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Basic Combat Training to Cycling

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It was February. I had just made the wining break in Froze Toes. My fitness still had a bit to grow, but I had proven to myself that I was right where I needed to be at the beginning of the season. But this season would be unlike others. A few days after my first race I boarded a plane to Georgia to begin Basic Combat Training with the US Army. At Fort Benning I traded in my Giant Propel for an M16-A4, my Catlike for an ACH, my formfitting Eliel cycling kit for a baggy set of OCPs, and my crisp cycling tan lines for a systemic case of poison Ivy.

Basic training

It’s hard not to smile when you’re about to unload a grenade launcher.

Ten weeks later I returned cycling tactics replaced with battle drills, my endurance on the bike replaced with the discipline to stand at attention for hours. As luck would have it my favorite local race weekend coincided with my coming home. The Fox River Omnium, consisting of the Elgin Cycling classic and the infamous Fox River Grove ski hill climb. This weekend usually showcases my climbing and breakaway abilities.

Plenty of push-up practice

Plenty of push-up practice

This year however, I came in with an uncharacteristic kind of fitness. Endurance rides have been replaced with ruck marches. Speed workouts were replaced with push-ups. My sweet spot intervals were replaced with push-ups. My recovery days were replaced with yelling and push-ups. Nevertheless, I was curious how the Army’s fitness regiment would translate to the cycling world.

Sage advice: When in doubt, prone the $^*$ out.

Sage advice: When in doubt, prone the $^*$ out.

Less than 24 hours after I had returned home from O’Hare, I was pinned up. Matt Green of Astellas Cycling loaned me $5 for day of registration. Sammy of Sammy’s Bikes offered to let me use his Colnago Ferrari edition V1-R, I opted for a $lower bike. Our team decided that my job was look pretty during the race. Got it.

Easily the worst part of basic training, the gas chamber.

Easily the worst part of basic training, the gas chamber.

The first few laps were an eye opener. I had no snap. My body was relearning how to be smooth on the pedals. The bike no longer felt like an extension of myself, but rather a machine placed beneath me that I needed to break in. Something was wrong but I could not identify what it was. It was unnerving that this object, which I use to have such an intimate relationship with, now fought me with every pedal stroke. Soon my quads could not keep with the foreign motion.

Hand to hand should translate to criterium racing well...

Hand to hand combat should translate well to criterium racing…

Last year I finished second, I was now off of the back with 15 laps to go. I was humbled. This local criterium felt like a national level race. My body began to quit, and I yo-yoed off the back. I slipped from the draft of the pack for the last time and rode five more laps solo until I was pulled. Ten laps remained uncompleted. I felt a forgotten sting of inferiority, rolled off the course and settled in to watch the EGO train lead out first, second, and fourth place.

I was happy for them, but not with them. I needed to re-earn my place.

Basic training2

Another acquired skill: standing still for long periods of time.

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