want to identify themselves. Drugs are bad.

What I don't understand is why people are all up in arms about the recreational drugs. This sort of thing should, in theory, be self-destructive. Smoking MaryJane should make a cyclist less able to go fast. Chasing the dragon should make a driver quite horrible at driving (Fisk, by the way, placed as high as 5th while on heroin... which casts the 38 drivers he beat in a somewhat negative light).

I'm okay with increased testing - for recreational drugs - by the central body, even though I don't quite get why it's necessary. This still leaves one more question: why are other drivers so up-in-arms about this? This Fisk guy did pretty damn well on the smack, and it's not like they don't have death-defying fireball crashes every weekend. Is there something going on, beyond the superficial "drugs are bad" platitudes?


"Shame on NASCAR for not policing our garage better than they police it right now," [driver] Kevin Harvick said. "I think we're all professional athletes and should be treated like professional athletes in other professional sports -- and shame on them for not doing that."


So. They've perceived some slight, some insinuation that they are not actually athletes. Despite the drama that threatens to tear cycling apart, despite the fallout from the infamous Mitchell report, the drivers are looking for a way to be put on the same plane as the major sports... even if that means cracking down on the ol' Reefer madness.

Damn the torpedos, full speed ahead, right? Let's see what happens when your sponsors pull out, your TV coverage disappears, and you get the WADA all up in your business. Godspeed on your crusade.

Okay, for real this time, one last question: Should I really be taking this article seriously? Is the author even credible?


NASCAR and its fans have a possible dilemma if regular testing for everyone becomes the standard. One of its stars could face suspension in the middle of a season or the start of the Chase.



Oh.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Not Cool, Man

Jodi, who I haven't seen since 2004 despite living 30 minutes from her, came up to New Brunswick today. It was a long overdue reunion, and we had a blast.

We saw Zipperface. Rather, we saw Zipperface!!?! It was amazing. Unfortunately, tonight was the final performance at Rutgers, so my recommendations will be useless to you. This is my second time seeing a College Avenue Players production, and this is my second glowing review.

After the play, Jodi and I walked to Harvest Moon, where we imbibed the delicious beers. We waxed nostalgic, trading stories of parties in the Phi Psi lounge and so on. The name Hack was used more than a few times. It's good that we've both grown since our time in Cleveland, but it's equally nice to look back fondly.

Jodi went into the crowd of dancers, to partake of the bump-and-grind dancing that the kids love so much. I made my way to the bar, to buy another round.

As I set the beers down on our table, I looked over at Jodi. The man with whom she was dancing, her back to his front, had reached around and placed his hand on her throat. As if to choke her.

Jodi later informed me that he wasn't applying pressure. She also told me that she was mouthing the word "help" to me. I wasn't aware of either of these things, because they were both secondary to the fact that some guy had his hand at my friend's throat.

Your humble scribe put himself between Jodi and the guy (let's call him Random Douchebag) and looked him in the eye.

YHS: Don't grab her throat
RD: What?
YHS: Don't grab my friend's throat. Not cool, man.
RD: She likes it.
YHS: No she doesn't.
RD: She likes it!
YHS: She clearly doesn't. Don't touch her.
RD: You want to talk about this outside?

Okay, decision time. Jodi, having retreated to a few yards behind me, was no longer in harm's way. I had nothing to gain from "talking" outside, except that it would feel really good to land a few punches on this sleazebag.

YHS: I'm going to finish my beer.

The Random Douchebag tried to goad me a few more times, then eventually left. A few minutes later, he returned... to apologize.

Crisis averted, I guess.

Question: In what universe is it acceptable to grab the throat of a girl you just met, or any girl for that matter? How can that possibly be okay?

Friday, April 11, 2008

Like a Pig

This year, I'm not waiting until July to get acclimatized to the summer. I watched the war of attrition at Manville last year, and I slid on melting tarmac at Somerville. Granogue baked me, and French Creek was a stir fry.

Not this year, man, not this year.

It's been 50 degrees, more or less, for weeks now. I've been dressing like it's 30. Long sleeves, multiple base layers, tights, wool socks, winter gloves, sometimes even ear warmers.

Yesterday, I dressed as usual, nice and toasty. The air got warmer and warmer, and the sun peeked out from behind rapidly-diminishing clouds. Everything looked more vibrant; the river, the trees.

When I got home, it was 70. I had drank a lot of water.

Hopefully, by May I'll be ready to race in the heat. Until then, I'll be pouring sweat every time I ride.

Hence, the title of the post. It's clever, you see: I'm sweating like a pig... but also, I'm happy like a pig in shit. It works on so many levels! Two!

Rancor

I remember now why I hated the Johnson and Johnson interns. Tonight, I ducked out of Karaoke just after midnight, a good 90 minutes early. I just... I just want them to go away. Please?

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Guitar Hero

On Monday night, I finally performed at Open Mic night.

The set:
  • Africa, by Toto
  • Love in the Time of Teh Internets, by Me
  • Scientists Can Talk Sexy Too, by Me
I think it went well enough.

Like many of you, I wondered why I would want to sing at an Open Mic night. The self-doubt crescendoed as my performance approached. My heart rate skyrocketed, my mouth dried up, I looked for any excuse not to play. Why in the hell would I willingly subject myself to this?

The answer is actually pretty straightforward... that anxiety, that freakout, is nothing more than a rush.

The risk of a performance isn't actually that risky. In the worst case, the audience doesn't like me. There is, quite literally, nothing for me to lose. That knowledge, however, does nothing to limit the perception of risk, which is enough to induce a pre-performance adrenaline surge.

I used to get that surge before Karaoke, but I just don't anymore. I've developed a tolerance. Karaoke is a gateway drug, and Milky Manchester is the pusher!

It helped that Aaron and Will were there as usual, along with special guests Chaz, Dolly, and Tania. My friends the Open Mic regulars were also supportive. Thanks, guys, for being my groupies! If you ask nicely and provide the Sharpie, you can have my autograph.

This will not have been my last performance, which means that there are more songs to write, more covers to learn, and of course more anxiety to endure. How boring life would otherwise be!

Sunday, April 06, 2008

Answering the Fan Mail

Dear NinjaDon,

Long time listener, first time caller. Why do you drink decaf espresso?

Love,
Angry in Highland Park (and also Josh)


Dear Mark (and also Josh),

Thank you for your question! Remember, there is no such thing as a stupid question, so you shouldn't feel bad for asking something so trite!

I ordered a decaf Americano, because Americanos are delicious and it was too late for caffeine. However, since I've only recently learned of these magical drinks, it feels weird to refer to them by name. Instead, I substitute the name Espresso, since everybody knows Espresso.

Decaf Espressos, or any drinks based thereon, are quite paradoxical indeed. However, they beat the hell out of Vanilla Chai Tea. So I order Decaf Americanos.

Yours,
Don


Dear NinjaDon,

Your abilities as a cyclist are only exceeded by your fantastic amazingness as a human being. You are as omnipotent as you are regal. And I dare anyone to prove that I, Josh, am not the author of this letter.

Why, then, do you do 40 sprints at a time?

Sincerely,
Josh

Josh,

Aw, you flatter me. Thank you for your kind, completely authentic words!

I do as many sprints as my coach tells me to. If I'm going to second-guess him, why hire him at all? Too many cooks spoil the athletic broth, and when it comes to coaching, I think any more than one coach is too many, especially if the second coach is me.

There's a fine line between saying "I think this is too many sprints" and "I don't feel like doing this many sprints".

Yours,
Don


Dear NinjaDon,

How did your friend Bearded Megan get her name? Isn't "Bearded" a bit insulting?

Signed,
Everyone who's ever read this blog


Everyone,

That's a fair question. I know that when speaking of a woman, "Bearded" often has a specific connotation - it can refer to a circus sideshow, or to a sham relationship with a gay man. Neither applies to Megan, and I cringe at the thought that she might be confused for either.

If anything, I believe that "Bearded" should be a compliment of the highest order. Everybody loves a good beard! But I digress.

Megan earned the name "Bearded" soon after we met her. The story behind it is quite simple: She wore a beard.

The nickname stuck when she made a habit of it.
Seeing double? Megan is on the left

Megan hasn't worn a beard in quite some time, though... which is a shame.

By the way, for those who still say "but Don, 'Bearded' still has a negative connotation," it is worth noting that Bearded Megan was nicknamed mostly to differentiate her from the other Megan who hung out with our group at the time. The other Megan earned the nickname "Bitch". As in, "will Bitch Megan be at Karaoke tonight? God I hope not".

So Bearded Megan got the sweeter deal.

XOXO,
Don

Friday, April 04, 2008

New Jerseystan

Even though I grew up in New Jersey, I never developed a sense of pride in my state. In Cleveland, my friends would make fun of NJ with the standard jokes - people can't drive, it smells, etc. - and what could I do but nod in agreement?

Now it's official.

Some cadets at the U.S. Military Academy are getting a taste of what Iraq will be like by taking a field trip - to New Jersey.



For goodness' sake.

Thanks, Lex, for the link.

Long Shorts and the Prophecy

"Shorts to your knees are only justifiable when your thighs are as big as my waist."
Don, Ninja (ninjarelations AT rutgerscycling DOT com). "cat 5 shorts" Personal correspondence to Will, SpikyHair (devileyes AT lolcat DOT com) and Aaron (needanickname AT blueblanket DOT org), 4 Apr. 2008.


"want. to. look. like. that.

who's up for a six hour trainer ride tonight?"

Will, SpikyHair (devileyes AT lolcat DOT com). "re: cat 5 shorts" Personal correspondence to Don, Ninja (ninjarelations AT rutgerscycling DOT com) and Aaron (needanickname AT blueblanket DOT org), 4 Apr. 2008.


"f*** that. let's buy a squat rack. who's up for 6 hours of deep knee-bends?"

Don, Ninja (ninjarelations AT rutgerscycling DOT com). "re: cat 5 shorts" Personal correspondence to Will, SpikyHair (devileyes AT lolcat DOT com) and Aaron (needanickname AT blueblanket DOT org), 4 Apr. 2008.


"No thank you. I say we eat nachos, cookies, and ice cream for six hours tonight while sitting on our fat asses watching [television]. Who's in?"

Aaron (needanickname AT blueblanket DOT org). "re: cat 5 shorts" Personal correspondence to Will, SpikyHair (devileyes AT lolcat DOT com) and Don, Ninja (ninjarelations AT rutgerscycling DOT com), 4 Apr. 2008.


"The future:

Don is going to herniate his back and blow out his ACL after 3 weeks of his squat regimen. He will have no future in cycling.

I am going to put a trainer facing a wall in a room with no lights. After 4 months of my draconian 6-hour trainer rides I will lose 40 lbs and my body will have digested its muscle. I will develop minor psychological neuroses. I will have no future in cycling.

Aaron will become morbidly obese. Aaron will be so fat that Don has to take his wheelchair to the store to buy pizzas for him. Unable to leave the apartment, Aaron will develop a porn addiction which will bankrupt him in DVD rental fees. Aaron will have no future in cycling."

Will, SpikyHair (devileyes AT lolcat DOT com). "re: cat 5 shorts" Personal correspondence to Don, Ninja (ninjarelations AT rutgerscycling DOT com) and Aaron (needanickname AT blueblanket DOT org), 4 Apr. 2008.

Thursday, April 03, 2008

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?

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

Who Fights at Open Mic Night?

Tonight's events don't make for a great anecdote. It is the classic example of "you had to be there". In summation, a fight nearly broke out between three performers at Open Mic night in a coffee shop.

Sounds like somebody needs to switch to decaf! Groan.

Speaking of which, I neglected to specify that I wanted a decaf espresso. So now I'm wired.