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Fatherhood

This page has hosted many words dedicated to big events: Mountains conquered; bitter winds; epic weeks; frantic adventures; terrifying descents; and wretched failures. At the time they were written, these events were my life. These were the events that engrossed me and more importantly, the events that defined me. They were the events of a triathlete – often lost, often confused and often out of his depth but always swimming, biking and running.

Big events they were, but on fatherhood they pale meekly.
21 – 3 – 12 is a nice date. Palindromic, divisible and balanced. Auspiciously, it is also the birthday of my greatest ever hero – Ayrton Senna. But more so, it is the date when my life changed forever. At 0831 hours on this date, Raphael Jack Scanlan left his comfortable home of nine months (after all, it was getting rather cramped) and said hello to a brave new world. A world in which I hope he comes to call his own through a sense of happiness and meaningful belonging.
Nothing can quite prepare you for an event like this. For starters, Claire and I had been convinced that we were having a girl. Such was the strength of our conviction that when in the womb, young Raphael was known as Sesame on account that it was a nice sounding feminine name and for the fact that he/she/it (I am confused too?) was once the size of a sesame seed. There are few genuine surprises in life as great as learning the gender of your new baby. Nor are there few greater pleasures than seeing him or her for the first time.
For his part, Raphael strode into his brave new world with a sense of calm confidence that beggared belief – it was almost as if he’d done it all before. Perhaps he was a little startled but nothing more. There were few tantrums and little trauma. Immediately he was keen to snuggle up against the warm protectiveness of his Mum. The two have barely left each other’s side since.
For our part, we both had tears in our eyes. And this is the strangest thing for we had known for nine long, nervous, exciting and (let’s be honest) often tedious months that we were having a baby. But at the same time, despite countless obstetrician appointments, numerous scans and multiple ante-natal classes, plus the books, DVDs, brochures, unsolicited lectures and the ever ongoing dinner time discussions we seemed blissfully unaware that we were actually having a real baby.
A real baby with arms and legs that wave frantically and eyes that look inquisitively. With a heart that beats rapidly and a stomach that empties frequently (even more frequently than mine!). A real baby that depends entirely on us for survival, and for love, care and comfort. And of course, a real baby that makes those adorable newborn sounds when feeding and sleeping.
In truth, we are still adapting to this concept. For the days after birth in the hospital are quaint. Raphael was more a commodity than a person. He was poked, prodded, measured and tested and handed around the room from specialist to nurse; family to friend and back again.
Already as we look back, we can see how young and nervous we were as parents. One week on has not changed this much. We are still amateurs. But in that time we have learned a lot and loved even more.
It is not until Rapha came home with us that parenthood and its lasting responsibilities began to sink in. All of a sudden, our home, sanctuary of five years suddenly seemed different and somehow vulnerable. It was not sterile, regimented, modern and climatically controlled but rather it was unpredictable, noisy, dirty and old. It dawned on us that Raphael was not going to grow up in a hospital ward. He was going to grow up in our world and all that comes with it – the noisy neighbourhood, two unkempt cats and a worm farm, dirty floors and dirtier dishes, doors that slam shut unexpectedly, and windows that won’t close properly. He was going to grow up in our world, with us. It is a daunting thought because it is hard to know if our world is fit for such a young human being. But it is also a thought that is very exciting because deep down we know we can do it.
Rather than find myself constrained by parenthood I find myself thinking of a fatherhood of unbridled horizons.
To hold a future frameless in design is special thing.
Now if you’ll excuse me, it is 12.30am and I am on the midnight shift. Rapha is starting to let me know that he is a little hungry.

 

29/03/2012 | Categories: Uncategorized | 4 Comments »

Lost and found at Falls Creek

The Falls Creek Long Course Triathlon, doubling as the Australian Long Course Championships, was my first key race of 2012. The course, set in the beautiful Victorian Alps, was to be as spectacular as it was tough. It was the type of course that had me hooked the minute I heard about it. I have always thought that Australia is in need of some challenging and unique courses. Falls Creek is definitely one such course: cold, hilly, technical and at altitude – there are no shortages of challenges involved in tacking this course. I can only echo the sentiments of Dr Anderson in writing that for my money there could be no better course to hold the Long Course Championships on.
 
Congratulations must go to the entire Supersprint crew for not only contemplating hosting a race that will always present a logistical and organisational challenge but for actually putting it on and for putting it on with style. The Supersprint team, led by David Hansen, and assisted very ably by others including my host for the weekend, Bowen Kress, are some of the most enthusiastic and passionate triathlon race organisers you will come across.
And congratulations to all the athletes who bravely took on the challenge, especially considering that another long course race was being held in far more temperate conditions in Geelong on the following day.
As for my race, well it was decided for me that the challenges presented by the course and the location were not enough. Through a completely bizarre sequence of events, the likes which I have never heard of (perhaps best described here), my wetsuit was misplaced by a fellow athlete prior to the race.
Thankfully the team at 2XU helped me get into another suit as the prospect of plunging into the 14 degree lake sans combinaison was not an idea I was keen to entertain. The problem was that the only suit available was too small – not so much of a problem I thought as I hurried down to the swim start on account of my last minute fitting. But as the race got started I quickly found out that the combination of altitude, cold water and a super tight wetsuit left me struggling to breathe, and struggling to get into any sort of normal swim rhythm.
For me, the swim was over as soon as it had begun. I had to stop numerous times during the 2 kilometre course to tread water and try to get air into my lungs. And after weeks of solid and valuable drafting practice thanks to Paul Newsome’s coaching I was left to swim the entire course completely on my own. I exited the water minutes down on the lead guys. The Australian Long Course Championship is not really the kind of race where I can afford to give my competitors that kind of advantage.
Still a good bike and run saw me claw back a top-10 finish on a fantastic course.
The worst part of the story is that unbeknown to me at the time, my own wetsuit was safely sitting under the table at the 2XU tent only metres from my bike during the entirety of the race as this is where my fellow athlete had left it. And of the suit of my new friend (which would have also fit me)? Well it spent the race safely tucked away in the bottom of his race bag!
I feel that I must have had enough bizarre race incidents now. The last 12 months of my key races has been a blur of accidents, equipment problems, illness and now quasi wetsuit theft. Writing stories like this time and time again has left me frustrated and even led me to doubt my own abilities. Is it me who is simply not able to cope with unusual race scenarios? Is it my lack of preparation that has ultimately led to the occurrence of random and unforseen events on race day? I don’t know.

A friend told me after the race that he admired my patience. I am beginning to wonder whether stupidity is perhaps a more appropriate word than patience. Well, even if it is, I will throw my hat into the ring once again because I know that my form was good on Saturday.
Exactly where the next race will be, I am not yet sure.

Maybe Singapore: At least you don’t even need a wetsuit in Singapore.

Thanks for reading and thanks to my loyal sponsors: Break Your Limits, Tanita, Louis Garneau, Hornet Juice, Extreme Endurance, K-Swiss and 720 Armour.* You guys are fantastic. Thanks also to 2XU for doing the best possible in a "tight" situation.
 
* Astute readers might note the absence of wetsuit sponsor in that list. If there is anyone brave enough to provide me with a wetsuit (or perhaps two just in case) I will be only too happy to oblige and I promise that I would never let it out of my site on race morning!
 

 

15/02/2012 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave A Comment »

Stepping down and stepping up

My 2012 season commenced in earnest and with a what felt like a supersonic bang on Sunday with the running of the State Olympic Distance Championships held right in the centre of Perth. They say that it is always harder for long course guys to step down in distance than for short course guys to step up, and after the running of the race on Sunday, I’d tend to agree.

By my standards, I had a good race. Certainly there were no problems to speak of. I felt good and strong. But I just did not have the pace to match it with the really quick guys of WA triathlon. Still, I am happy to have come away with an 8th place finish at a State Championship race in what was a very strong field and close run race. And I am happy to have cranked my 2012 racing legs into gear.
2012 promises to be a somewhat uncertain year but no doubt a very exciting one. It is the year that my life will change from being a consultant, writer, coach, pro triathlete and husband to being all of the above plus a father. Yikes! It’s a little scary but also very exciting. So if some time around April my blogs all of sudden turn into some kind of incoherent mess, please have leniency on me as I expect that Claire and I will be experiencing a few sleepless nights around this time.
Anyway, back to triathlon, my concluding thoughts on the weekend’s race are that I feel ready to tackle some longer distance racing. While my top speed might not be right up there – this is not my principal concern. During Sunday’s hitout, I felt like I had the strength and endurance to see me through the demands of long course racing.
It is now less than two weeks until the National Long Course Championships in Falls Creek and I am feeling positive and confident. Training has gone well and thanks to a feverish bit of work with sponsors over my summer break I am well-equipped and ready to roll.
Thanks to ENVE wheels for providing me with a super fast and super good looking pair of carbon race wheels. These things are fast and versatile too. Check out www.enve.com if you have not yet heard of them. After making quite a splash in Europe and the States they have now hit our distant shores.
Thanks also to Tanita – their products have been instrumental in me getting back down to a decent racing weight after the usual post-season festivities. And thanks also to 720 Armour for providing me with all my sunglass needs – they have been an especially valuable asset during the recent string of scorching days that we have been fighting with in Perth of late.
Now it is time for one last week of solid training before jumping on a plane and heading back to the type of terrain I love – the mountains!
Thanks for reading and happy training.

31/01/2012 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave A Comment »

Stories from the Inside II

Kindred Karma
The scene: Hawaiian Ironman 

The athlete in this picture is Andreas Raelert – second in Kona in 2010 and third in 2011. Also in this photo is Chris McCormack, the man who emphatically, yet narrowly, beat Andreas in 2010. This is where the story starts.
Kailua-Kona 2010: At the end of the bike leg, McCormack held a 1 minute and 20 second lead over Raelert. It was anything but the type of lead that ensured victory and so it was natural that Andreas would soon launch his final assault. What was not natural was the force by which he did it with. By the halfway point of the marathon Raelert was rapidly tearing metres of lava-strewn earth out of McCormack’s now feeble lead. It was an impressive display, particularly in light of the calibre of the man he was catching.
Chris McCormack is a racer’s racer.
Where others would crumble, McCormack did not panic (though he did admit later to being spooked). He was a man on the run but he never acted as so. His thought process was always coherent and his movements always calculated. There are few athletes like him.
With ten kilometres to go McCormack held a very narrow and still rapidly diminishing lead. On the side of the road at this critical juncture was Raelert’s brother Michael. Michael was 70.3 World Champion at the time and not racing on this day.
Michael had a host of options available to him at the moment McCormack passed. With his brother in second place he could have used the opportunity to plant a seed of doubt or fear in McCormack’s mind. He could have told McCormack a piece of inaccurate information about how far back his brother was. He could have said nothing at all. But he did not do any of these. Instead he gave McCormack a clear verbal picture of the exact state of play.
Precise and accurate information is a crucial ingredient in a race win and Michael had just given this to McCormack despite his obvious family connection. It was an incredible gesture of sportsmanship. McCormack used this information to formulate his final strategy.
Raelert did end up catching McCormack and they ran shoulder to shoulder in the dying kilometres. With four kilometres to go, the pair shook hands and wished each other luck. The battle that would decide the war commenced.
McCormack was victorious. But this is not the point of the story. The point is that in 2010 these two supreme athletes fought each other for the most sought-after prize in triathlon. They fought with courage, bravery and skill. They did not fight with hate. One year on and this time it was McCormack who was the man on the sidelines. He has the sportsmanship and respect to return the favour that was granted to him by Michael Raelert in2010 and so we see McCormack passionately imploring his one-time rival to dig deep and race strong.
The story is one of brilliant competitiveness, sportsmanship, respect and raw athletic talent.
Sport is a wonderful study. Triathlon is a beautiful sport.

 

08/11/2011 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave A Comment »

Stories from the Inside

Good words paint pictures and good pictures tell stories. Stories are the currency on which the legends surrounding any sport are built. All sports need stories because stories bring sporting personalities to life. Elite athletes can be a hard bunch of people to get to know but through stories heard here and there we start to get an insight into what goes on in their worlds. Any sport becomes instantly more attractive once we have some sort of emotional attachment to the athletes that participate in it.
I wrote this article after randomly stumbling upon two triathlon photos that clearly stood out from the crowd. Not because they are photographs of superb quality but because of what they capture.
Both photographs capture the toil that elite athletes go through to achieve success. But what I really like about each of them is the raw emotions that they portray and the depiction of the personal relationships that exist among the champions of our sport. Such relationships are often overlooked by a media that is hungry for a neat post-race package of split times and race results. In triathlon there are always things going on behind the scenes and on the sidelines. These goings on are as much a part of our sport as is the ability to swim, bike and run.
The two photographs are not mine but I have taken the liberty of naming them. The first is the subject of this post and is called Overthrow on the Promenade. The picture (shown below) was captured on the Promenade des Anglais ‑ a famous tarmac of glamour and wealth that hugs the Mediterranean Sea. The second picture, Kindred Karma, will feature in the second instalment of this article. I will post this in a few days time. 
Overthrow on the Promenade
The scene: Ironman France
The fact that Marcel Zamora is Spanish has not prevented him from being crowned the ‘King of Nice’. Five consecutive Ironman France wins tends to do that type of thing. Zamora is known for his ability to bike well  and run fast. Very fast. Each Ironman France victory has come courtesy of a deathly blow unleashed during the final 42 kilometres.
In 2010, he tore through the first 10 kilometre lap along the Promenade in 35 minutes. If he was not such a champion athlete you could be excused for thinking that the King had lost his marbles and forgotten about the remaining 32 kilometres of bone-jarring work ahead. But he had not. Having struck fear into the hearts of his opponents, Zamora went on to win comfortably and secure his fifth consecutive Ironman France title.
To the left of the picture is the King’s Commander in Chief. His name is Cristian. Whenever Zamora races, it is a safe bet that Cristian will not be far away. Cristian is an affable and immediately likeable man in everyday life but I get the sense that his demeanour changes once his King is called into action. He speaks a jumbled mix of Spanish, French and English but he gets his message across. And getting his message across is exactly what he is trying to do here. It is a tough job because his words must penetrate the deep fug of fatigue that envelops a brain after hours of intense racing.
Zamora is a picture of athletic concentration and calm determination but Cristian is energetic, passionate and desperate. The contrast is striking. What is also interesting is the hint of despair that is evident on the face of Zamora.
It is as if he could see that 2011 was going to be the end of his five-year reign. If this was in fact the case, then he was right. Unfortunately for him, the French have developed quite a habit of overthrowing their monarchs.
This overthrow was the result of a dedicated and concerted effort on behalf of two collaborators. They implemented their premeditated attack with precision, and it yielded the desired outcome: The top two steps of the podium for themselves. The third step, nothing more than collateral to the spoils of success, was offered as a token gift to the deposed King.
Race winner, Frederik van Lierde was one of the collaborators but it was Francois Chabaud who masterminded the attack. The wise and experienced Frenchman arrived in Nice declaring that he was looking forward to an easy Ironman to prepare his legs for later season races. He would tell anyone who would listen that he hated the incessant clamour of the Cote d’Azur, and that the mountainous course did not suit his powerful build. He was given the number five bib to wear and was all but overlooked by the media circus. Chabaud was so far from the centre of attention that he was not even present at the pre-race press conference for professional athletes.
The van Lierde and Chabaud strategy was simple. The two would work together within the rules of triathlon to blaze a terrifyingly quick bike leg. In doing so they would force Zamora to push beyond his comfort zone thus putting undue fatigue in his agile running legs. They needed to exploit the King’s perceived weakness on the bike and nullify his most impressive strength – his run speed.
Both van Lierde and Chabaud knew that they had to commit 100 per cent. There was no room for second guessing or hesitation. On exiting the water it would be nothing but full gas on the bike, especially in the early kilometres.
It was not without its risks. Chabaud exited the water alongside Zamora and 1 minute and 30 seconds down on van Lierde. For the plan to work, Chabaud had to push past his usual limits to make the juncture to van Lierde, who himself could not afford to slow down to wait for his accomplice. Zamora would later comment on Chabaud’s blistering pace during the early stages of the bike. And Chabaud would also note later that at the time it was unfolding he held grave fears for the late-race repercussions of his early and overly aggressive attack.
They say that fortune favours the brave and on this day it would prove to be true.
Chabaud left victorious. He did not win as it was his accomplice van Lierde who did that. But he did rise from a position of relative pre-race obscurity to end the day by plundering a valiant second-place finish and a stunning bike course record to match. Quite an achievement, as you must bear in mind that Ironman France is not the type of course that attracts drab bikers.
So fierce was Chabaud’s bike of terror that it left Zamora with a 17 minute deficit to conquer. It was too much, even for a runner of prodigious talent. I think that Zamora knew this and no doubt Cristian did too. But in the picture Cristian screams at his King not to think this way; not to succumb; and not to give up. In Ironman, the mental is as important as the physical and this is why you will always find people like Cristian on the sidelines.
Despite appearances, Ironman is far from an individual sport.

 

21/10/2011 | Categories: Uncategorized | 1 Comment »

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