Martin Dugard | Training Ground

Thunder

Woke last night to the sound of thunder...

Actually, it was this morning, just after dropping the kids at school. That's what passes for excitement this week, what with track season over, the folks healthy, and the Tour still a month off. I'm trying to get fired up for the French Open and I know that Dauphine Libere starts this weekend, but... sigh. 

The thunder scared the dogs and then went away after a 60-second downpour. We never get thunder in SoCal. It felt exciting to have a touch of weather, instead of the June gloom (marine coastal layer) and deliberate sunshine that so often defines the day here. Listen to me -- bitching about great weather. Think I'll go lift and then work on one of the three new projects I've got in the hopper. It will be nice to be focused in a month's time at the Tour. Much to do logistics-wise until then. 

In the meantime, I will enjoy the slight break between track and cross-country, and most likely spend a couple nights a week watching SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE. Seriously, talk about the pursuit of excellence. Those people -- the really good ones -- are amazing. I can't imagine their discipline and devotion to such an arduous craft. 

It's funny, but as I write those words about excellence, I realize that I've tempered my feelings toward mediocrity since I first began writing these missives. Back then I was inspired by the greatness of the Lance Armstrong's and Ryan Hall's, but equally scornful of the Runner's World's and Stunt Runners of the world, with their tendency to trivialize the pursuit of excellence in favor of glorifying the status quo. But in that time I've trained athletes myself, and become even more aware that we all have times when we choose to shine and times when we just can't seem to put one foot in front of the other without mucking it up. I have seen great athletes bent by weakness, and weak athletes elevated by that random moment when they chose to set aside their fears and see what was on the other side of the pain threshold. And I think I've seen, in that time, that I am capable of some pretty great stuff when I try my best. But I am also equally capable of settling into the bunker and feeling sorry for myself when life is not tied up in a nicely wrapped gift box. I think we all just do the best we can. It's when we settle that we get stuck, but it's when we keep striving to do better that we find a way out of that prison.

"The weak grow strong," goes the quote, "and the strong carry on." Bring on the thunder. 

Keep pushing... always

Out of the Woods

Happy Birthday to me...

I have long tried to keep some of my simple personal details private, which is why I've never noted my birthday in this space before. But since someone has been kind enough to throw up a Martin Dugard Wikipedia page, complete with birth date, that point is now officially moot. So huzzah for me. I think I'll spend the day as I spend pretty much every day: drinking coffee, writing, and going for a long run. The only change to my schedule is that there will be no track practice this afternoon. My runners all ended their seasons on a high note, and now it is time to take a proper Kenyan-style break ("rest, sleep, and gain weight" according to the Lore of Running) before ramping it up for cross-country. I like cross-country the way Homer Simpson likes donuts, so to say that this coming season has me pumped is an understatement. 

I hope you all had a chance to watch EXPEDITION AFRICA last night. Personally, I like many elements about the show. Having the Masai as part of the expedition doesn't ring true, because Stanley didn't encounter Masai until his second expedition. I tried to tell the producers that before the trip got underway, but they were in love with the ideal of the noble Masai, and there you have it. The historian in me was deeply disturbed by the inaccuracy, but the storyteller in me realizes how cool tall tribesman dressed in bright red look on camera. One time I was walking through Dar Es Salaam when I encountered a group of Masai walking the other direction. They are not from Tanzania, so I have no idea what they were doing there. But I gotta say that they really stood out. Something about the red garb really  makes a statement. 

Back to Expedition: I'm also over the whole journalist-as-bumbling-traveler schtick, mostly because journalists are some of the best adventurers you'll ever meet -- that is, unless they're dig-me's or lap dogs, fond of affectation for the sake of preening, which many of us are. While we're on the subject of journalists, the professional in me would like to point out the great divide between print journalists and videographers, who are not technically journalists at all. But on the whole, I thought it was good. If you've ever gone on a serious expedition like the one in the show, you'll meet personality types exactly like the four represented in the show. So that much is real. 

Onward. The Giro is done, which begs the question: Can you remember watching this much of the Giro ever before? Not that we haven't paid attention, but it's always been a singularly Italian event to me. And even when I've gone to cover it in person, the event has had an insular quality. But this time around it felt like the Grand Tour that it has always been. Nice to have a bunch of American teams in there, battling it out. I've never been a Menchov fan (seriously, I don't know why), so I could have done with another winner (Basso, maybe). But all in all, it was a nice ride. A piece in the LA Times last week noted that the Universal broadcasters calling the race weren't in Italy at all, but in a  Los Angeles studio, riffing on the live feed from Italy. To that I say wow. It really felt like they were there. 

My folks are doing well, thank you very much. Everyone's home. 

Keep pushing... always

No Controversy

Odd title, but I couldn't come up with something better this morning. Let's start off with a thanks to all of you for bearing with my last post. My friend Dawn says that she feels like a stalker when she reads some of my stuff, which is more my fault than hers. Lots of full disclosure comes out in these missives. Anyway, got lots of well wishes and heartfelt sympathy. Very much appreciated. Very much. 

Onward. I am eager to the point of edginess for two things: 1) tonight's big Southern California track championships; and, 2) the Tour de France. I am having a ball watching the Giro on Universal, and think the coverage is top notch. But, damn, I want to be there. My wife is noticing, too. She was pointing out that I've never been so amped for a Tour as I am for this year.  Well, I didn't go last year, and you know what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder. I'm glad to announce that I'm very close to working a deal with Active.com to post to their site again this year. I will post here, too. Not all of the content will be the same, and maybe this is the year I post photos or video or something. Am also considering following the Lance track of Tweeting through the Tour, though that makes it sound like I will be having a severe gastrointestinal malfunction, which would not be at all appropriate. 

Giro climbs Mt. Vesuvius today. Hope it doesn't blow. 

On that mountainous note, today marks the 56th anniversary of Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay summitting Everest. Also, make sure and watch Expedition Africa this weekend on History Channel. I've previewed each episode in the role of Historical Consultant, and can tell you that it's a mix between real history and Survivor. Lots of conflict. A touch of danger. Beautifully shot. 

Keep pushing... always. 

Seven Hours

I have spent seven hours on a bike before (closer to twelve on that particular day, actually), so I know what it's like to be pedaling that long. But I've never raced on a bike that long, so I found myself watching last night's Giro recap on Universal with great admiration for the physical ordeal those riders were enduring. What I came away with was this: Levi leipheimer has had a tremendous spring, but he's peaked; Ivan Basso is a sly fox, and a true contender for the upcoming Tour de France; and, Lance Armstrong is back. Watching him slow down on the final climb to tend to a fading Leipheimer isn't something you see Lance do too often -- like, never -- but is yet another sign that his legs are returning. Stay tuned. 

Onward. Awkward day for me today. I'm currently sitting in a waiting room at St. Joseph's Hospital in Orange, watching a Disney Channel movie between sentences... something about girls basketball. My Dad's in surgery right now, having an aortic aneurysm corrected. Meanwhile, my Mom is at another hospital getting ready for a Friday procedure to have a brain aneurysm corrected. Weird, weird, weird. Two of the healthiest people you'd ever meet. 

I'm not doing well. Hospitals and I don't get along. My wife strolls through a hospital with all the ease of Audrey Hepburn waltzing through Tiffany's. I feel penned in and claustrophobic. 

The movie's over. A cartoon is starting. When my kids were younger I knew the Disney Channel lineup by heart, but Phineas and Ferb is a new one for me. Strangely, the opening scene is taking place in a hospital. Allison Janney does one of the voiceovers. 

So anyway, tonight's the track team's banquet. Usually I'm amped for these things, because it's a nice bit of closure and a fine way to celebrate the season. But I've hardly given it a second thought. I'll rally, I always do. The introvert in me steps back so that I can indulge my inner extravert. I'd feel a lot more centered if I could squeeze in a run between now and 6 p.m., but that's not going to happen. 

At times like this I often resort to black humor. It's the Irish in me. But right now I'm not making any jokes (mostly because I'm alone, and it would be a strange monologue indeed to be cracking wise with all these people sitting here), I'm just kind of processing. I was going to say that I'm not talking to anyone right now, but the fact is that I'm talking to you. So thanks for that. 

A delirious old woman has staggered into the room and collapsed onto a couch. A nurse tends to her. It's a heartbreaking sight. We're all pretending not to notice; all pretending not to think that we could be like that someday; all pretending to watch Animal Planet, and the special on bears that has replaced Phineas and Ferb. 

Strange way to spend a Wednesday. Much rather be spending seven hours on a bike. 

Keep Pushing... Always

MPR

Did an hour on Minnesota Public Radio yesterday, talking about the Mexican War as part of a Memorial Day piece. It's funny: when you write a book you become immersed in the subject to the point of delusion. You no longer live in the moment, but in the time and place in which the book takes place. When you finish writing the book you have to say good-bye and return to reality. All that arcane knowledge you picked up along the way finds a place in the cranial filing cabinet, but it soon becomes, well, forgotten. So when MPR called and asked if I would go on the air, there was a slight feeling of panic. I finished The Training Ground almost two years ago. The names and places and battles and dates that were once so fresh and relevant are now a blur. Would I be able to speak clearly on the subject, particularly now that I'm moving on to another era for the next book? 

The answer, thankfully, was yes. I resisted the urge to review, or to even have a copy of TG on my desk during the interview. And in that way we all walk into a reunion and slowly recognize faces from the past, then with them, a rush of memory, it all came forth. The names of Grant and Lee and Sherman and Davis brought out other memories of Taylor and Dana (and Dana's sex-starved letters from the front). It was all golden. I stumbled a bit with a Sherman question, but talked around it for a few seconds before remembering the answer. 

So that's good. It wouldn't have been a strong start to the week to make an utter fool of myself for an hour on the radio. 

Onward. Tom Boonen's cocaine test is sparking a ton of controversy in Europe, coming on the heels of a UCI suspension. Seems that Boonen was partying hard and did the drugs while in a blackout state. And it's also a point that cocaine isn't on WADA's banned list. So what's to happen? I think we're going to see -- or already are seeing -- an interesting gray area. Namely, Boonen took an illegal substance (and was only recently spared prosecution for doing the same thing a year ago) that isn't banned as performance-enhancing. Get it? Do you throw the book at him and suspend him from the Tour, or do you arrest him, or do you simply tell him to get his act together?

Finally, the following comes in a press release from the Tour de France. It's a teaser about this year's course that shows the historical significance behind the route (there's invariably some sort of logic behind the path the Tour follows each year. Sometimes the symbolism is obvious (the Channel to the Rhine route of 2005) and sometimes not so much (see below).

Nomads…

The longest diagonal that can be drawn on the map of France was covered since a year. From Brest to Monaco, followers, riders, spectators and TV viewers will have a taste of a different climate; will discover other places and other lifestyles. It is exactly the reflection of the Tour’s vocation: to nourish from the richness and diversity of territories. The short stay that we will enjoy on the Riviera with our neighbours from Monaco that we feel so close to, will be a dive in the universe that we expect to see every year. With the same desire, the same expectations of an intense show and an unchanged fascination for a sport with an unequalled romantic side. Indeed the Tour de France, through its areas, regions and countries, mainly transports the passion for cycling.
For the nomads that we are, the atmosphere of the Grand Départ, the solemnity of the team presentation, the inaugural first kilometres of cycling against the clock when the yellow jersey is captured by a leader with an uncertain future, are always a moving prelude to mouth-watering episodes during three weeks. In Monaco, the majesty of the site will give an extra dimension to the preparations. Each and everyone will find in the pages that follow an explanation guide of their stay in the Principality.

 Christian Prudhomme

KEEP PUSHING... ALWAYS

New Password

I don't know how the brain works. All I know is that when I'm super-focused on one thing, even the most simple solutions to problems outside that realm elude me. Case in point, this site. For some strange reason, I couldn't remember the password all last week. This was also the week of a pivotal championship race for my runners, and a time when my agent and I were fine-tuning a blockbuster new book proposal. The simple solution was to change my password. Right? Not so simple. It wasn't until yesterday's races were through, and the proposal was completed on Friday that I made the two plus two. So now I sit with my coffee mug on a serene Sunday morning, contemplating whether to blow off church in favor of a long run, trying to remember all the asides I wanted to share all this last password-less week. 

First off, Marie Osmond is a skank. That may seem random, but I saw her on television the other night and realized she had become just another of those fading celebrities willing to go anywhere and do anything to maintain their celebrity (yes, I know, some would list Lance Armstrong in there, too. So is Lance a skank? I don't think so. That's a decidedly female realm. Let's just say that, for all his great riding in the Giro, I wish we could see more substance from him). The realization that Marie Osmond is a skank led me to make a list of other celebrities who have become skanks. Why was this important? I don't know. It just was. 

There is a fine line between a skank and a dig-me, by the way. And unlike with skanks, guys can be dig-me's too. For instance, yesterday at the track meet, some dig-me club coach came over to some of my runners and tried to sway them to join his team in the off-season. My first thought should have been  that it was a backhanded compliment, because my runners have gotten good enough that someone wants to poach them. But I am a small person at times, and instead my response was that: a) there's no such thing as an off-season in distance running; and, b) the guy was a dig-me, more in it for his personal glorification than for the runners. 

These are strange times we live in. I know that this isn't a natural juxtaposition, but as proof that these are strange times, this morning LA paper noted that there is a national pole dancing federation, and that pole dancing is now a sport. 

Onward. 

I have become a fan of Channel 805, or the Universal network, or whatever it's called that's showing the Giro on TV out here. It's not Liggett and Sherwen, but it's also not Hummer and the overrated Bob Roll, either. I like the coverage very much, and am also fond of the fact that their commitment to world sport doesn't end when the cycling's over. Just now, as the Giro coverage faded, they went into a half-hour show about blue water sailing, which is soon to be followed by highlights from the Tour of the Basque country. Not bass fishing. Not bull riding (though, truth be told, I have become strangely addicted to bull riding. It's actually a pretty cool sport). It's one of those channels that makes me want to challenge myself, which is a strange thing for a TV channel to make me feel. But I've been in my little bubble of movie producing and coaching for the last six months, and my heart longs for the open road and Europe. 

Before I forget, the new Expedition Africa show on History Channel starts May 31. It was based on my INTO AFRICA book, and I served as historical consultant. It's SURVIVOR meets actual historical adventure, and I hope it does very well. 

Back to Europe. The Tour starts in just six weeks. I've got my car rented, still need to apply for my press pass, and am basically revving up for the adventure. Lots of details to iron out, but if it all goes well I will not only cover the Tour but connect with my oldest son when he finishes his summer cruise in mid-January. It will be a few days too late to run with the bulls, and I'm not sure how practical it will be to dart away from the Tour for a long overnight drive to a Springsteen show somewhere in Spain or Italy, but the time with my son will make the journey awesome, and well worth writing about. I enjoyed traveling the last Tour solo (many more stops to enjoy the history), but it will be nice to have another voice in the car for the last ten days. 

Oh... the track meet. My runners are awesome. What else can I say? Personal bests, school records, and one step closer to the State meet. When you spend as many hours with a group of athletes as I do, and see all their hard work and sacrifice, nothing makes the heart soar more than seeing them open up those beautiful strides and letting it all hang out. 

Keep pushing... always.

Freaky Friday

So it appears that Lance Armstrong won't be winning the Giro after all... It's a heck of a way to race yourself into shape is all I've got to say. 

Before this morning's stage Armstrong and his teammates stepped from the bus with their team logos all but scrubbed from their jerseys. It was their way of protesting unpaid salaries by team sponsor Astana. Some say that Astana is awaiting the return of Alexandre Vinokourov, who returns to competition on July 23 after a two year doping suspension. I'm not sure I get the politics or point behind not paying the riders, unless the intent is to have Lance and Contador and Levi and Horner and anyone else with any talent leave the team so that Vino can handpick his supporting crew upon his return. TIme will tell...

... and how about that marathon man, Michael Phelps? Must be weird inside his personal fishbowl, what with his bedroom partners (I was going to say paramours, but I've never used that word in a sentence before and didn't want to use it improperly) flashing details of his sex life on the internet. I have to think that this sort of behavior exists in all aspects of the sporting world (I know it exists in cycling, have seen a rather randy text from two Italian riders to a female American journalist, asking for a threesome the night after a big mountain stage), so I think the fact that it actually made it onto the web is yet more proof that we hold the Michael Phelps of the world up to a higher standard, thanks to their glorious athletic achievements. It's not that we want to be them, it's that in our daily struggles its inspirational to know that someone is striving for, and achieving, excellence. Those kinds of people are supposed to be practically perfect in every way, to quote Mary Poppins. So I'm not surprised to see Michael Phelps' indiscretions on the web, because there are those who want to see the highest achievers humbled. What I want to know is, what sort of tawdry and tacky individual seeks out those descriptions and posts them online?

Onward. 

Talking with Smith today about the Tour. Looking forward to that conversation. July fourth is seven short weeks away. 

Flying back east to see my boy on Sunday. Can't wait. 

Keep pushing... always. 

Chasing...

So I'm here in California when I want to be in Italy, trying not to think about how much I want to be in Italy. Sigh. I have to admit that I get to do pretty much whatever I want, and get to go pretty much wherever I want, so long as it's justifiable from a work point of view. But this time I just have too much going on to slip over to the Giro, and it's making me a little crazy. Ah well. By the way, has anyone considered the idea that Lance wants to win the Giro and the Tour in the same year? Just a thought. He sure seems like he's going for it over in Italy right now. 

Onward. 

Kearns came out of the bunker to tell me about a new book he's been writing with Mark Sisson. Says he'll send me a copy for review and that the book will change my life. Kearns is a straight shooter, so I'll take him at his word on that one. I'll let you know how it goes. 

It's tapering time for my runners, which is always a dicey time of year. Do I rest them too much, or not enough? How much speed is too much? How deep into the post-season will they go? I didn't rest them for last week's big league meet, and was rewarded with the best day ever on the track. So much of coaching is theoretical, trying to figure who's tired and who's strong, when to add strength or speed, etc. Sometimes it drives me a little crazy, cross-checking my training calendar to make sure I've done enough of the training components to prepare and make them as sharp as possible. Then when they go out and race just the way I'd hoped -- no, better -- well, I just feel validated. That's the only way to put it. Not like I've done something epic, but relieved that I didn't mess it up. When you're dealing with another individual's athletic performance, the last thing you want is to be the reason they didn't do their best. 

I should add that championship prelims are Saturday and Herndon is Monday, which are two very powerful reasons for not being at the Giro, no matter how much I am pouting today.

Ciao for now. 

Keep pushing... always

Cat Fight

Just read a small notice in this morning's paper, something to the effect that the Tour of California will move to May next year, putting it up against the Giro d'Italia.

Hmmm. Interesting. This would allow for stages through the Sierra, meaning legendary climbs like Luther and Monitor Pass or even a spin through Yosemite and Mammoth now come into play. In short, the Tour of California seems to be setting the table or testing the waters -- choose your metaphor -- for expansion to a full-blown grand tour. The litmus test would be the number of teams bypassing the Giro in favor of California next year. 

All in all, I've never been a fan of the TdC, mostly because it's been an overblown version of what a January stage race should be. But I like this. American cycling needs to transition out of the Armstrong years sooner or later, and a major tour would be a big step forward. Yes, we've had our share of big bike races before (Red Zinger and Tour Dupont, etc), but they've never been remotely on par with the big Euro events. TdC has the money and the publicity mechanism to get that done. 

We shall soon see. 

Oh, and another small notice...

The LA Marathon is moving back to March. Dodgers owner Frank McCourt bought the race last year and moved it to Memorial Day, which is dumb, because Memorial Day is hot in California. With entries for this year's race down by half from last year, the sudden urge to flee back to March has overcome race organizers -- as it should. 

A random aside, but I've never been a fan of LA. It's a nice race, and I've run it a couple times. But its grasp has always fallen short of its reach. LA has long wanted to be New York or Boston, and it's just not that kind of race. It's a big city marathon with the feel of a small town 5k (hard to explain, other than to say that it's laid back), on a course that will never be flat or fast, because nothing about Southern California says flat or fast, unless you move the race to the runways at El Toro. So I'm glad to see LA back in March, where it belongs. Though organizers never fessed up, I think they were hoping that Memorial Day would make it a marquee event on a holiday, much like Boston on Patriot's Day (McCourt is from Boston). I like that many runners said it was too hot to run on Memorial Day in LA, but also said that LA conflicted with San Diego's Rock and Roll Marathon -- and it's pretty hot down in San Diego that time of year, too. What that tells me is that runners prefer Rock and Roll. Not sure the reason. But the feeling I get it that LA is a race you run to say you did it, but Rock and Roll is the race you go to have a good time. 

Just a hunch. 

Alright. I'm out. Movie meetings today. We're deep into post-production (does this process never end?) and WARRIOR looks awesome. The goal is to have it in theaters by January, just in time for the 2010 lax season. 

And while I'm at it, tomorrow is the start of track and field's post-season. Keep my runners in your thoughts. I am hoping for some surprisingly good performances. 

Keep pushing... always.

No Fish

I have a fish tank in my office with no fish in it. They kept eating each other, or just outright dying, so I stopped replacing them a long time ago. But I kept the tank because I liked the little gurgle the water made as it passed through the filter. It was my variation on those tranquility waterfalls that have become so popular, though it wasn't meant to be that way. I just liked the sound of running water, just like I enjoy stand next to a stream or, like Sunday, hanging out at the San Clemente pier and eating a bucket of clams to the sound of crashing waves. 

I mention that for no other reason than to say that the filter broke and the gurgle just stopped, and my office is now weirdly silent. 

That's OK. It helps me process. 

I was thinking this morning about the new A-Rod book, and how many reviewers are jumping to his defense, saying that the evidence is sketchy. These are the same people that rush to call track and field, and cycling "doper" sports based on the same circumstantial evidence. But before I get all in a lather about the inequity, I put myself in the minds of some nitwit who doesn't know anything about endurance sports -- some talk radio simpleton who only reads box scores and owns too many replica jerseys. And I have to say that if I were him, just reading the headlines about the world of endurance,  and seeing the news about showergate, and then the admission that the 1500-meter gold medalist and the road race silver medalist from Beijing both just dropped a positive test on the world... well, I'd say they were doper sports, too. Having said that, those are the only aspects of those sports that get reported. Having said THAT, I think A-Rod doped. 

While we're on the subject of the mainstream, someone wrote into the LA TImes last week, saying that Vin Scully couldn't hold a candle to Chick Hearn as an announcer. To which I say: Have you been smoking the hippy lettuce? I'm not even a Dodger fan anymore, but sometimes I tune in just to hear Scully's play-by-play. The man is amazing. 

Onward, into the mind of Levi Leipheimer. He has had his glorious spring, winning the Tour de California, Sea Otter, and the Tour de Peyote last weekend. And now... now it's time to pay the piper. He will work like a three-legged dog in these next three months, towing Contador and Armstrong up mountains in Italy and France. There may be the random breakaway, or perhaps a stage win thrown in as thank you for loyal and intrepid service. But from here on out he is a worker bee. How must that feel?

I still think Lance is going to win the Tour, just as I think the French will be working overtime to find a doping violation. I have this image of David Walsh and Jean-Marie LeBlanc sitting in a secret bunker somewhere inside the Chunnel, devising the ultimate conviction, smoking Gitanes and sharing their pithy little stories about why they hate Lance. 

Or not. But it's an interesting notion. 

Finally, my wife is out of town for the week. We are just a day in, and there are already pizza boxes and newspapers piled on the kitchen table, next to the gallon of milk that was left out overnight. We're worthless without her, three introverted males walking around in cargo shorts and little else, searching for lost reading glasses and computer power cords among the unfolded clothes that were pulled from the dryer with the best of intentions and then left in a tangled heap, untouched. We have little sense of schedule or obligation beyond the rising and setting of the sun, and with it the ritual of school and work, practice, and the nightly favorite TV shows. Last night there was a power outage, and we were content to sit in the dark for a good thirty minutes before realizing that maybe lighting a few candles and a fire in the fireplace would keep us from bumping into things. Though the bed is far too big without her, I am always glad for the annual social work conference that takes Callie away to hobnob with her peers. She has fun, is in her element, and truly deserves at least one week every year not spent managing the schedule of others. I will, inevitably, get this ship headed in the right direction before she comes home on Saturday evening, though we all know that might mean chaos until Saturday morning, followed by a whirlwind of cleaning.

Something tells me that this week, Keep pushing.. always, refers to a vacuum cleaner. 

Peace. Out.