Photo Credit: Timothy Carlson (2010 Hy-Vee)
Now that the dust has settled after the Olympic Games, and most teams head home to inquiries of why they performed as they did, we at Trisutto can be pleased that our female competitors put in great efforts. Nicola's 6th is just about 100% of her best hoped-for performance, and Marianna, despite a transition glitch, also had a good day.
Riding away from a pack is not easy, and the only two to do it were Trisutto chicks. But the race belonged to another story. It's the story of a champion that came to the Olympics and left as a legend: Emma Snowsill.
Better known to me and some of our team as "da mouse," triathlon morning meant more than a gold medal on offer, but vindication and validation for wrongs done in the past.
6 year leadup to Beijing
In 2003, "da mouse," who had been training with the same intensity for the past 18 months, saw her performance morph into not one level but two of improvement, just as if she shifted plateaus. Her bike started to love her, and her run was transforming from a negative split build into "cop this, people," as she found confidence with every race that year.
Such was the payback from work done in days gone by that the second half of the season saw her on a tear, racing terrifically in Europe but culminating in a great win at a World Cup in Japan on the way back to Australia. A formality to be picked for Worlds in New Zealand that November, and of course, the subsequent winning of her first world title.
"Da mouse" had arrived with a roar. The Olympic selectors decided to ignore it, and as the selection trials for the 2004 Olympics were held, she still had to prove her point to get into the team. The selection race was in Coffs Harbour, and a stupider course has yet to be set anywhere for a selection trial. However, the night before the race, Loretta Harrop's manager rang and said, "I have just been informed that if Loretta does not win the race outright, she will not be one of the three going to the games."
Now, if you're from another country, you will find this hard to believe, but believe me, it's true. Sutto athletes were duly treated like this in Australia. So anyone who knows Miss Harrop can imagine how easy it was to motivate her to a performance that had yet to be matched in triathlon.
Coffs Harbour was the day. She blew off the start line with destiny in her eyes and gapped the swim by 45 seconds to the main pack, with the first pack looking like the who's who of triathlon greatness clumped together, thinking, "Let's stick together and get her later."
Well, "da mouse" knew Loretta and was warning, "We let her go now, she is gone, no matter how hard the course is." And so "da mouse" dropped the pack and went after her friend, and for 15 km on the bike, anybody with two eyes could see greatness.
Standing on the hill at Coffs, I was full of torn emotions, having to give tactics, and here it was: the old champion showing the world again what made her the best short-course triathlete that ever was, deciding to attack the problem the only way she knew how—break them all with sheer will and courage. And now, 40 seconds down was the master's apprentice. She too decided, "Well, if they won't go get her, I will."
"Da mouse" clawed back second upon second, cut it to 30, then next time around had cut it to 20, then to 10, but the effort was astounding. To any connoisseur of greatness, Loretta was having the ride of her life, and the mouse was not matching but taking time—big time—till she got so close on the steepest of hills where 10 seconds looks like 5 meters, so close.
But in this story so far, a lesser champion would have conceded and rode with Emma. Loretta just growled at me for a split. I gave her the gap to the bunch, thinking that she had conceded Emma was going to be riding with her, but she exploded, "Emma, you f... up. Forget the rest. It's me and her." At that moment, I could see there was no relenting—kill or be killed.
And the next lap around, the gap had opened up. Watching Emma come up the hill as the battle-hardened Loretta found that something only special people find was going away, and Emma's energy was fast fading.
She was now losing time to the main pack, and I considered if she kept riding, they would get her just before the run, spent with no energy. So I had to make the hardest call in my coaching triathlon life: "Sit up and wait for the pack. Save your legs for the run."
The chapter ends with Loretta putting 4 minutes into the best girls in the world on what was the hardest course ever seen in ITU drafting races, and she jogged and ran to the finish and then onto Olympic glory.
Miss Mouse was forced to duke it out with the then best runners in the triathlon world: Michellie Jones, Rina Hill, and a cast of another 8 or so. Even after the long, hard bike effort that astonished everybody, one by one she attacked and broke the old champs, till with 1 km to go, one girl remained—a young junior that was never thought of in the mix. She swam in the pack, sat in on the bike, and like 10 green bottles hanging on the wall, she was the last green bottle. With 100m to go, more to her surprise than anybody else's, she popped out and ran past Emma to take 2nd.
But no one with any brains was in any doubt: there were two champions out there that day, and they got 1st and 3rd.
Then Emma developed a serious injury. Selectors were informed she needed a break to help it heal quickly, but we were told in no uncertain terms: if she doesn't race the last selection trial, she would not be considered for the Olympic team. Oh yes, don't ask why. Just believe it.
So, stress fracture and all, "da mouse" went to battle again. While not as dramatic, it was an epic show of courage. Here, when everybody could see she couldn't run, she held onto 4th somehow.
Now, for the shocks. The men's team selected—they picked a guy that didn't finish the first race and was out of the top 6 in the second. When asked on what criteria by some very disgruntled male athletes, the answer: "He won Worlds in New Zealand."
So it was with utter dismay when the team was read out. After they had consulted me, and I said, "Emma, in my mind, is going to be the next great in triathlon. Give her some time, and I will have her ready to roll for the Olympics." However, the longer the selection went on, the more apparent it was that something very smelly was afoot.
And sure enough, out were the team selections: Harrop self-selected, and then two names, but none were Emma Snowsill. I won't go into the merits or demerits of the selectees; it's not fair or honorable. But they had no argument to be in the team over "da mouse."
But why wasn't the same criteria for the girls used? We thought the women's race was weaker than the men's, and so no guide.
There is more. Come Olympics, Emma was in fine form, winning a race the week before by 2:30, then won the same day or week later, then finished up by carving up another field of Olympic girls the week after. Then for the next 4 years, she showed she was continually the best athlete in the world: 2 more world championships, Commonwealth Games win in a canter.
She, like Loretta who had taught her well, selected herself for the Olympics this time. Like Loretta, she kept away from all the team rubbish and concentrated on being ready for the big day.
Beijing Olympic Games
Many said she was inferior to the young lass from Portugal. Nobody here fell for that nonsense; the one to beat was "da mouse."
The race starts, and she positions herself perfectly. Onto the bike, and you don't see her as she gets ready for another challenge in her young life. This time, there is no gladiator in the group like her mentor; they are all mortals. Nobody goes off the front, and so it was to be a foot race.
Thus, the two giants of the sport hit the transition, and "da mouse" hit the field with a 6 year pent-up emotion that had to be seen to be believed. "Da mouse" roared out of transition and just kept roaring for the whole 10 km. There was no competition, just her drawing strength from the adversity of her past, the wrongdoings of others, and 6 years of total dedication to one thing: winning the Olympic gold medal.
So, on the biggest day, on the biggest stage, the smallest competitor put down the biggest performance ever seen in ITU drafting triathlon. "Da mouse that roars" fully deserves her gold medal, and triathlon ITU style finally crowns its best athlete.
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