Foreshadowing

Last March I wrote this post about pre-season anxiety, wondering whether or not my friends' visiting was going to affect my training and racing. It's all in there, premonitions about how if my whole parade of friends came I wouldn't be able to train enough, and forewarning about how I would eventually fall off the wagon and miss some important races. Sorry to give mandatory homework, but this post is not going to make sense unless you read the old post. If you don't have much time, just read the paragraph about my terribly insightful dream. You can find it by just looking for the Mark Allen icon which tells you to "start reading here".

Ok, so did you read it? Are you back? If you didn't read it, then parts of this post are going to make no sense. So did you really read it? Ok, good.

Well anywho the other night I couldn't sleep again and I got to thinking and feeling pretty miserable about all the races that I flaked out on. I was thinking about the nasty club captain that didn't hold up his end of the bargain about keeping me informed about logistical and transportation issues, and then got all mad at me for disappearing from so many races. And then I remembered my dream from last March and how in my dream Mark Allen made me feel just like Jerk Triathlon Guy made me feel, even though (and because) it was all my fault. Both in my dream and in real life I wanted to do the races, but I just couldn't stop getting in my own way and in the end lack of focus made me let down my triathlon team, and Dream Mark Allen.

So then I started thinking about Mark Allen, not the legend, not the guy who ran shoulder-to-shoulder with Dave Scott in 1989 only to outwit him in the last couple of miles; not the giant who won the following 4 championships in Hawaii; not the God who was 13 minutes down on Thomas Helreigel (spelling?) in 1995 and ran him down in the marathon to win his last race ever. I was thinking about the Mark Allen I'd met a couple of times and had "seen around" (e.g. hung back in a corner staring out of the corner of my eye) several times while I was living in Santa Cruz. You see, Mark Allen was a member of the gym I worked at and was a bit of a legend on his own in the Spa Fitness Center world. He was a real athlete, and as far as I know the only professional we had at Spa. Receptionists, instructors and salespeople would whisper about him when he walked through the door. One of the instructors was a member of his Shamanistic spiritual group, so pamphlets about Shamanistic seminars led by Mark Allen were always all over the brake room and on all the bulletin boards. So even though Mark Allen rarely walked through the door (he was usually off either coaching world-class athletes or giving self-help speeches in wigwams), he was always a presence around the place all the same.

At the time I was in my first season of triathlon training for a couple of Olympic distance races and a half ironman. I used to pester the manager (a bona fide ultraendurance athlete and ironman with a masters in Exercise Science) about training tips and questions. One day he said to me, "Why don't you ask Mark Allen for some tips?"
"Who?" I said. "You mean the crazy guy with the peyote and the tee pees?"
And then Bill explained to me WHO Mark Allen WAS. I'd heard of him, but I'm not so good with names, so I'd never put together the "Peyote Guy" together with the guy that all my triathlon books talked about.
"I can't talk to THAT GUY!"
"Aw no, he's really nice, really down to earth. I bet he could give you a few tips," Bill encouraged.

So after that I started to watch Mark Allen to see if he was really an approachable guy like Bill said he was. He was real quiet and kind of kept to himself. He would come in, do a few weights for a little while, not really speak to anyone, and then just leave. The thing is, he never came in alone. He was always with a guy (right), I think his name is Brant, but we'll call him The Voice. Brant was not only Mr. Allen's spiritual guide or Shamanistic partner or whatever, but while Mark is quiet and soft spoken (I think the word here is "zen"), The Voice never shut up and did all the talking for him. The Voice made sure that everyone knew who was gracing them with His presence. "This is Mark Allen! The best triathlete in history! Six time winner of the Ironman world championships in Hawaii!" The Voice announced at least once a day. And the worst part is that The Voice's voice is high-pitched, nasal, really, really loud (maybe you've heard it on interviews?), and I think he does something funny with his Rs. In short, The Voice's voice really sticks to your ears, even after he's done speaking. I decided that there was no way I was going to talk to Mark Allen if I had to talk through The Voice.

And here's where we start to get to the real reason I'm telling this story and how it ties in with my life. I swear, I'm not trying to name-drop, and there is a reason for all this.

One day Mark Allen came in by himself and sat down in one of the chairs next to reception. He was sitting there alone for a couple of minutes and I decided that this was my chance to ask him a couple of questions. But how do you start a conversation with Mark Allen, The Greatest Triathlete In History? Like I always do, I said something completely inappropriate and a little bit insulting (I don't mean to do it, it just happens!). "Hey, you don't get in shape by just sitting there," I said with a big smile on my face, which I hoped would give off that I was kidding. "You have to actually use the equipment."

"I'm waiting for someone," said Mark Allen with a little snicker or a sneer.

"Okay, I was just making sure you weren't being lazy," I said, and wished I could disappear. "But when he gets here, get to work!" Then The Voice came in.
"She called me lazy," Mark Allen told him with a little sly smile in the corner of his mouth.
"Oh yeah?" said The Voice. "Do you know who this man is?!"
"I know exactly who he is, I was trying to be funny," I mumbled, but The Voice continued talking over me.
"This is Mark Allen! The world's greatest triathlete! The fittest man alive!"
"I know," I mumbled, but I don't know if either of them heard me.

"You're an idiot," said my co-worker when they'd both gone to work out.

I was absolutely mortified by the experience. I'd made a complete ass of myself in front of The Greatest Triathlete in History and called him lazy. I tried talking to him one more time to try to prove that I wasn't a complete idiot, but I had no idea what to say and just wound up looking like more of a driveling, well, idiot. You don't ask Mark Allen what his strongest event is. He's Mark Allen, he doesn't have weaknesses. After that, Mark Allen started to haunt my nightmares, telling me I was weak. Whenever I started feeling like my best wasn't good enough, Mark Allen would stop by in my dreams. The fact that I'd made a horse's ass of myself in front of him seemed to justify this feeling. I suck, and Mark Allen knows it. I swore after that day never to talk to a famous person again for as long as I lived.

So when I missed 3 races this season (despite my good intentions) and the guy from my triathlon club started to give me a hard time I started to feel like Mark Allen makes me feel. "What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you wanted this!" the Mark Allen in my head yelled in harmony with the tri club guy. So the other night when I couldn't sleep and I was feeling miserable yet again about my crappy season I remembered the Mark Allen dream again. Then I remembered a conversation that Lorraine and I had when she was here visiting that made me think, "Why am I letting these people make me feel bad?"

You see, Lorraine does ultramarathons, 100 milers, etc. and works at the same gym I used to work at. We were talking one day about Mark Allen and The Voice's presence at the gym and I told her my story. "That guy's a jerk," she said. WHAT?! You do not insult The Great Mark Allen. (There's more name-dropping to be done here, but it does have a point). "I used to train with what's-her-face... Julie... uh... Julie Moss. You know, his ex-wife." Ohmygod! Julie Moss, who crawled across the finish line in 1982 immortalizing Ironman forever, Julie Moss?! I didn't even realize they'd ever been married. "Yeah, she said he was a self-important jerk. Don't worry about it, it is funny that you called Mark Allen lazy." Well I can't insult The Great Mark Allen, but if another triathlon giant like Julie Moss calls him a jerk, maybe he's not perfect after all.

Now it is not my intention to insult Mark Allen, nor defame his character. All ex-wives are bitter towards their ex-husbands, and Lorraine, who's on her third husband, would be sympathetic to that. I'm merely talking about how someone you look up to can really make you feel like shit about yourself if you don't live up. We all want to be Mark Allen sometimes, or at least I do, and when I do something particularly non-Mark Allen-ish I feel pretty bad about it. To have someone come along and say, he's just a guy, he has faults too, and you don't have to like him was like a breath of fresh air. I guess sometimes I just get carried away thinking that famous people are a whole different class of people, a race that's better than I am. If I can't live up, I'm clearly a piece of shit.

So back to me and Lorraine. Lorraine's got this workout partner, Michelle, who's a bit weird. She talks loud, laughs at weird times, and rides a unicycle on mountain bike trails. One day Lorraine and Michelle are doing upper body work and The Voice comes up to Michelle, "Can he work in with you?"

"I've only got one set left," said Michelle. "I'll be done in a minute. It'll be easier than racking and re-racking the weights."

"Do you know who this man is?!" The Voice started in. "He's Mark Allen, the greatest triathlete in history, six-time winner of the Ironman world championships!"

"Oh yeah?" said Michelle. "I'm Santa Cruz County's number one ranked female unicyclist. I'm Michelle, nice to meet you." And she went back to her set.

Like I said, just a guy. He has every right to be proud of his achievements, as Michelle does to be proud of hers, as I do to be proud of mine. So, if Mark Allen doesn't get my sense of humor, if my triathlon club doesn't want to help me out when I ask, I can't control that. Screw 'em.