Hugh Trenchard

The Sooke 10k running race was not originally in my plans. But as the months since January passed by, rather at their own choatic pace tempered by an underlying rhythm of coldness and grey; and, in contrast, as the Island running series ticked down one by one in their bi-weekly clocklike regularity, I discovered in myself an unexpected but burgeoning desire to win the top Master award (40+) for the series.

Originally I had intended to cease running altogether after the Albany Marathon in March, and to begin training in earnest on the bike soon thereafter. This plan seemed reinforced by the calls for capitulation from my troubled plantar fascia, which calls I well thought to heed.

But after returning from Albany I was quickly tempted by the possibility of a decent half marathon, knowing I could rely on marathon fitness to carry me over the next two weeks with very little running required in between. So, I partially heeded the cries of my foot by running minimally after Albany, remained well aware that the foot was far from fully healed, and knew of the risks for long term injury were I tempted by the Comox Half. Still I considered that after the Half I would certainly be replacing the runners with cycling shoes, so even if I came away injured, I would have months of healing over the cycling season before resuming running again.

With that in mind I ran the Half to a reasonable finish by my standards, but the last two kilometres obliterated my plantar fascia. And so afterward I swore to myself that that was it for the season. Time on the bike ensued and indeed my mind shifted toward the multiplicity of bike races, and away from the Island series and the possibility of winning the Master award.

But then after three weeks of no running, the Island series Master award leaked into my consciousness, and that trickle, by dint of continued analysis, gradually became a torrent. What if circumstances are such that I cannot even run at all next year? Who will be 40 next year and faster than me? Will I regret not having taken the calculated risks associated with pursuing the goal of one last race and winning the Master award?

The die was cast, but my foot was in rough shape, and I set out to calculate the minimum time I would need to run to win over the next two competitors, Hicham el Amiri and Kevin Searle. On points Hicham was not far back of me, but he was in Boston and, with only four races completed in the series, would not qualify for the award. Kevin was farther back, and I had a fairly comfortable margin over him – I could run relatively slowly, for me, and still win the series.

With that in mind, and in consideration of my injured foot and no running in three weeks, I ran three runs in the week leading up to Sooke (but plenty of riding): an easy run around the lakes on the previous Sunday during which the foot was sore but held up, a treadmill run on Wednesday with 15 mins of tempo, and an easy half hour on Friday (followed by some time on the bike), and no training on Saturday.

This proved an adequate formula. I ran better than expected and felt quite good for the race. After about a mile, I settled in with Mark Nelson, running second and third behind Dave Jackson, way out in front, and who is finally returning from a long term injury. I didn’t think I would be able to stay with Mark, so I tucked in behind him most of the way. On the return, at about 7km, where the 300m hill at about seven percent gradient is located, I discovered more gas than I thought, and found myself pulling away from Mark, and holding on for second place in 34:34, and securing the Master award for the series.

I am quite proud of winning the top Master award. It represents the validation of 20+ years of nearly continuous training and racing; a confirmation that all the years of sweat and sacrifice, the countless highs and lows of racing and training, have all been worth it; a confirmation that all the years of dedication can and do keep your body young and in fantastic shape.

Now is the stage set for another twenty years of dedication, but if it were all to end tomorrow, I would be satisfied and happy with the immense efforts of the last twenty years. And so the Master award marks both twenty years past and the uncertain future whose highs and lows no doubt will not pass with clocklike regularity, but a future that begins now with the same unwavering dedication that has buoyed all the years passed.

The Master award is truly a great honor, and I am indeed proud of it.

Now having considered a couple of scenarios itemized in the first installment of this short series, we can move to consideration of others.

As a brief refresher, recall that in the first installment, one scenario involved training in January, a time of year when it is well known to rain in spades almost continuously on the west coast; a time when there is no racing and it is arguably not particularly onerous to ride with fenders that can be installed for the long term without any reason to alternate between taking them off, if it happens to be dry, and putting them back on if it is raining. In other words, the time and hassle and the general temptation to use a hammer to straighten the fender housing, and the litany of curses that generally accompany fender installation – these need only happen once.

But now let’s imagine that it is late March and the first race of the racing season has taken place just last week. There is no race this weekend, but the local hard-butts have gathered for a training ride and, as might be predicted, it is sprinkling lightly. Everyone dutifully sports their fenders with mudflaps.

There is general chuckling and chatter in the air about the spring racing series among the local bike racers: who was displaying good form at the first race of the year? Who is peaking too early and will be flat as a pancake in June? There is more chuckling. That sort of thing. No one, though, discusses the absence of fenders during the race – they are simply not used during races, rain or no rain.

Now recall from Part I that the riders departed without Fenderless Joe, who, unbeknownst to the group latched on later, somewhere along the way. So has this occurred again.

Your good strong pull is over and you decelerate along the paceline, collecting your well-deserved brownie points as you go, which come in the form of hard-breathing and the general look of suffering on those behind you, a few cordial back slaps and breathy congrats on your good pull.

Glowing, but glad to be heading to the back for shelter, you arrive at the rear and, much to your dismay, you realize that Fenderless Joe is present again. Momentarily it sticks in your craw that he’s not breathing very hard. But he is a human being after all, and so you say “hey”, and seeing the space he leaves for you, you move to occupy it. Just then you hear him mutter something apologetically about having removed his fenders before the first race – which you are quite aware that he did not win because you would have remembered this, and actually recognize him only because you saw him at a ride in January without fenders – and that it’s now racing season.

You can barely believe your ears. Was it not enough to extend greetings to him, and now you must respond to his inane utterances? During a moment of stunned silence, you stare at Fenderless Joe from under your currently clear Oakleys with contempt and disbelief. Uncertain whether it is beneath your dignity even to respond, eventually you say, in a sort of Schwarzenegger monotone: “most people have two bikes.” Then you rise quickly from your saddle for two or three rapid forward thrusts on your pedals to ensure that you are riding ahead of him.

Now Fenderless Joe is in a quandary. Unlike you, Fenderless Joe does not have a winter bike permanently set up with fenders, and a racing bike (actually you have a time-trial bike too, but that is needless detail). Fenderless Joe has only one bike. It is multi-purpose and he uses it for both winter training and for racing, sometimes a little off-road and the odd commute to work and back. Ordinarily he doesn’t use it much during the winter, training mostly indoors or running or some such.

And so the questions arise: is Fenderless Joe obligated to have two bikes, a racing bike and a winter bike? If so, how does this obligation arise, particularly when Fenderless Joe does not train much outdoors in the winter? If he uses only one bike, should he be expected to put his fenders back on before a training ride after racing season has started?

A recent discussion about the ethics of using fenders on group rides has led me to think through a few of the various subtleties of the issue. Consider a few scenarios:

It’s January in Victoria, and you’ve been racing and training all year, summer and winter. It’s five degrees and sprinkling lightly and you show up at the bike shop to join the local winter hard corps for a soggy Sunday ride. You have dutifully affixed your fender with mudflap, as much of a pain as it was to assemble, and this time you have managed to avoid the incessant rubbing of fender against rubber that annoyed you endlessly last winter.

As the group sets out, you fall into a double paceline. You are all getting wet under the rain, but everyone has fenders with flaps and at least no one is getting sprayed in the face by Fenderless Joe. At least not at first. But twenty minutes pass and you’ve just taken a pull at the front with your two-up partner. You drop to the back – going “back for a smoke” as some would say – and lo and behold, yes, check it out, Fenderless Joe has latched on to the back somewhere along the way.

Actually, you don’t realize at first he has no fenders, but Fenderless Joe informs you of the fact and kindly opens a gap for you and allows you to slot in ahead of him. Oh well ok, you think, at least Fenderless Joe is aware of his rude fenderless nature and isn’t some sort of sociopath who will simply spray everyone in the face and not care a jot about it. Still it bugs you that he won’t be contributing to the paceline and gets a free ride the whole way, but you’d rather he sit at the back out of sight and of mind, and there you can forget about him.

But someone at the front ramps up the pace, and a split in the pack occurs. You’ve found yourself in the second group, but Fenderless Joe is strong and he passes from behind and you know he can take you straight across to the first group if you choose to get on his wheel. What do you do? Do you let him go because he is fenderless, treat him as a non-entity, or do you jump his wheel and let him pull you across and take the spray in the face? Besides, you can always shout at him after he takes you across. Let’s say you choose to take the wheel – what has happened now? By taking the benefit of his pull, have you waived your ethical right to complain about his being fenderless, or can you still in good conscience spit the sandgrits from his spray back at him or give him the evil eye beneath your mud-covered face and glasses?

Now consider you’re all riding along, moseying along fine and dandily; no one is really pushing too hard under the rain. Fenderless Joe is quiet at the back and not a worry at all – no one has yelled at him since he hasn’t been giving anyone the face spray. But look at it, yes, check it out, Fenderless Joe is moving up the outside of the group, even crosses the centreline so as not to spray anyone. how considerate, you think. Fenderless Joe passes everyone and is on a solo flyer out in front of the pack! The guys at the front don’t take the bait and Fenderless Joe gets far enough ahead that no one is getting sprayed. But your adrenaline spikes, and you think “that’s my wheel” and you head after him. Soon you latch his wheel and get a face full of muck, and in your mind you call him good for nothing for having no fender. But, did Fenderless Joe say you had to come after him? Again, what has happened here, have you now waived your ethical right to complain because you have joined him ahead of the main pack? You could have just treated him as an invisible ghost and let him ride ahead, after all.

…To be continued…