I heard an interview a few days ago with a film director who was making a documentary about sports, and the interviewer asked the director to compare working with athletes and working with actors, and the director said that one group, on average, was much worse to work with, as they had an enlightened sense of entitlement and an inflated sense of themselves – and the group he was talking about? The athletes. The director’s reasoning was that unlike many actors who had to pay their dues, wait tables or earn a living in the lower rungs of the service industry; many top athletes have been fawned over since the age when their athletic skills manifested themselves.

This really should not come as a surprise. If the television show "Glee" has taught us anything – it’s that jocks are bigger jerks than the drama kids in high school. Many top athletes have been known as "the best" since grade school, and being labeled as an "anointed one" so to speak, serves to stymie their emotional growth, sometimes even halting it. They can get permanently stuck in a developmental middle school, a school where they are the best, they can get away with things because they are gifted athletically, and tossing the art club kids into lockers is just what they do – not that I hold a grudge about that or anything – because I totally don’t, really.

But I don’t mean to say that there aren’t any actors who don’t have the same attitudes and stunted personal growth that top athletes have, because there are some actors that behave like spoiled middle schoolers, because in many cases, they are middle schoolers. I am speaking, of course, about child actors. Granted, there are many child actors who have grown up relatively normally and are living very solid and fulfilling lives, Ron Howard and Jodie Foster spring to mind here; but there seem to be an alarming number of former child actors whose early success has lead them to depression, addiction and sadly, QVC in their later lives. For every Ron Howard success story there seems to a legion of Corey (both Haim and Feldman) stories, stories of grown up child actors who can no longer get roles, and, since they are ill-equipped to handle failure or the set backs most of us have experienced, they subsequently turn to alcohol, drugs or, worst of all, they toss on some guy-liner and start terrible Emo bands.

I realize that this might be a new and novel way to think of many athletes – as potential future reality show has-beens – and many athletes are very grounded, humble and modest people. But there are some out there who are still unmistakably stuck in middle school, figuratively tossing art geeks into lockers (see? I’m totally over it!) unaware that they are a few scant years away from hitting the "man-scara" bottle and performing songs about rain clouds in front of crowds composed of apathetic relatives and hostile art geeks.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Bicycle Fun fact (BFF) of the day
1971 Eddy Merckx accidentally annexes Luxembourg, potentially creating an international crisis, but concerns subside when it’s revealed that Luxembourg takes the annexation as a compliment. It’s a little known fact that Merckx still owns Luxembourg, and earns a percentage from all the cheese produced there.

Today was a delightful ride with great company, as I rode with Peter on a crisp sunny autumn day. We rode the 9 of the W until we arrived at the Piermont Scone Depository. We rode back at a good pace, and Peter tolerated my incessant conversation (some of which was not about bodily functions), and we parted at the GWB, as I had driven to meet him at the bridge.

I packed up the car, and had to hurry on my way, as there was parenting to be done, and it was not until I had arrived home that I realized that I had left my front wheel at the side of the road – again. Those of you not familiar with my stupidity might not be aware that I have done the exact same thing once before at a race in Prospect Park, where I abandoned a Zipp 404 in the roadway there. It seems that I am back to my old forgetful ways, and I hope that the person who inherits my 9 year old front wheel will get as much joy and amusement from it that I have. I shall miss it. I will have to replace that wheel of course, but I can’t help but think that I will not let myself get too attached to the new wheel, no matter how charming it may be, as surely, one day, I will drive off as the wheel falls to the street and slowly wobbles to a halt, lost and left to face the world alone.

Monday, November 30, 2009

BFF of the Day
1986 Specialized develops a special neon paint for their mountain bikes, there are complaints from customers who claim the paint sears their shorts to their saddles.

Today I was sent indoors by my coach (I am coached by God, when it rains, I train indoors) to train, so lacking any available hair shirts to properly punish myself for being stupid enough (again) to leave a wheel standing by the side of the road, I decided to punish myself in the next best way – through schmalz-bata. To those of you who are new to the complex and mostly meaningless world of training I’ve constructed, schmalz-bata is plyometrics done to the tabata time table. Today I did squat jumps – and they are about the most revolting thing you can do to yourself athletically. The most un-athletic revolting thing you can do to yourself involves the phenomenon of "furries" and nougat, but that is not a subject for this journal.

After 3 minutes and 50 seconds of pure agony, I hopped onto my bike for a short spin on rollers, in order to hopefully wash the memory of those despicable hops from my muscles.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

BFF of the Day
2007 Trek announces the Hyperbole – a bike which is 89% marketing.

My muscle memory erasing roller ride was not very effective. Today my calves feel like stretched bands of worn elastic holding up tattered boxer shorts woven of pain and torment. My calves are spasming at random Tourettic intervals, launching obscenity laced diatribes back up at my mind for ever conceiving a torture such as schmalz-bata. My mind, of course, is fixated upon my increasing weight; which has hit 154 again today. I was planning on working the Thanksgiving excess through my system like a python digesting a baby tapir, but my metabolic efforts have come to naught. I will have to limit myself to restricted food intake, and will have to be especially careful to avoid bingeing on tapir for the next few days.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

BFF of the Day
2009 Did you know that GPS tracking technology was developed for targeting on intercontinental ballistic missiles? Did you also now that the only thing keeping every cyclist with a GPS unit from being instantly vaporized is the daily mood of a man named Earl in the State Department?

Today I got back to business and did a 20 minute "kinda hard" interval. Which is an interval done at a HR about 5-10 beats below my threshold of 175, of course, my HR monitor wasn’t showing any numbers to go by, so I rode by feel. I tried to keep the interval at around 260 watts or so, and I was successful. I’m not one to drone on about the cleansing effects of physical suffering, as I think the Rapha catalogs have the copyright on that notion, but there is something satisfying about going out and abusing yourself.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

BFF of the Day
1944 An ailing Ignaz Schwinn decides to write his memoirs, which are later burned as they divulge the secret to a perpetual motion machine that would’ve put the laws of gravity out of business.

After a few days spent at an un-svelte 154 pounds, I awoke today to find that I had shrunk back down to a more manageable 153 pounds. I haven’t really changed any eating habits, but I did attend a party last night for the CRCA. So I am left to conclude that talking loudly and drinking Guinness is, in fact, slimming – think about it – how many boney Irish people do you know?

I’ve been varying the length of my rides lately, and when I say varying, I mean making them much shorter. I varied my ride today down to about an hour, but I did do some 20/10s, which should surely make up for the lack of total duration.