Anyway, the Yokohama event was the last race before this weekend's Grand Final. As most of those races do, it came down to the run. A group of eight off the bike became seven, then six, then five, then two in the final mile. Javier Gomez of Spain (the 2010 series champ and Olympic silver medalist) had to hold off João Silva of Portugal, who won the 2011 Yokohama race — and he didn't. Silva sprinted ahead with a kilometer to go but Gomez stayed in contact.
And this is what separates them from me.
If I were Silva, I'd have given it a hell of an effort. But the thought would have entered my head: "Dude, you're trying to hold off one of the best runners in the sport, a world champ, an Olympic medalist. There's no shame in getting run down by that guy."
Watching the final kilometer unfold, though, I could tell Silva had none of that. Fuck moral victories, he thought. I'm putting the pedal down and holding on, no matter how tired I am, how much lactic acid is accumulating in my body, how loud my brain screams to slow down. He beat the eventual winner of this weekend's grand final by 13 seconds. It goes without saying that winning and losing are both learned behaviors and at some point Silva learned to win, and called on those lessons when he needed them most. The difference between the two top spots on the podium is thousands of dollars, but take that away and you still figure the gold medal looks a lot better hanging from your neck then the silver. Or no medal at all.
***
At 23 years old, Canada's Paula Findlay has won five times on the WCS, a career's worth of accomplishment in a very short period of time. She won twice in 2010 and three times in 2011, but hobbled to a finish in the 2012 Olympics because of a hip injury (TORN labrum) that will require surgery this winter. This poor girl hadn't finished a race in months when she toed the line at the Olympics, determined to represent her country — and convinced she could win... something.
Getting to the start line on August 4th was a feat in itself. Injuries, appeals, coaching changes, politics, and a less than ideal time frame to get into race shape. Despite all this, I wasn’t headed to the Olympics just to participate and call myself an Olympian. I wanted to be on the podium. I was aware that my chances of accomplishing this were significantly lower after my difficult year, but it never lessened my desire to be the best. I lined up against 54 of the worlds fastest triathletes wanting to beat them, and believing that maybe I could. If I didn’t believe that it could happen, then there’s no way it was going to happen. (Yeah I know, it didn’t happen).
Another thing that separates them from me — that unshakable belief in one's self, one's training and one's abilities. You see that in professional team sports, athletes hanging on to that thread of belief that they can make the team. The pitcher has lost 5 mph from his fast ball but got guys out before and has no reason to believe he can't again. The quarterback won the Heisman Trophy in college and all his teammates are in the NFL, so why wouldn't he believe he can play the position at that level? The midfielder is one of the best set-piece players in the world, so of course he thinks he can still land a 40-yard free kick within five yards of the goal on to a teammate's head. He did it four years ago, didn't he?
In Findlay's case, she had the benefit of knowing she'd beaten every one of those girls before. That said, she hadn't been close in nearly a year because of a fairly serious injury. She was, in the parlance of American sport, a game-time decision and I was surprised to even see her on the start list, given what was at stake for her future; why would she risk long-term health to compete in the Olympics at 23? Because she knew she could.
***
After my shite effort at Lake Placid — and ill-fated attempt at a run a week later, which led to a season-ending injury — I've had a lot of time to cobble together these examples. I've pondered my strength of belief and concluded it just isn't there.
As a professional journalist I deal in facts. At times I've pondered practicing law, because you use facts to build a case and beat someone over the head with them. An old girlfriend once accused me of unfairly wielding the "logic stick" in emotional matters. And I have absolutely no evidence in the bank to believe I can qualify for Kona or Boston. In 2007 I ran a 1:31:25 half-marathon; to qualify for Boston I'd need to do that twice, and I never felt like I could even-split at that rate of speed (6:58/mile). To qualify for Kona I need to cut two hours from my best Ironman time, which was done on a calm, cool day on a dead-flat course in ideal conditions. No race of any distance in the past six years shows that I've done anything right in this regard, and given how I've folded mentally when it got tough I don't know if I'll develop the toughness necessary to persevere through the tough training and racing days.
So begins yet another winter of soul-searching.
