There are many ways to handle lifes disappointments. Different people react in different ways, some handling defeat better than others. For some, defeat can be crushing, others angered, and then there are a few who will take the hit, look for the positives and rebuild. In the melee that ensued after a long wait by the results board, I barged my way in to look for Pete's. It reminded me of being at school looking for your grades. Where do you start, top and work down, middle and hope to catch your name, or bottom and work up. It was all shoving and pushing behind the official as he stapled up the two full sheets of over 50 names. It was hard to focus, I couldn't see all of the table and had to snatch glances here and there. I couldn't see his name, and as I looked harder at the list my heart sank as I was forced to look at lower and lower listings. This was going to be bad. His name wasn't there. More shoving and pushing, I got a full view of the board now. And started again, scanning up and down, still no name. OK, again, this time from the top, methodically now.
And there it was...Age Groupers 55+, 4th place - Pete Stock GBR. 4th! What's fourth? The instant I saw it, my mind was split two ways. Pete wanted a medal, that meant 3rd or higher, in a European event for which he'd been selected to represent his country. This was his first outing in this environment. What were his expectations, how did he measure them, what were ours, how would we judge the reality of him being able to meet these targets? All of us who know Pete, know he's no fool, he's ambitious, but when he sets a target, that target's high, out of reach for many who may dismiss it as unrealistic, a pipe dream. In an instant, when I saw that 4th spot, I knew that Pete was right. This was realistic, achievable, measured. If it had been 9th or 10th, it would have been easy for all of us to go, 'never mind, it wasn't to be'. But 4th, though better, was somehow a bigger miss. 4th was close, but no cigar, here's what you could have won, the first of the losers. 4th was a fail. I looked over at him. He was chatting with a guy who punctured on the bike out-leg. His dreams over, before they'd got going. Who's loss was biggest. I stepped out of the scrum and shouted him to go look for himself...and watched.
So... how was his race? Preparation was diligent. Alarm at 5.00, yet predictably we're both drinking tea at 4.30. Breakfast was laid on for us, yet lacking the holiday atmosphere of previous mornings. A somber affair, most choosing silence, one bemoaning his dislike of early mornings. We walk down to transition, it gets busier, and the music from the PA starts to increase tempo as the sun rises. The pressure is building.
Out of transition, a girl stood next to me, Helen, asks who I'm supporting. 'Him', I say, pointing to the motionless guy gazing at the ground. 'You?' I ask, 'him' she says pointing to guy with his back to us. 'I've lost him' she says, explaining that he's neither said anything to her or looked back. 'In the zone' we both say together.
Down at the start, the sea was calm as the horn went. I text the guys back home 'it's begun'. His start's good. Certainly in the lead group. Then all the white caps go blurry and I can't see any more. On the return leg it's evident one is way in the lead, two following and a lengthy gap to the main group. The first guy reaches the shore. Goggles off, cap off, I see his name revealed...fuck...Pete's closest rival. He's miles ahead. As he runs out, he turns to look back, meaning only one thing...he cares and is hungry. The next two guys come out. Not Pete, neither any of those that follow. Then I spot him, he's tenth.
I shout to him an abbreviated, encouraging yet factually modified version of his position. He looks at me, and a thumbs up. His swim was good, in relative terms, but his rival had nailed it. I ran through crowd control points as fast as I could to see him out of T1.
He came out a place up, a good bike mount and he was off. If you added up all the hours and effort of practise done to rehearse that first transition, it was difficult to rationalise it with the fact that it was now over in mere seconds, finished. More texts home, more replies, then a long wait. I watched many try to mount their bike on the run with shoes strung up already on the pedals. I'm not exaggerating when I say one in every three or four failed, and lost masses of time. An hour later I'm half a mile up the road at the last corner before the finish in to T2. After the corner, we agreed that he'd unclip his shoes, then get his feet out and mash it down the hill. It's something we made up, but all the big boys were doing exactly the same. Good plan. I'm staring down the long road, shimmering in the heat.
And the longest wait begins. Texts come in 'anything yet?'...'not yet!'. And I wait and wait some more. A distant light, a marshals bike, a group appear, not him. I don't recognise any riders, helmets, visors, bikes I've never seen before. I keep looking at my watch, trying desperately to remember what his predicted splits were. It's like waiting for Apollo 13 to reappear from the dark side of the moon. Finally he's in sight, catch his eye, no story that I can interpret, watch him unclip his shoes, feet out and down the hill.
So this it, it's just the run to go. The bike has been dispensed with, all that training delivered, now done and dusted. I charge over to an early section of the run course, only to see his rival already on the course. Shit, look at my watch...and count. And wait. Then Pete appears. I look at my watch 3.40 have passed. This is a 4 lap 10k and the temperature's rising. It's been mid 30's all week, blue sky and dust with every breath in. Not a great set of circumstances to be presented with. Pete's looking a bit shell shocked. I shout to him to settle in, but decide to say nothing about his mark. On the lap, there's two places I decide to get to watch. Half a lap in, I see his mark again and check the time. Then Pete appears, check my watch and 3.20. I decide to tell him. 'he's ahead, only 3 minutes, you're gaining'. No reaction. Next time round, it's down to 2.20.
I can't believe it. I shout it out to Pete, he looks at me, then on the half turn the time's down to sub 2 minutes. Now you can see it in his eye, the determination. It's 'race on'. It's all positive thoughts and noises now. What follows is a massive effort from Pete, not only does he pass his mark, but he's now picking others off. I don't know his position, the field is mixed with previous waves and newer waves all on the course together. I chase down the last section yelling 'smash it', the words Alex, Petes oldest used the night before. He smashed it, and some. Over the line and collapsed in a heap. That was it, story over...and 4th place.
During the day, we reflected on the race and acknowledged it was a worthy battle. What later came to light is that Pete was the first Brit home in his age group. 'How did he do?' room neighbour Stefan asked. 'Really well, 4th place' I say. 'Wow, that's amazing, what a result' he says. 'Yes' I reply, 'he was first GBR home' I add. 'That's awesome' Stefan responds, 'is he pleased?' 'No', I conclude. Because as James, Petes other boy adds, 4th sucks. And that's the truth. Lots of chatting during the day, lots of cake and lots of fantastic sport to watch in the brilliant sunshine. Eventually, it's time for the medal ceremony. I tell Pete, we're going to watch, because it'll be important to see if it adds anything to the emotions and future plans...seeing what could have been his. The ceremony drags on and on, and then some. It's now dark and eventually the age group category results and medals are given out. And this is what happens next. The announcer is good, very good. Foreign, and enthusiastic, his day has been a long one, but he's still giving it large, like American WWF ringmaster type announcements. "Next we have the age group 55-59 male medallists. In Bronze..." now we're listening, because this is why Pete came, this was meant to be his moment. Now we see the guy who beat him. "...representing Greeeeeeeat Britain..." and the emotion at this stage was one of absolute need to see who this was, mixed with a degree of nonchalance and abject disinterest, but we watched and listened "...Peeeeeeeete Stooooooock". WTF??? Go, go, just go, I shout at him, and there he is running down the steps of the grandstand we'd parked ourselves at the top of, so we could sneer and point from afar. And then there he is, being presented with his medal by the ETU and big name sponsor officials.
Later, we're running down the street like kids who'd just stole sweets from the corner shop, hoping not be found out and caught and return what's not ours. This was Petes medal, and you'd have to kill him to get it back, or break open the room safe. We got very drunk, surprisingly quickly that night. But there was still the question of what happened and how come he'd been promoted. Pete's view was simple. He didn't care if the other fella had died, he wasn't giving it back. We concluded it might be a technical infringement from another athlete. We'd already seen how easy it was to pick up these, but that Petes diligent prep meant he was better prepared and didn't make the mistake the other guy made. The medal was fairly won.
So what really happened? Well, if you look again at what I said about the results sheet pinned up, the results were listed in age group categories and on the sheet it said 55+. It seems that one of the top three placed guys was in fact from an age group category higher. Petes is 55-59, but they were just listed as 55+, listing all the higher categories in one lump, so Pete was actually 3rd in his own category. No one told him. Pete spent the day doing a lot of soul searching based on that 4th placing, but probably has emerged the better for it. The bronze medal is rightfully his. What a journey, right down to the wire and beyond.
What followed has been a spectacular weekend of spectator sport, and much to chew over. To witness athletes laying it on the line is quite special, very special. Its hard to describe, special to witness More to come.
Pete, that didn't come easy. You fought and battled hard for that. Unlike those who participated, you competed and took it. It was a pleasure to share this final, small and yet significant part of the 'mission'.
Mission accomplished.
