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The Man who would be passionate
The Complete Book of Cycling: Chris Boardman (with Andrew Longmore). Partridge
(Transworld), 2000. 250 pages hardback, £17.99. ISBN 1-85225-267-7
To decide, as Cycling Weekly did, that Chris Boardman is the 'best-ever British
cyclist' necessarily involves comparisons, It's like announcing that Bob Dylan
is the best-ever songwriter. Compared with, say, Irving Berlin, Brecht and
Weill, John Lennon, Victoria Wood and Schubert?
That said, Chris has to rate with the half-dozen best pros: Harris, Simpson,
Millar (Robert), Porter and some pretty impressive amateurs like Bill Bradley,
Beryl Burton and Norman Sheil, who rarely get mentioned in these comparisons.
It's not such a bad idea, really, because Boardman has remained,
psychologically, an amateur – in the best sense of the word.
So combining a biography of his sporting life with a training manual seems a
fitting legacy to the sport on his retirement. And there's a lot of interesting
stuff here. Like everyone else I'd prefer Chris to enjoy riding the bike, but
claiming not to enjoy it hasn't got in the way of his success. 'But,' he
urges, 'be passionate.' This might surprise some people (he feels) because 'I
have always been regarded as a very dispassionate and clinical athlete.' So he
offers us a flow-chart which analyses why he's really an emotional and
passionate man.
The 'manual' parts of the book are embedded in the biography. That is to say
that the advice arises out of stories of his own experience, but ultimately his
is like everyone else's: success in sport is the product of talent plus
dedication, training and preparation – there is no magic formula. There are no
bar charts, but the message is the same: periodise your training, make it as
varied as possible, believe in your programme, listen to your body, it's better
to be slightly undertrained than overtrained – sometimes less is more.
Boardman's happy with four training levels, but the new Six Zones would have
given him further scope for experimentation.
There are on-the-bike exercises, weights and stretching, and he's good on the
psychology of training and competition, on equipment, and on nutrition: 'Diet
is an integral part of any training programme.'
It would be difficult to copy any of this: the training planners are examples
of his own plans, and ou have to devise your own: ultimately you have to become
your own coach.
Which brings us to Chapter 13, 'Who needs a coach?' Boardman is (rightly, in my
view) suspicious of coaches and coaching methods: 'It's a very unhealthy
profession. I see too many coaches more interested in themselves than their
athletes.' His own need, he says, is for someone 'to explain why I'm doing
something', and he is right to see coaching as a 'deeply creative job,
requiring real dedication and a sixth sense in anticipating and understanding
how an athlete might feel at any given moment'. He himself was lucky in finding
first Eddie Soens and then Peter Keen. So the answer to the question is 'We all
do – if we can find the right one.'
I don't really understand Boardman's stance on drugs. If he lost a time-trial
because his opponent hung on to a motorbike, he'd protest. But if the same
rider's using EPO, then he won't 'cast stones.' If the cheats are 'winning' is
it better for the losers merely to shrug? Or is it a case of 'I know it's wrong
but I'm not grassing up me mates and making meself unpopular'? At least he's
now demanding tougher sentences: 'the risk has to be made bigger'.
The tone throughout is relatively low-key (lacking in passion?), a quality
which characterises Boardman's media appearances, but eminently readable.
A few irritants: Jiminez was KOM only three times, not six; Norman Sheil
appears as 'Sheel' in text and index; and the Tour is referred to as 'le grand
boucle'. Why use fancy French phrases if you can't get it right? This seems to
be down to Mr Longmore.
But this is a book worth having, value for money, and an interesting insight
into the character of a man who would be passionate.
Ramin Minovi
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