What's Your Favorite Zone?

by Dan Harm

    I really don't know where the past four months of InCycle has disappeared to. Yesterday, as I was doodling in my calendar all the things I had to do this week, I realized that there is only a little over a month of InCycle left. Yes, I know; I shouldn't get too upset since InCycle is going to be offered in the Spring and Summer and on and on into the years to come. But, regardless, I get nostalgic about eventual endings.  

    It's not just for InCycle. Even in College I remember I would get a little sad towards the end of the quarter. My peers thought I was crazy because they were excited as all hell to be done with school. Yet, my feelings towards each of my classes ending was a mixture of excitement about moving onto the next step, and of a sentimental appreciation for the enjoyable learning journey I had ventured.   

    I felt the same way when I worked at an Art school for gifted high schoolers. At the end of the year I knew the seniors would slip away into the folds of the big world. I knew they were ready, I knew they had learned so much, and that I had been a part of what they had learned. But, even though I was so excited to see these former high schoolers find their place in the world, I was still filled with hints of sadness, for next year I would not see their faces roaming the hallways and book shelves.

    The same holds true for InCycle. All the people in InCycle have become familiar faces to me. I know what hobbies they like, what they do for a living, how their kids and pets are doing, how their daily lives are going. They are all interesting and lively people who share two of my life passions: riding bikes and staying healthy.

    Every class I see improvement in their skills, technique, and most of all fitness. Even though I have no trouble seeing the physical improvement of InCycle members, for some reason it is still hard for some of them to see it for themselves. Many still have doubts about how much they have improved.

    Having doubts about one's self can be very useful, for it prevents complacency and promotes an eternal search for advancing one's self. But, there comes a point when an individual must applaud their achievements and be proud of the hard work done.

    Throughout the course of four months InCycle members have gone from barely being able to hold zone 3 for a five minute intervals, to being able to hit Zone 5 for ten minutes. If this is not a clear indication of progression, then I don't know what is. When we did our first Zone 5 interval in InCycle, all the members were shocked. Many of them said they had never hurt so badly and that they were disappointed with their average watts. To this I answered: "Look at it this way: Four months ago you could not have even attempted Zone 5 for ten minutes. And now, you are doing it."

    Me being witness to over 120 people improving their lives by riding a bike and staying healthy is quite a reward. I know next year I will most likely see a lot of familiar faces at InCycle. There will also be a lot of new faces as well. Each class is different. Changes and endings are inevitable. Lives change, people move around, and, as we all know, every good time must come to an end.

    Yes, it is hard to accept change. But, as InCycle draws to an end next month I at least know that deep down inside every-one's favorite Zone is Zone 5. And this is what moves me onwards.

The Big Moment, by Dan Harm

Today I was asked a question: "what was the one big moment in cycling that motivated you to take it to the next level?"  For a few moments I sat in silence. My mind reeled backwards through the five years I have been racing bikes. Various emotions and visceral moments trudged their way to the front of my brain where I could look at them with mixed feelings of excitement, satisfaction, and ultimately, confusion.

    Bike racing is such an integral part of my life, I just can't narrow it down to one moment. Though it may sound odd, I see bike racing almost as a relationship. A relationship full of hardships, trying moments, doubt, and broken expectations. And, like any long-lasting relationship, there is a tremendous amount of commitment and dedication I have towards racing that allows me to work through the hardships, helps me make compromises in order to "save" the relationship.

    My life mentality is simple: that which takes the most effort is the most rewarding. Effort usually consists of commitment and hard work. This mentality holds true for every aspect of life. When I was in school, homework never bothered me. It boggled my mind when my peers would complain about essays and tests. My reply to their complaints was, "You do realize you are in school?" It seemed obvious to me that if I were to enroll in a University then I would have homework; so, why complain about the obvious?

    This dedicated mentality holds true for my other passions in my life as well: my artwork, my music, my lovers, friends and family. The more effort I put into a relationship with a drawing or a lover, then the more rewarding the outcome will be. Then, if I keep on putting effort into these relationships over a long period of time, I will learn so much more about myself and the person or object or sport I am involved with.

    I know I am going on a bit of a tangent here, but there is a point, and it is this: there was never a big moment in racing that brought me to the next level. What has kept me racing was my willingness to dedicate myself to racing even during times when it seemed absolutely pointless.

    You see, I have another life theory: one must dedicate themselves the most when everything seems hopeless. Every relationship would fail if it were not for dedication, because, as I mentioned early, every relationship will have struggles, and dedication to the relationship will sometimes  be the only glue holding everything together.

    For many years I struggled with being an unorthodox bike racer. I was not gifted with the narrow and intense focus necessary to be a life-career professional racer. Every since I was a kid I have always been distracted by others facets of life I find interesting. Art, music, traveling, adventure, and a little bit of chaos has always captivated me, and trying to enjoy all this while being a pro racer is not possible. I found this out the hard way this past summer. I was trying to juggle many life passions and I was dropping all the balls everywhere. At the Tour of Utah, one of the USAs most challenging professional stage races, I gave up. The months of traveling on the road, the years of having to go to bed at 10pm every night while my friends were partying, the years of training for hours and hours in frigid temperatures all caught up to me as I raced in 100 degree heat at 8,000 feet elevation with the fastest riders in the world. I cracked hard.

     But, instead of quitting racing all together, I found a compromise. I realized that I needed to re-evaluate WHY I race. The only answer I could come up with was typical: I love racing. I just love racing my bike. And, even if I don't have the personality to be a career pro racer, I can still race my bike because I love the sport, the adrenaline, the healthy lifestyle and the people involved within its community.

    Once I realized all this I actually began to excel for the end of my race season. In a matter of months I went from "breaking up" with bike racing to "convincing" my bike that it should get "back together with me." Three months after I broke up with my bike at the Tour of Utah we took a trip together down to L.A. We went down to L.A. to compete at the Elite Velodrome National Championships. All the fastest guys in the USA would be there. My bike was a bit nervous about my fitness. Everyone there was second guessing me and my commitment.

    I did not want to let myself down. I did not want to give up on the five amazing years I had racing my bike. After all, bike racing has taken me all over the world, it has given me my amazing job as a coach, it has given me a healthy body, and it has taught me so many life lessons. With this in mind I raced my heart out and took  2nd place at National Champions.

    So, to conclude, when I look back and remember all the experiences racing a bike, it is not the happy moments of winning and traveling that has kept me going. Rather, the tumultuous moments--the moments where I wanted to give up and quit it all, the moments where I wanted to walk away and never look back--these are the moments that motivate me and make me appreciate so much more that I am still on my bike racing stronger than ever. Racing is my life long love.

And Thus Ends the Year, Almost.

by Coach Daniel Harm

In two days I leave to the final race of the season. To be honest, I debated for a long time about even going. Yes, this may seem surprising considering the race happens to be Elite Track National Championships, an event at which I have excelled at every year. After much contemplation I decided to make the plunge, book my plane ticket, and hope for the best.

The reason my decision process proved to be tumultuous was because this year has been quite strange. Why? Because this year I raced more than I ever have in my life. All said and done I raced 127 out of 365 days. There have been numerous ups and downs, and the hardest part of it all was having to be on the road away from home so much. This is what it all comes down to: I am ready for the off-season and want to take some rest, but, instead, I have to attend the hardest race of the year.

Let’s just say the pressure is on. I have some demons to hash out. Last year at National Championships (which was also the Olympic Qualifiers) I missed the Olympic time standard for the individual pursuit by 0.7 seconds. I think the let down of putting so much time and effort into training for an Olympic possibility, and then to miss this dream by such a small margin, has been haunting me.

The combination of experiencing first hand the amount of time and dedication it takes to be a professional athlete, combined with the numerous shortcoming inherent with racing a bike, I have begun to reflect back on why I actually do this, why I race my bike. The daunting “Why?” is nipping at my heels, and I have to arrive at an answer.

Without doubt, it is very easy to focus on the negatives: crashing, missing the Olympics by the blink of an eye, the long times away from home, away from friends and stability, the crappy pay, the constant pain and dirt and grime and long nights of waiting in airports. But, still, these negative reasons are not why I race.

Going past the negatives I recall the hilarious moments hanging out with my best friend and fellow teammate, Adrian Hegyvary, after races. Racing with my close friend and winning Madison on the velodrome is quite an exhilarating feeling. In a word, we dominated the National Madison Cups this year. But, it was not the winning that made it worth while, rather, it was the sense of unity and teamwork of sharing a common goal of kicking our competitions ass that drove us to work so hard.

For me, racing is about the people, the people who I race with. It is all too easy to get caught up in the wins and losses—and the disparity between the two. But, at the end of the day, this form of thought will not be able to keep me motivated to race. In two days I leave to LA for National Championships, and there I will get to see friends, fellow racers, and people involved in the race community. Bike racing as a sport needs all the support it can get, and what better way to support the sport by facing my demons, getting on a plain and racing my bike as hard as I can? Because, after all, sometimes there is not always an answer to those daunting “whys?”