To The Support Group, Crew and Friends of Endurance Riders....

My good friend Denise sent this little article to me in my inbox today.  I think she read my last post and could accurately figure out the weather of my mood.  Because she is a tri-athlete and has competed in who-knows-how many races over the years and an Iron Man, she understands the ins and outs of racing.  She understands the addiction (because it is...in fact, an addiction...) she understands the ins and outs of conditioning and she understands how important it is to have the right friends and crew for the support mentally (if not even MORE important) and physically.  She was the one who told me after my race last year that I would get a little post-race depression.  It didn't last long, but I did call her and boo-hoo briefly.  She was having the same depression as well as she had just done Iron Man Coeur D' Alene.  I am not much a crier and that is a bit embarrassing to share, but hey...it's reality and it happens.  So there.  So anyways...with out further ado... here is the article...Enjoy.


Hugs and props to all my loving family, and friends (basically crew members)  who journey with me to Tevis.

Being an endurance rider requires a whole lot of extra help. Here are some valuable tips for your support crew.     

It’s early in the year. Winter is winding down and a new race season is nearly upon us. We’re refreshed from the off-season, our zeal renewed for our beloved sport. In fact, we’re so raring to go mentally and physically, we’re surely headed for our best race seasons ever. Power will rise and PR’s will fall—we shall be unstoppable! „

In order to tick every box of preparedness, though, we also need to ensure that our support systems are securely in place. It takes a village to raise a successful endurance rider, and that village needs training, too. It’s not as simple as strapping on a foam finger and cheering like a freak on race day, fueled by a few tailgate beers. You’ll have to clue them in before they can correctly interpret your cries for help, both subtle and straightforward, before, during and after races.

So whether you send this article to your loved ones or leave the document open on your computer screen, make sure your team reads and absorbs the tips herein.

Throughout the season there are a number of ways in which a supporter can enhance an endurance rider’s efforts.

Early on, try to muster the question, “Are you Top 10ing again this year?” with a straight face. However small the sea of your endurance community, make your endurance rider feel like a really big fish.

Avoid comments like, “Is it supposed to fit that tight?” no matter how unaccustomed you are to viewing a woman encased in too loose Lycra, or, “Wow, you really eat a lot!” despite the fact that your endurance rider wife just chowed down two entrées.

Keep a vigilant eye out for over-training-induced meltdowns. Is your endurance rider unusually cranky or emotional, reduced to tears when comparing past? Does he snap at the slightest thing, such as running out of power bars or forgetting to charge his Garmin? First address his current crisis, then ever so gently suggest a day off.

Do not smirk, no matter what combination of mud encrusted and poop smelling gear your endurance rider insists on wearing around the house, around town or even to bed. Sexy lingerie is hardly a steppingstone to endurance stardom.

Race week and race day require an even greater level of finesse from an endurance race supporter.

Be prepared to run a plethora of last-minute errands. “Wheat mash, alfalfa, rolled oats, beet pulp horse mash? Sure. I’ll pick them up right after I track down those saddle bags, biothane reins, extra saddle pad & fleece cooler. Anything else while I’m out?”

Twenty-four to 48 hours before any race, your athlete will morph into a zombie. Prop his feet up, hand him the TV remote and a sippy cup of wine and leave him be. But don’t stray too far—he may not want to speak to you, but he needs to know you’re near.

Rehearse saying this with a smile: “Of course I’ll get up at 4 a.m., schlepp you and all your stuff to the start. Nowhere I’d rather be. Especially not snuggled warmly in bed.”

During the actual race, be where you say you’ll be. No matter how often your endurance rider insists that she’s totally “in the zone” on course, barely able to pick particular faces or voices out of the crowd, I guarantee she’s looking for you. Be loud and proud (heck, get a foam finger if you have to)—she’ll appreciate the boost.

Your first step post-race is to attend to your riders immediate needs. He may as well be an infant, unable to communicate clearly for at least an hour. He might spit up. Your job is to interpret his grunts and groans and longing looks. Is his hand outstretched? Fill it with a bottle of water (better yet, a bottle of beer). Is she rubbing her butt or wincing when she walks? Get her to the massage tent or strap on an ice bag, stat!

When your athlete’s communication skills return, pull up a chair and prepare to listen. For a long time. Feign fascination for every detail of the rodeo like start, the vet checks, the pit stops. You had diarrhea? Tell me more!

Steel yourself for sorting through your riders gear—as any devoted helper would do. This includes smelly, sweaty, mud-caked clothing and sticky everything. Don rubber gloves if you have to, but dive right in and conquer that collection of nastiness.

Prepare also for the post-race roller coaster of emotions your rider will no doubt ride. Regardless of whether he won top ten or ended up walking every mile, the event of a lifetime is over. Done. Dusted. And the aftermath of months of singular focus and preparation is often a post-partum-like plummet into depression. That is, until she registers for her next race and once again drafts you as her No. 1 fan.

As the rider, don’t forget to reward your crew for their hard work. Wine, spa treatments or sparkly things will do. After all, you may have walked, trotted and cantered an ungodly number of miles, but they suffered through every stride as well, and are likely just as weary—minus the lifetime bragging rights.