Task number one has arrived from my fairy god-father/coach, Pete Smith. I am to do an AT test! Doesn’t that sound so impressive? One day soon I will be able to show up at BoldSprints and hang around in the back, bragging about my AT in between comparing who has the best shaved legs! That’s the sort of thing sandbaggers do right?
Speaking of my heroes, the MRC womans team, I did some research to find out what a sand bagger actually is. Turns out that those people who keep winning bike races are also deeply involved in community flood protection in the Midwest! Who knew! Of course I’m grateful for the role that the humble sand bag plays in emergency levees. But I had never thought to consider where sand bags come from. It turns out that when a man or woman loves winning bicycle races very much….
In fact the term comes from the manliest of sports. Golf. Seriously. Golf. Apparently it is so fearsomely impressive to win a game of golf that some people will lie about their handicap which somehow give them an advantage and makes it easier to win the game. Somehow a sport where the best know way to cheat is just to say “no really, im terrible at this game” and that’s enough that you can win a game seems…silly. I suppose that it did take some effort on the golf course as well. The early sandbaggers must have been artists when it came to selling their alleged lack of skill. It must have been something to see a man in baggy knickers wind up for shot, off balance and cock-eyed, yet still manage to get that tiny ball on to the green.
Much like my own just beginning quest to win bike races against people who take the sport less seriously than I do, these titans of golf faced a daunting task of balancing their actual skill at golf with their public persona as someone who had little actual skill at golf. The effort put into secret training must have been epic.
In my own case, you might ask “if your going to be a true sandbagger, why are you blogging about it?” to which I respond…
“Like anyone is going to read my blog!” rest assured, imaginary reader, when I do emerge, fit and tan to race, no one will realize how much effort I have put into getting fast and how much more effort I have put into not appearing to get any faster.
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I was at last BoldSprints loitering in the back, waving a Gin and Tonic, waiting to have this conversation with you...
ReplyDeleteNow that you have thrown down the gauntlet, you had better get on that trainer and not get off of it until BattenKill.
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