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The glamorous life of a pro cyclist
Posted: Thursday June 22, 2000 03:46 PM
A Stanford University graduate, Nicole Freedman began cycling in 1994 with the Stanford team. Earlier this year the 28-year-old won the U.S. Olympic road race trials in Jackson, Mississippi, earning an automatic spot on the 2000 Olympic team. A native of Wellesley, Mass., the 5-foot-2 cyclist currently trains in Palo Alto, Calif. Check out Freedman's diary every other week on CNNSI.com.
June 21, 2000
"My," I thought when CNNSI.com asked me to write a diary for their Olympic page, "I have been torturing my closest friends for years with lengthy downloads and email report from the racing circuit, most of which they immediately delete before begging me to take them off my mail list. Now, I have the pleasure of torturing thousands more people, none of whom I even know." I will begin with a brief 15-billion word thesis on the history of my life up to the age of three months, before getting into my relationship with athletics, specifically cycling. Since graduating Stanford University in 1994, I have lived the glamorous life of a professional woman cyclist: I have been flown cargo class and/or been driven by broken-down, overstuffed van to exotic race locations across the country and world, including New Zealand, the Colorado Rockies and central Detroit. Teams in cycling, a tier two American sport about as popular as junior female mud wrestling, are naturally fiscally conservative. To save money, our Charles Schwab team looks forward to overtaking and overwhelming unsuspecting and naïve host families instead of paying to stay in hotels. We pull our larger-than-house size vans over oblivious neighborhood children and onto the hosts' driveways. After introducing ourselves to the family, we begin, like locusts, to devour everything in and on the refrigerator (including the magnet). The mechanic sets up shop in the front driveway, spilling grease that will last into the next Ice Age; the team massage therapist assembles his table in either the kitchen or TV room, whichever is more crowded. Shocking our often conservative hosts, the riders wander onto the massage table stark naked in front of wide-eyed children with neither apology nor modesty. Certain host families, who maintain that it's only polite to feed guests, watch aghast as the team of seemingly underfed and petite looking women delicately stuff down fistsful of chicken wings, pounds of potatoes, half-moon slices of pie and expensive china and silverware. In order to maximize my training, I have based myself in scenic Palo Alto, Calif., which is known for its excellent cycling terrain, not its affordability. At the heart of Silicon Valley, Palo Alto has one of the highest costs of living in the country. Everyday at about 3 p.m., sport utility vehicles, with bumper stickers advertising "My child is student of the month at (name of overly-priced-elementary-school-that-costs-more-than-Harvard)" take to the streets to pick up schoolchildren dressed in the latest bargain-trend clothing from the Gap. Nonetheless, my incredible income as a cyclist (prize winnings plus earnings from a part-time job have yet to clear $10k per year) has afforded me an elegant Palo Alto home. In 1996, AAA deposited my '77 Ford Econoline van in the driveway of the house of some friends. It has since become my permanent home as it sinks into the pavement-growing weeds. It is my van, the pride of our quiet residential neighborhood street, that is often and properly credited for halving the neighborhood's median home prices. That is where I conclude this first, introductory diary and from where I will be writing my future diaries. Look forward to upcoming diaries, which will include captivating pedal-by-pedal real-time accounts of the 629-mile Idaho Challenge and other fascinating topics as I prepare for my first Olympics.
-- Nicole
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