Life in the Carnivorous Fishbowl:
In Zen and the Art of Speedskating's interview with Jen Rodriguez, Andrew Love says that the world of speedskating can sometimes be a "carnivorous fishbowl." Right away, this seemed to strike me as something I might say. But when I thought about it some more, I was surprised to find that my actual view of this speedskating world as a whole is a bit more balanced than this phrase might imply.
It's true that we athletes can feel like we live in a fishbowl. This will become even more true as the Olympics approach, and more people start watching us.
As speedskaters, we assume that most of us have gotten over our initial inhibitions against wearing spandex in public! Still, going out there in front of a Heerenveen World Cup A-Group crowd of 10,000-plus spectators can be disconcerting. Of course, now, with all the sharing of photos on the internet, there's always the chance that you'll end up on somebody's "camel toe" web site! And there's always a photographer waiting to capture a priceless shot of the horrible face you're making as you enter the final turn of the 1500.
You know you're in a fishbowl when you're having a bad race in public. No, not just any old bad race- the kind where maybe you hoped you'd finish on the podium but you came in 7th, or something- I'm talking about the kind of complete and utter humiliation of trying and trying to push, but your legs just won't go, and when you finally crawl across the finish line and look up at your time, you just want to crawl into a hole and die!
It takes guts to step out there onto the ice in front of a crowd, knowing that you'll be showing people what happens when YOU approach your physical limits. Part of the fascination of the sport of speedskating, especially when it comes to the middle and long distances, is watching to see who cracks under the pain and the pressure.
Yes, speedskating can definitely feel like a little world in a fishbowl. Yet, for the most part, it doesn't feel carnivorous. I don't feel that "dog-eat-dog" attitude from most of my fellow skaters. It seems to me that many other U.S. skaters feel that I speak up for them, especially on this blog. I feel that people are curious to see how I do without a coach, and without a lot of the other advantages given to members of the National Team. I feel that a lot of people secretly wish me well.
Of course, there will always be times when some intruder marches right up to your little fishbowl and tries to shake it up, just to see what will happen. Last December, at the U.S. Nationals, I stopped my pre-race jog before the first 500 meters in order to say "Hi" to one of the old-timers I knew. I had raced the 1500 two days before and absolutely bombed it (my legs blew up after the 300-meter opener, and I just felt like I couldn't move) and this guy felt that 20 minutes before my next race was just the time to let me have it. He got about 5 inches away from my face and started yelling insults: "That 1500 of yours was terrible! It's obvious you haven't changed a thing about your training program. If you care this little about your speedskating career, then you should just quit right now and get married!"
As an elite athlete, you have to be prepared for this sort of thing. You have to shake it off and focus on your race, as I was able to do on that day, with a solid performance in the 500, and in the 1000 that followed.
I'm sure some people wonder if I make my life in the speedskating fishbowl more difficult for myself by making so many people hate me. It's true that I make some people hate me. Mostly, people who hate me do so because I won't let them get away with faking the reality of how they are running this supposedly pure, objective sport. I won't let them pretend that the playing field is level, when it is not.
I know there are people out there who (at the risk of quoting a Bad Religion song) would want me to "accelerate into oblivion." But I also know that there isn't much they can do, within the limits of the rules, to take an active, "carnivorous" role in the process.
I realize the extent to which some people dislike me. My friend Bill, who drives out to skate at the Pettit on some weekends, recently told me a funny story. He asked one of the US Speedskating people to "Say hi to my friend Eva Rodansky for me, when you see her." The look on the guy's face, said Bill, was "like he was out in a boat on the ocean and couldn't take the waves."
Seriously, though; I'm willing to pay a certain price for "cleaning the fishbowl." Metric speedskating ought to be as pure, clean and simple as a fishbowl, where everything is unashamedly on display for all the world to see. In my speedskating fishbowl, we have a lot of fun toys for the fishies to swim through. We have seaweed, brightly colored rocks, and even a little toy castle. And when I reach into the fishbowl to pick up the castle, I want everyone to see the little man who sits in the corner, pulling all the strings.
In Zen and the Art of Speedskating's interview with Jen Rodriguez, Andrew Love says that the world of speedskating can sometimes be a "carnivorous fishbowl." Right away, this seemed to strike me as something I might say. But when I thought about it some more, I was surprised to find that my actual view of this speedskating world as a whole is a bit more balanced than this phrase might imply.
It's true that we athletes can feel like we live in a fishbowl. This will become even more true as the Olympics approach, and more people start watching us.
As speedskaters, we assume that most of us have gotten over our initial inhibitions against wearing spandex in public! Still, going out there in front of a Heerenveen World Cup A-Group crowd of 10,000-plus spectators can be disconcerting. Of course, now, with all the sharing of photos on the internet, there's always the chance that you'll end up on somebody's "camel toe" web site! And there's always a photographer waiting to capture a priceless shot of the horrible face you're making as you enter the final turn of the 1500.
You know you're in a fishbowl when you're having a bad race in public. No, not just any old bad race- the kind where maybe you hoped you'd finish on the podium but you came in 7th, or something- I'm talking about the kind of complete and utter humiliation of trying and trying to push, but your legs just won't go, and when you finally crawl across the finish line and look up at your time, you just want to crawl into a hole and die!
It takes guts to step out there onto the ice in front of a crowd, knowing that you'll be showing people what happens when YOU approach your physical limits. Part of the fascination of the sport of speedskating, especially when it comes to the middle and long distances, is watching to see who cracks under the pain and the pressure.
Yes, speedskating can definitely feel like a little world in a fishbowl. Yet, for the most part, it doesn't feel carnivorous. I don't feel that "dog-eat-dog" attitude from most of my fellow skaters. It seems to me that many other U.S. skaters feel that I speak up for them, especially on this blog. I feel that people are curious to see how I do without a coach, and without a lot of the other advantages given to members of the National Team. I feel that a lot of people secretly wish me well.
Of course, there will always be times when some intruder marches right up to your little fishbowl and tries to shake it up, just to see what will happen. Last December, at the U.S. Nationals, I stopped my pre-race jog before the first 500 meters in order to say "Hi" to one of the old-timers I knew. I had raced the 1500 two days before and absolutely bombed it (my legs blew up after the 300-meter opener, and I just felt like I couldn't move) and this guy felt that 20 minutes before my next race was just the time to let me have it. He got about 5 inches away from my face and started yelling insults: "That 1500 of yours was terrible! It's obvious you haven't changed a thing about your training program. If you care this little about your speedskating career, then you should just quit right now and get married!"
As an elite athlete, you have to be prepared for this sort of thing. You have to shake it off and focus on your race, as I was able to do on that day, with a solid performance in the 500, and in the 1000 that followed.
I'm sure some people wonder if I make my life in the speedskating fishbowl more difficult for myself by making so many people hate me. It's true that I make some people hate me. Mostly, people who hate me do so because I won't let them get away with faking the reality of how they are running this supposedly pure, objective sport. I won't let them pretend that the playing field is level, when it is not.
I know there are people out there who (at the risk of quoting a Bad Religion song) would want me to "accelerate into oblivion." But I also know that there isn't much they can do, within the limits of the rules, to take an active, "carnivorous" role in the process.
I realize the extent to which some people dislike me. My friend Bill, who drives out to skate at the Pettit on some weekends, recently told me a funny story. He asked one of the US Speedskating people to "Say hi to my friend Eva Rodansky for me, when you see her." The look on the guy's face, said Bill, was "like he was out in a boat on the ocean and couldn't take the waves."
Seriously, though; I'm willing to pay a certain price for "cleaning the fishbowl." Metric speedskating ought to be as pure, clean and simple as a fishbowl, where everything is unashamedly on display for all the world to see. In my speedskating fishbowl, we have a lot of fun toys for the fishies to swim through. We have seaweed, brightly colored rocks, and even a little toy castle. And when I reach into the fishbowl to pick up the castle, I want everyone to see the little man who sits in the corner, pulling all the strings.
posted by Eva at 7:57 PM
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