Some of our amazing athletes results from the first four months of the year!

Time for a new Tri/TT bike? Come talk to the experts at Breakaway about getting on the all new Cervelo P3.

The bicycle community has gotten a black eye for the wild doping scandals at the highest level of the sport lately, though these scandals haven’t dampened my enthusiasm for the sport at all. For one, I’ve come to expect the unfortunate reality of professional sports these days and I mean ALL professional sports, not just cycling. Second, I believe the true ambassadors of cycling are found in our backyards, not on T.V.

A case in point is a local event called ‘The Hell of Hunterdon’ that occurred in March. The event is grossly misnamed because I floated home on cloud nine on that lovely spring day, buoyant and dismay by the camaraderie and intrinsic drive of the riders around me that morning.  At the ‘The Hell of Hunterdon,’ there were no pros, no prize, no podium, no reason to cheat, and actually no race.  Nonetheless, the great people around me rode hard, challenged themselves, took time to chat and connect with kindred spirits, and took pictures of some of the most glorious roads the area has to offer.  What drove people to give up their Saturday and rode through the burn in their legs if it wasn’t for money, fame or even ultimate fitness? Simple…we do it because we wanted to and we wanted to challenge ourselves together.  sly

Lance Armstrong may have put cycling on the map for Americans, but it’s backyard cyclists who keep the sport front and center.  Let spring renew all things good in the sport we love.  I urge you to get out, take part in the myriad ways our local community celebrates the bicycle. Support local events like the “Hell of Hunterdon” and join in on the conversation over a refreshing beer afterward.

Whether you ride your bike on the road or in the dirt, for fun or competition, suffering is an innate part of being a cyclist. The ability to push through the pain of a long climb or strong wind is what keeps us moving forward. Most cyclists (and athletes in general) focus primarily on training their physical fitness. The importance of mental strength is often overlooked, especially in terms of being something that can be trained and strengthened.

As I have evolved as a competitive cyclist one of the things I find myself focusing on with an ever increasing intensity is my mental game.  Here are few of the tricks/techniques that I have found useful when things start to get painful;

P.M.A. – Positive Mental Attitude, a term I stole from the seminal punk band, Bad Brains who stole the idea from Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill, who stole the idea from Andrew Carnegie, who I’m sure stole it from someone else. Anyway, who came up with the term isn’t really important. At it’s core, PMA simply means that you approach challenges and life in general with a positive attitude.

“Okay, well duh” your probably saying. Except it’s not as easy as you think it is. Learning how to effectively motivate yourself and build confidence on and off the bike is a skill which takes time to develop. One of the primary mechanisms for developing this skill is the practice of self-talk.

When I am struggling through an intense interval workout on the trainer, I embrace the pain and get stoked on how hard I’m going. If I’m struggling to stay with the pace during a race, I remind myself that everyone else is suffering just as bad and that I can hang on longer. When the road is aimed at the sky and my legs are screaming at me to stop, I think about all the rides I’ve done in the past that were even harder than this. What it comes down to is telling yourself that you can always go further and harder than you previously thought possible.

Off the bike, self talk is a great tool to help build confidence for race day. Get yourself stoked in the days and weeks leading up to your event. Put faith in the hard-work you’ve done while training all season and go into the event focused on the top step of the podium.

“I’m mad as hell…” – There is however a point when no amount of positive self talk can help and sometimes the best policy is to get angry. When I’m not sure if I can finish a race or ride I’ll often think of my shortcomings in previous competitions. The memory of getting shelled at the world cup after training all season keeps me moving when I’m not sure if I can finish. Stressful workweeks, missed opportunities and sub-par performances all make great fodder for turning the pedals harder. Not only will it help you get to the finish sooner, you’ll feel less stressed when your done.

Stuck on Repeat – It’s hour 3 of a 5 hour ride and my legs have felt terrible since I started, all I want to do is drink beer in the shower and cry. Problem is, I’m 40 miles from home and don’t have the motivation to ride 4 miles. What do I do? Sing. In my head anyway and it’s the same line or two, over and over again.

Sometimes it’s just whatever verse pops into my head, sometimes it’s a few lines of a song that I find particularly inspiring. Regardless, I make it my mantra and match my pedaling cadence to the rhythm of the song. This provides a great distraction from the lactic acid building in my legs and a temporary soundtrack to my ride. Just make sure you don’t rick-roll yourself, it’s no fun, trust me.

These are a few of the tricks that keep me moving forward when times get tough. Strengthening your ability to suffer or to at least distract yourself from the pain can make the difference between being able to finish on the podium or having to quit early. At the very least, these tricks will get you to the finish alittle easier and quicker. So the next time you find your legs and lungs are screaming at you to quit, remember, you’ve got the mental tools to go further, faster and harder.

I have been riding and racing bikes in one form or another for most of my life. Since my childhood I’ve focused on riding BMX, commuting, road riding, mountain biking and more recently racing at an elite level. My father was a cyclist and the countless hours we’ve spent riding together no doubt helped shape my character. The reasons why people ride are numerous but I think that what is most important is the common experience of seeing the world from a bike seat and the community that provides us with. This common experience helps shape our world and the way we interact with the people in it.

I am fortunate as an elite cyclist to get to travel very frequently with my bike. The opportunities that being a cyclist provide for me are unbelievable. Places to stay, good food, some pretty ridiculous memories and more friends than I know what to do with! Many of these friends come from very different walks of life than I do and it’s entirely likely that I would have never met them without cycling.

Working the floor at Breakaway frequently reminds me of how cycling can provide connections to all kinds of people and places. I had one interaction recently which I think really exemplified how cycling brings us together.

A customer from out of town came into the shop wondering about a Stages Power Meter  he had ordered (which are pretty freaking awesome by the way). It wasn’t in yet, and so we ended up chatting about all the things cyclists talk about when they meet each other: what races we’ve done, our favorite places to ride, and showing off our bikes – pretty standard conversation for a bike shop.

Except, this guy wasn’t just from out of town, he was from literally half a world away – Norway, to be exact. Even though we come from completely different cultures, we were able to chat like old friends over our passion for cycling.

The perspective riding bikes gives us is something we share with cyclists the world over and what brings us together as a community. Even if someone comes from a completely different walk of life from you, even if they may not speak the same language as you, the common experience of being a cyclist provides an instant connection. This is more than cool, and one of the things that keeps me perpetually stoked on cycling.

Sometimes cycling is one of the few things that gives me faith in humanity. Which hey, let’s face it, isn’t always the easiest thing to keep! I have met some of my best friends, made life changing connections, and if nothing else, ridden bikes in some cool places with some even cooler humans. The memories we make with our fellow cyclists are ones which will last even longer than my hopelessly contrasting tanlines. The bottom line is this; Cycling brings us together, and thats pretty much the most important thing in life as far as I can tell.

Hurricane Sandy hit, and it hit hard. Lives were lost, homes and businesses were destroyed. The eyes of the nation were on the east coast. The televised images kept displaying the magnitude of this disaster. And the New York City Marathon was set to be run  less than a week after Sandy hit. In 2011, this race had over 47,000 finishers. It is one of the most prestigious marathons on the earth and it was going to go on in spite of the breadth of the destruction. Initial support of the race being held  had changed to  overwhelming outcries against the event taking place while so many people were suffering intensely. The race was eventually cancelled late on Friday, which in my opinion was absolutely the right call, albeit at least 2 days later than they should have, and people were able to focus on the recovery effort and healing. But I was left deciding on a new race.

In the days leading up to the 2012 New York City Marathon, I found myself reflecting on what has transpired for me over the past eighteen months both athletically and personally. A year and a half ago I had not run a step in 7 years and was certain I would never run again. I flashed back to last January’s Disney Half Marathon where I ran a time that automatically qualified me for entry to the New York City Marathon and in spite of myself I realized I wanted to run it. So, in the midst of competing in duathlons, bike races, and running races, preparing to run my first marathon in 9 years was always on my mind. Again, in spite of myself, I was beginning to get excited.

Running is hard. There is no coasting. The benefits of ‘drafting’ are minimal and it is hard on the body, especially one as injury plagued (6 stress fractures for starters) as mine. I thought, “Why do I want to do this again?” I knew I wouldn’t run a personal best time. When I had done that I was 29 yrs old, running more, and certainly hadn’t taken 7 years off from the sport. I realized that what excited me was the challenge. Could I run a perfect race for me? Could I know what I was capable of, formulate a race and nutrition plan and execute them on race day? These were questions that I wanted to know the answer to and ultimately I NEEDED to know the answer to.

Albert Einstein once said, “in the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.” The Philadelphia Marathon had been closed for months. Fortunately, following the cancellation of New York,  I was able to gain entrance and I began to realize how cool it could be for me to run my first marathon in nearly a decade in my adopted home of Philadelphia, on the streets I train on daily. Philadelphia has provided me with great opportunities professionally, athletically, and personally. It almost seemed fitting that the resurrection of my marathoning life would occur in the setting where I had remade my life in every way. The more I considered this, the more I realized this was where I was meant to run my marathon.

On race morning I was calm and confident. I had my race plan and nutrition plan and had mentally rehearsed them over and over. I focused on the task at hand, 6:20 pace through 20mi. then get rolling the final 10k. One Gu just before the start & then 1 every 5 miles through 20mi. I approached the starting line with my training partner completely confident I could run our goal time (2:45:00). I told him all he had to do was follow me and it was going to happen. When we hit the first mile in 6:22, I knew we were in business. I was plugged in and focused and this was going to be a good day.

As we clipped off the miles, I stayed calm and focused, perhaps too calm as my friend and I started keeping track of who was receiving more cheers from the spectators. One of my athletes said she could hear me coming before she saw me. Just after 10k as we passed the front of Breakaway Bikes there was a crowd of supporters; some of my coached athletes, Breakaway Racing Team members, & even store owner Glenn Krotick. I stayed to their side of the road and high fived all of them…this was getting fun. I told my marathoning brother I was annihilating him in our battle for fandom. The stretch of Chestnut Street from Old City to Center City was so loud it may have well been the NYC Marathon.

At the half marathon we were 1:22:46, and were just slightly ahead of schedule, still chatting and feeling good. When we arrived at the Falls Bridge, a Breakaway Racing Team member who was volunteering gave me a big screaming cheer. I expressed my appreciation with a big smile and by giving her the ‘guns.’ She laughed, cheered more, and we kept rolling. All I could think about was getting to Manayunk. I could not wait to reach 21mi and crest the final real hill. In my mind, that is where the race would begin. After cresting that rise, it was “gloves are off time,” and I wanted to dig in and challenge myself.

Manayunk was nuts. Loud music accompanied by lots of loud people created a party like atmosphere. Seeing Breakaway coached athletes Tony Salvi and Professor Green both of whom were on their way to their first ever sub 3:00:00 marathons provided an additional boost. It was very cool, but I knew things were becoming far less easy. At 20mi, we were :05 ahead of our goal pace. At 21mi, without a word, it was on. I did exactly as I had told my training partner I would do: gradually ramp up the pace. He was sitting right there with me not wanting me to gain an inch, knowing that a HUGE personal best was within his grasp.

I was concerned that the run in back to the finish along Kelly Drive would be desolate and that without any fans it could make the toughest miles that much tougher. To my surprise, as thousands of runners were making their way out towards Manayunk, I found fantastic support and energy, including Breakaway athletes, customers, and just really nice fellow runners excited for those of us heading back. At Mile 24, another Breakaway teammate who had been all over the course screamed at me, “You look perfect. When are you going to push?” I thought, “This may look easy, but I assure you it isn’t.” I was still going good, but the legs were tight and it was gut check time. I had opened a gap on my marathoning brother but he was running the race of his life nonetheless. “Keep the pressure on,” I thought and wanted more than anything to see the 25mi mark. I knew if I could just get there, I had this. Periodically, I heard my name and but there were no more “guns,” no more mugging for the fans, I just wanted to be done.

The last mile felt long but I pushed through and was stoked when the finish line came into view. It was then that I truly knew I was going to do what I had set out to do, and as I crossed the line, I simply felt satisfaction. Setting a goal, training day in and day out in order to achieve that goal, and then accomplishing it, is perhaps the most rewarding process I know, both as a coach and athlete. Crossing the finish line in 2:44:59 with my marathoning brother a mere :30 behind me running a 20:00 personal best was very cool. I was more stoked for him than my own result, because he had done something he had never done before (sub 3:00:00…by a lot). His comment to me, “the last 5 miles my only focus was on beating you and that effort is why I ran what I ran.” Healthy competition, pushing each other to perform at a high level…yeah, I kinda love that.

It wasn’t lost on me that although it was slightly chilly at the start of the race, it was clear and not windy, ideal marathon weather. A far cry from the brutal weather of Hurricane Sandy. The upside of extreme or tragic events is how they can reveal character and demonstrate the beauty of humanity. This race, this journey was about a lot more than my final result, which I was very pleased with. It was about our city opening itself up to accommodate people displaced from the New York City Marathon. It was about our city coming out en masse to support the athletes from everywhere, many affected by the events a mere two weeks prior. For me, this was about perseverance. Finding a way to stay the course through the adversity all of us must face and simply doing the very best you can. Although I had eagerly anticipated my return to marathoning in New York City, doing it in the City of Brotherly Love, was more rewarding than I could have ever imagined.

Many of you know Montana as one of our amazing Breakaway mechanics, but he’s also a wealth of bicycle knowledge and bike riding skill. I took a few minutes to talk with him about his off-road riding and the Philly scene.

MN:  I grew up riding mountain bikes on Weyerhauser logging trails in the exurbs outside of Seattle, but stopped once I moved into the city since I didn’t have a car that would take me to the woods anymore.  After a few seasons of courier work I had almost completely forgotten about mountain bikes, and it would be years before I realized how valuable the skills I’d learned on the streets would be off-road.  My first ‘cross race was in ’98 or ’99 at Steilacoom, which is an absolutely epic venue.  I “raced” the Cs, somehow managed to ride off course (CX was pretty ramshackle in those days, and courses weren’t always perfectly marked… and I probably had zero oxygen in my brain) and finished DFL.

This is the true story of how biking had a profound impact on my life, leading me all over the country. Saddle up kiddies, as this is going to be a long one, and a last chance to indulge.

By the end of my freshman year of college, athletics had stopped dominating my life as it they once had. From the earliest age, I was playing sports every day. At age five I used to run laps around the perimeter of our house–I wasn’t allowed to leave our yard–because I had so much energy (and we had no cable). I would do this for upwards of 90 minutes, I recall. Then I would shoot hoops on the basketball hoop I begged my dad for. Recesses and afternoons in grade school were without fail spent playing tackle football while we were still small enough not to inflict (too much) permanent damage. Knowing what we now know about concussions, I suspect my generation will be the last to truly try to tear each other’s clocks off. Little league baseball dominated my summers, until I realized I was the world’s worst batter, took up tennis to improve, and discovered I was much better with a bigger hitting surface and angles & spins than raw power. If I wasn’t practicing tennis, I was still running, qualifying for the USTF national track meet in the 1500, 3000, long jump, and high jump. “Slow twitch” and “fast twitch” were alien terms to me. In high school, I still ran to stay in shape but it was soccer and tennis I stuck with, captaining both my junior and senior years. By then though, my small build and lack of explosive speed became more of a handicap. I barely made the collegiate tennis #3 doubles team as an alternate, and while I graduated with a perfect 3-0 record, my interest in playing sports dissipated in direct inverse relation to my interest in college girls, beer, and pizza. And beer.

I gained 40 pounds by the end of my sophomore year.

One summer night home I attempted to begin a weight loss regimen by running. It lasted one day. An osteochondroma discovered my senior year of high school, just above my knee, rubbed my IT band raw within the first half mile. And I was almost 3 minutes slower in the two mile effort I put in than my personal best. And so the next day after dinner, I pulled my dad’s Huffy down from the rafters in the garage (my sledgehammer’s wheels were out of true, and therefore, I thought, busted).

I took that bike on the farthest route I could on the windy backcountry plains of northern Illinois. In jeans I clearly remember, then size 34x32s, which incidentally, I recently just found and donated to goodwill, since I am now back to 28x32s, in spite of the 100 degree weather and humidity near 60%, in my mind, I was already fit enough to ride that race in France, in spite of my paunch. I was a naturally gifted athlete, after all. I could barely walk by the time I returned, and had to know how many miles I’d just completed. Surely it was a journey of epic proportions I had just completed. I could barely feel my legs and my heart was racing, my head pouring sweat.

If MapQuest (remember Mapquest?!) could be trusted, I had just ridden 10 miles exactly. I googled tour de france. Apparently it was over 2000 miles. OK, maybe after a year of late night Papa Johns, Steak and Shake runs, and something called drunken dress-up commando boob-shirt Friday (TM), I wasn’t in shape. My paunch wasn’t just some hibernation padding. I had, as my girlfriend, who was a beanpole, finally broke it to me in plain speak: a pudgy little beer gut. I studiously avoided tight clothing or many pics emphasizing this gain, though I can find one where I only wish the second chin could be blamed on the angle of the camera.

I wasn’t fat. And what I would give to have that thick of hair once again. But I the image I had of myself as an athlete, in shape and motivated, still able to run better than just about anyone I came across, didn’t match reality. This hit home after I could barely walk the next day after that ten mile ride. But that night, I got back on the bike and did it again. The same ten miles. That whole summer, I rode just about every night. I lost twenty pounds by the fall.

But then, disaster struck. I went on a semester abroad with 30 other 19-22 year olds–Rome, Paris, London, Oxford, Munich, Luzerne, Vienna. It was the trip of a lifetime. It was gastronomic heaven. And I walked everywhere, and held off the weight gain I saw some of my friends succomb, giving into the lure of Monsieur le Crepe, as I called him, off the Glacier station, or the Millenium gelato near the Via Candia outside the Vatican Walls. Had I been Bush, I would have raised my Mission Accomplished banner then and there.

But, again like Bush, it would have proved premature. I grew a bit homesick by the end, and began eating as way of comfort. And I was so happy to return stateside for the holidays, I celebrated and partied. “Car Bomb our Livers” might haven been the wickedly clever rallying cry of the Euro-themed party we threw upon return to school. The twenty pounds I had lost thanks to my dad’s bike came roaring back with a vengeance.

I avoided riding until the following summer, when again I stepped on the scale to see the damage done. Back out came the huffy and the single-minded dedication to losing weight. I quickly regained the form I had had the previous summer. Down ten pounds after three weeks, I was chatting with a buddy on AIM (is mine the last generation to remember AIM?!) and it came up that he had bought a road bike, the Trek 1000. I invited him to ride with me. Thinking he would drive up and we’d go ride, I was surprised when he rode twenty miles to come meet me instead. Must have taken him 2 hours, I thought. No way he could be faster than me. I was always a way better athlete back in high school. He was pudgier than I had ever been. But immediately upon riding, it was clear he was simply too fast for me. He had to wait atop every small roller. He’d easily cruise past me on the flats even as I struggled to push the biggest gear I could. How could this be? He told me he’d been training six months to do a triathlon. But that couldn’t be it. Obviously, he was only faster than me because of the bike. Had to be the bike.

Clearly I hadn’t even heard of Lance’s biography. Nevertheless, within days I had gone out and made the biggest purchase of my life, a $700 Trek 1000.

It. Was. Fast. I loved loved loved it, and began riding harder and faster and farther every day. I did a 25 mile ride one day, riding to my community bandshell for our summer concert series rehearsal, and then back. But one night at a dress rehearsal for our community theater production of Moon Over Buffalo, I accidentally stepped off the back of the 8″ elevated stage during a scene change, severely spraining my ankle. I was done riding for the foreseeable future.

My senior year, I met a girl who has become the love of my life. I wanted to stay in shape for her, and began lifting weights, and i took three P.E. classes and a blow-off biology 101 class in my final term. (I was really good at scheduling easy springs when the weather in Rock Island, IL was gorgeous.) One of the P.E. classes was cycling. I was back on the bike. And I was riding even during school. I couldn’t believe I could keep the weight off as long as I rode 3x a week. And man could I get places faster. Healthier and happier with a girlfriend than I’d ever been with any prior, I was truly enjoying life. And biking was part of that enjoyment. And so when I moved to Chicago briefly to take a job working at an antique store between graduating and moving to Philadelphia for graduate school, my rare days off–1 a week at best were spent riding along Lake Michigan. But I commuted every day, and I rode that commute as hard as I could. It was the first riding like training I’d ever done.

When i moved to Philadelphia on exactly August 1st, I was alone in the world. School didn’t start for a month, so I knew no one. 15th & Dauphin wasn’t exactly the best spot to meet friendly neighbors and go out for a pint. I had no cable, no internet. My itunes library, a copy of Infinite Jest, and my phone were all I had. That, and my bike. I rode that bike probably every single day, no more than past Manayunk, until one day I discovered the Valley Forge Trail. I made it to Metz park and back, coming home utterly shattered. The very next day, I was spotted locking my bike to a bike lock outside the Paley library, where I’d go when I couldn’t stand teh heat of my un-air conditioned apartment, when the then-founder & president of Temple Cycling spotted me. He was the first live person who wasn’t behind a counter selling me pasta sauce or oatmeal to address me in a month. “Nice bike man. Wanna join the cycling team?” Some people to talk to? Potential friends? Bikes? Absolutely!

He was an interesting character, and went on to describe how great cycling was, how I’d shave my legs and race and wear spandex all the time. I chuffed at his words, but took him as a nice guy with good intentions. Not effing likely! I privately thought. But I came out on the first Temple Cycling Team ride the following Saturday. It was the highlight of my year. Weekdays became filler between those future Temple team rides. I met UPenn and Drexel and Villanova cyclists through that ride as well. Some of those people I met through those rides I will stand aside on the alter as we groomsmen watch yet another friend-through-cycling get married this September.

I did my first race on March 1st, 2008. A month later I was hired by Breakaway as an eager young cycling enthusiast. I am fortunate that an amazing man, Joe Wentzell, spotted something in me–a passion, a drive, a spark, something–that indicated just how important cycling would come to me in the future. It is funny how such small decisions, like deciding to lose weight (who hasn’t resolved that at least a dozen times?) can ultimately lead to such profound life changes. I am not a spiritual person, though I have perhaps discovered my vocation–my calling. At Augustana College, we had a center for vocational studies. Its spiritual bent turned me off, but now I get it. Cycling and I are a perfect match. I have fallen head over heals with the sport and the lifestyle. I just love to ride. I ride to stay fit, to compete, to commute, to get around, just to have fun. I ride rain or shine, snow or sweltering heat. There is a bike for all seasons.

A new season is dawning for me. This is my last blog post for Breakaway Bikes. I am moving on to take the position as director of the cycling team at Midwestern State University. Collegiate cycling has had a profound impact on me. It has fundamentally changed me, and for the better. And MSU has one of the best programs in the country. I go there with a lot of pressure, a lot of expectations. But I am up for it, come hell or high water.

As I write this through blurry eyes, I am reminded of a piece of wisdom. It comes from a dear friend, who told me “you love it here not because of the liberty bell or rittenhouse square- you love it here because of the people you have met and the relationships you have formed.” You can take me out of Philly, but the people here I’ve grown to love over the past five years I will never forget and always be thankful for.

Lux et Velocitas 2010 KOM