Finding Strength in Pain

This past Thursday was my 32nd birthday. As cliché as it is, I've always found celebrating birthdays to be a little weird in the sense that it is just simply another day unlike any of the rest. However, as I get older I have been warming up to the idea of how important it is to honor a person's life here on earth. While we can do this on a daily basis, it's nice to pick one specific day out of the year to ritualistically do this.

On March 3rd, 2009 my identification with my birthday was permanently changed forever as I answered the call informing me that my brother had been rushed to the hospital. It had been a pretty good day prior to this call. I had squeezed in 5.5 hours of training on a work day and had even had a few minutes to crack open a celebratory beverage with Angela.

At my brother's funeral I stood before a filled congregation a read the following words as a part of his eulogy I prepared:

My brother was called to his heavenly kingdom on my birthday. He and I will now share a day every year that we can celebrate life together. I will celebrate the life my brother led, and celebrate my own life in which I'll strive to follow the footsteps and examples laid before me by my brother Don. I am honored to have this day with my brother.

Despite my feeling of honor to share this day with my brother, I found myself filled with anxiety and many indefinable emotions as my birthday approached this year. Initially, I didn't even want to acknowledge it and preferred to honor the day as being my brother's day only.

I have this personal practice in which I like to perform some sort of act to truly make me appreciate life and remind myself of just how alive I am on my birthday. We all do this, whether it's 50 laps of the Champs Elysees on our 50 birthday, or 21 shots on our 21st birthday. The act of recognizing a person's day they were born is a way of celebrating their continued life in this world.

For the past two seasons I have been running the stairs at Bloomer in the off season as a plyometric exercise to increase leg strength but also my ability to suffer. The stairs are 190 steps of lactic acid inducing pain. These workouts always prove to be a great source of suffering that’s on a different level than the bike. Inspired by the hour challenge first introduced to me by Art Fleming and Mike Simonson, I decided to attempt 32 reps of the bloomer stairs as fast as I could on my 32nd birthday.

I was seeking a cathartic experience to help make sense of my newly defined notion of what March 3rd means to me now. I wanted to suffer to be reminded of just how alive I am. I wanted to be thankful for my ability to simply push myself to the edge and achieve a tangible goal. I wanted to honor my own life by finding strength in pain. I wanted to make myself proud by doing something that would of made my brother proud.

Although this quest was completely brought on by my own choice and initiative, I found myself riddled with anxiety to the point of a stomach full of nerves earlier in the day as I reflected on what lay ahead of me.



So after one warm up trip up the stairs to get the tally going, I started the clock and began to tick away at attempting my goal. I must admit it was extremely mentally daunting after the first 3 reps, already redlining my heart rate, knowing that I had 27 more trips up the stairs. I started with music to keep me motivated but found it to be a distraction after about 5 reps and decided to bail on it. The next few reps I tried to focus on my motives for attempting this. I tried to fuel myself on emotion but this only lasted so long and I started to stagger. It wasn’t until I was able to silence my mind that I fell into a good rhythm.

I eventually made it to 32 reps and within my goal time. I sat on the stairs stunned, still suffering, and reflecting on how alive I was in that moment.



The goal was not about the physical accomplishment of the feat but rather the metaphorical significance that came through the accomplishment. I wanted to find strength in pain. At one point, I met what I thought were my limits but I strived to push through them and did. There have been many times in my life I've attempted this and failed.

As I laid down that evening, I was able to find peace with the day and honor two special lives.


Specials thanks go out to my future sister in law who had accompanied me to the stairs that day to help with motivation and my pacing. I doubt I could of kept going as hard as I did without your presence to keep me honest and push me.

Unexpected Inspiration

I recently changed the title of this blog to Learning to Suffer. This has become an idea I’ve slowly become obsessed with over the years. It started as a Dybo-Induced mantra to help me finish races but has been transforming and manifesting itself into all areas of my life for awhile now. So I found it fitting to name my blog after this.

Learning to suffer…at first glance, it sounds a little morbid, maybe even sadistic, perhaps even depressing. However, I find it quite the contrary. Suffering is part of life. It’s inescapable, we will all inevitably suffer at one point in our life, indeed some more than others. The new title isn’t intended to dwell on the word “suffering” but rather the word “learning”.

What does it truly mean to “Learn to Suffer”? It’s a notion that most likely takes on a different form and meaning for each individual. I suppose this is an idea that is an ongoing process as well. Within myself, I’ve developed a clearer understanding of what this means more and more over the years.

“Suffering is but another name for the teaching of experience, which is the parent of instruction and the schoolmaster of life.”-Horace

The effects of adversity can take a person one of two directions. It can affect you positively or it can effect you negatively. One thing is for certain, under the terms of true adversity, you are never unaffected. After I went through the initial emotional struggles of losing my brother I distinctly remember an instance in which I took an introspective glimpse and conversed with myself. I determined that I can either let this affect me in a positive way or a negative way, but for certain, the choice was mine. After all, we are a product of our choices, not our circumstances. To me, this is the essence of my idea of “learning” to suffer. Again, suffering comes with life's price of admission, it’s unavoidable. How we accept and deal with it is something that takes learning through practice.

Yesterday I went to visit one of my students in the hospital. This was a student whom I never got off to the right start with. Last year, he did his best to make our lives very challenging while in my classroom. Without getting into specifics, this student was not dealt the best hand in life. Several factors had lead to a steady stream of suffering for him. All in all, he had some good reason to be angry. On top of everything, recently he was involved in an accident at his work that will affect his range of physical ability for the rest of his life.

Sometimes we can find inspiration in unexpected places. I hadn’t gone to visit this student with the idea that it would be a reciprocally beneficial interaction; I simply wanted to show my support and concern. To my surprise he had done quite a bit of maturing since I had last sat down with him a year or so ago. Despite some insurmountable odds, this individual is learning to suffer. As I sat and spoke with him he began to open up more and more and share some of the thoughts that were going through his head. We talked about the frustrating nature of the permanency of how one single unexpected moment in time can change your entire course in an instant. Without, much hesitation or debate, I started to open up to him about losing my brother, which is something I had not previously ever done with any students of mine. I accompanied this with the idea of “Learning to Suffer” and how you have two choices of how you will allow this to affect you. He was very receptive and really listened intently.

Last year, in a moment of anger, this same student had firmly exclaimed to me, “what the hell to you care about me, you only do this job for the F-ing paycheck”. At the time, I simply let it roll off of me. In my line of work, teaching students with emotional impairments, verbal abuse simply comes with the territory and you quickly become immune to it. However, he brought his statement up again yesterday. I was very surprised, as I really didn’t even think he remembered what he had said. He explained that he now understood why the staff at my school willingly walk through the school doors each day. Furthermore, he was even insightful enough to tell me that he understands that I am smart enough to get a higher paying job in another vocational field, but that I must really actually care about what I do. There are always intermittent moments in a teacher’s career which reinforce your occupational choice; this was one of them.

Time seemed to have slipped away from me, as what was planned to be a 30 minute visit quickly turned into a 2 hour one. Without realizing, I had sacrificed my rationed time for my pre-planned evening training session. However, while the physical training aspect of racing is in no doubt the first and foremost most integral one, sometimes the mental preparation is equally important. Mental race fuel can go a long way to enhance your fitness through added perseverance.

I was not the one in the hospital. I was not the one who had been dealt the terrible hand. I was the one who was going to give support for someone in need. Ironically, and much to my surprise I found strength and inspiration from this individual. He had commented to me, “Mr. Finkel, I know you take a lot of pride in your bike riding and racing, I have never met anyone who takes bike riding so seriously...and I bet you think about your brother when you pedal that bike, I bet you want to try and do your best and win to make him proud…I think that’s pretty cool”. He was right, but he may not have realized that I probably will now draw strength from his own perseverance as well. As I left, he was actually lecturing me to make sure I keep my head up high and stay positive.

I left the hospital with the content feeling that this visit was more beneficial for me than any trainer interval workout would have been that evening. Sometimes the lessons of suffering are the most valuable, and sometimes they come from some of the most unexpected places. I am grateful for this experience.

Homage Manifesto

First post of 2011…where have I been? It seems that for years, this blog has served as a platform for all of my cycling induced ramblings. However, recently I’ve found myself less apt to want to voice my thoughts and rather focus on minimizing outside distraction in an effort to maximize my efforts towards this summer’s task at hand. So I apologize for my lack of posts these days. This year’s task does not only include putting together my race season but also getting married as well as procuring a four legged new addition to my family.

Truth is I haven’t had much to say lately that you all haven’t heard from me already. You can only write so many race reports, submissions on perseverance, and insights into the larger, metaphorical significance of cycling before it all seems to sound like recycled redundancy and you lose interest. I also am not quite sure people even read blogs anymore. I’m beginning to assume that if my thoughts are not limited to 140 characters, than they will not be absorbed by my peers.

I have never used this blog as a venue to vent my emotions about the happenings of my immediate cycling culture and scene. Well, I did write a bit of a manifesto on April 14th, 2008 that even the MI Scene felt compelled to repost but other than that, I’ve kept my outlook and attitude positive. This is all to say until now. It seems that hearsay and grumblings amongst the more virgin layer of the Metro-Detroit race culture has left me with a very bad taste in my mouth that I can’t seem to get out.

What caused this bad taste? I’m speaking about the recent doings of the generation of “the grass is greener on the other side” racers. I’m speaking directly to those riders who don’t ask what they can do to be a part of the team they are on but rather what is the team going to do for me? I’m speaking directly to those who display and air of entitlement and think that just because they’ve finished a few races, maybe even wound up in the money a couple times, that the sport owes them something more than what they are already getting. I’m talking about those who make lateral team leaps to solve their lack of race results rather than putting their heads together with their comrades to develop a cohesive plan of how to improve collectively. And I’m specifically speaking to those who have no hesitation to forget to acknowledge those responsible for first taking them to a race, teaching them how to ride a pace line, how to corner, what interval training is all about, how to have fun with the sport, and sometimes simply how to put your rear wheel on properly. There is no need to name names; if you need to hear this, you will.

Perhaps this disgust may be exacerbated by the fact that I’ve been watching The Soprano’s all season on the trainer, but nonetheless there are principles here. Aside from the immoral behavior, gratuitous murders, and sociopathic tendencies of The Soprano’s, there are some ethical life lessons to be learned. Hierarchy is an idea that helps keep order, respect, and hard work an integral component of a culture. It combats entitlement and helps to create an environment of multidirectional respect amongst its members. Respect is given by what has been shown, and true success comes from goals and aspirations that are reinforced by those around you. In a sense cycling has always been a brotherhood for me. And with that name “brotherhood” accompanies very serious connotations, much like words like love or hate. You better truly mean it if you say it.

Lets all be honest with ourselves, the glory that is received from racing success is indeed a romanticized one. Only about 0.5% of bike racers throughout the world really even make enough money to make an actual career out of it. However, every season thousands of amateur racers line up seeking something they have not yet mentally attained. So we must do it for other motives. Hopefully these motives extend beyond discounted product. While these motives could easily be filibustered upon for pages I think we can narrow them down to two things:
1. To gain respect of your peers and a name for yourself you can be proud of.
2. To experience the personal intrinsic satisfaction that cannot be bought but rather only attained through hard work and dedication.

Now I’m not speaking directly to those who may have made team transitions due to a relocation of residence or specifically those who have moved up in the rankings to a team that can bring them to the next step like bigger and better races and venues. However, I may be speaking about you if you are one who failed to look back at those who helped pave the path to that next step. Frankie Andreu always took the time throughout all the phases of his career to thank Michigan cycling and specifically the Wolverine Sports Club for helping him get to where he was. I’m speaking most directly to the riders who make lateral team moves without first discussing with their current team and with the notion that because their current team may not have to offer exactly what they personally want, they’re bailing rather than trying to play their part in improving the “whole”.

If we are to look at racing as being part of a brotherhood, then perhaps shouldn’t we try and mend problems rather than just leaving them? If you have a problem with a family member, do you simply leave and go join another one? Mutualism is a fundamental aspect of our behavior as mammals.

You may agree with my idea or not, and that’s ok. I value different sets of opinions. I simply feel that this idea boils down to foundational ethics and manners that human beings deserve to give each other.

I may simply just be old school at heart, but I still think cycling is a team sport. However, I see an increase each season in new riders that don’t want to be part of a team but simply want to keep their own personal best interests as first priority. I always wonder why these types of riders don’t just race solo with a jersey that simply says “ME” as the title sponsor.

In a culture that seems to become cheaper and more and more disposable everyday, let’s try and keep our sport honorable and valuable. Appreciate that you belong to something that was here before you, would still be here without you, and WILL be here after you are long gone. Respect your fellow riders no matter what level they may be at. And most importantly, honor your team by displaying basic forms of courtesy and respect.

Thank you, and my closet is now clean. Rebuttals are welcome privately or publically, but do me the favor of not doing it anonymously. See you all at the line.

Iconic Metal

My grandfather used to commemorate all of his major landmarks in his lifetime by the car he happened to be driving at the time. He loved his cars. He’d make references like, “I remember when…that was when I had my 52’ Plymouth”.

This past week, I ceremonially built up my 1999 custom painted Titanium Kona Hei Hei. Every year I pull this bike out, I fall in love with it all over again. There is special meaning and emotions connected to this bike.

I have been blessed with great sponsors and help with a sport that I otherwise could never afford to have the latest and greatest. I am very thankful for every new bike I’ve attained each season. However, despite their pretty looks and high performance, these days my bikes have become more of a tool rather than a jewel.

I had worked all summer to purchase the Hei Hei frame. I carefully tallied my hours and calculated the exact day I could get on the phone and order the fine steed. I spent countless hours thumbing through the QBP catalogue reconfiguring my dream build and meticulously piecing together the most finely matched anodized pieces of flare, down to the crimp caps and bolt kits.

Every year I pull this bike out I am reminded of what bikes meant to me back then and how they made me feel. I had never crossed the line before the rest of the field yet, I hadn’t ever ridden a hundo before, I didn’t realize how therapeutic bikes could be, and I certainly had no clear concept of just how far a bike could take a person. The bike simply represented unchartered potential, hope, and aspiration. It was the infancy of my love affair of man and velo machine.

This winter season, I have a few frames in my stable worthy of being relegated to winter riding. However, last week I reached for the Hei Hei once again when it came time to coble together this seasons “winter beater”. The more I think about it, the more I realize there may have been some deeper sub conscious underlying psychology as to why I did this.

The day before I built up the bike, I heard a few dreaded words that had never really crossed my mind before. “Tim is getting old enough, that even he is starting to get a bit outdated in the racing world”.

Since my involvement in the sport I have always been driven by personal progression. Besting previous years has always been something that has been consistently achieved. I must admit, at first I was a bit taken back by this comment. Are my best years behind me? I’ve always thought I still have races to be won that have not yet been won.

I was quickly soothed by the idea that whether or not I am outdated, there will inevitably come a day when I do become outdated. A day when much like my grandfather, I look back and say; “I remember when I won…that was when I was riding my 2005 Trek…”. When this day comes, will that be it for me? Will I hang up my bikes permanently and let them collect dust for the rest of my life, leaving them with nothing more than the stories of adventures had in the past? What soothed me was that I realized I would never let this happen. There will always be a race for me despite whether it’s an elite race or not. You are never “at the top”; there is always someone capable of besting even your greatest form. I have learned to play the game. Even more importantly, I have learned to love the game of bike racing.

So perhaps this is why I built the Hei Hei back up. I wanted once again climb atop the bike that really helped to start it all for me and represented hope and aspiration. After all, this was the first bike I had ever won a race on, raced a 24hr race on, and rode 100miles with. Everyone has that one bike they'll never sell, this is it for me. I've probably had around 20+ bikes since this one, but I'll always come back to it.

Winter riding is a ritualistic time to set new goals. It's a time to be driven by your dreams. Next season I plan to continue to play the game.

Cross Training

Paramount Barely

This Iceman report is not so much a race report, but rather the description of one ceremonial and annual instance that has now become engrained in my season as ritual each year.

For those who know me, you know I like my beer. I drink it often, and for several different occasions. However, there is one specific beer I have each year that I can always clearly identify as my absolute favorite beers of the year.



Iceman is a funny race…perhaps it is its timing, maybe it’s the allure and mystique it has gained over the years, and maybe it’s because it is the largest mountain bike race in America. Whatever makes this race what it is, one thing is for certain, it is a race that always perpetuates months or preparation and months of provoked thought post race. What makes this so funny is that it is simply a 28 mile race on an extremely technically neutral course.

Iceman takes place at a time of year when the road racers season has ended, so they end up racing it. Also, cyclocross racers are in the thick of their season, so they race it. The mountain bikers are always up to race, so they travel cross country to race. The combination of such an eclectic race demographic creates something special that other races just don’t have.



Not only does the race itself cause for elevated heart rates but the anxiety of the preparation alone has many people going anaerobic just thinking about the start gun. A good showing at the Iceman gives you hope and sparks unparalleled enthusiasm and dedication for the following race year. Likewise, failed expectations at Iceman cause you to deeply look introspectively at what you can do to make next season your best one ever. Regardless, this race is always held as a metaphor of where you will guide your future drive and focus.



The 2010 Iceman was not good to me at all. Both the legs as well as the machine beneath them did not want to cooperate with my mind’s intentions and expectations. However, this is not a race report…this is a story about my annual favorite beer.

For many people, myself included, the finish line at Iceman is the last one I will cross for that given race season. Every year, I treat myself to a cold one shortly after the line. This is always my most beloved beer of the year because it stands for so much more than its contents. This specific beer gets raised to another full successful season of good results, personal health, and loving family and friends. Not only does this beer celebrate the end of a journey but it also represents a clean slate and a fresh start, full of expectation and promise for the year and years to come. Beer can only taste this good after the arduous experience of a full season under your belt.



Despite what my Iceman result is each year, I am always thankful. This is what will keep me coming back year after year...my quest for the best annual beer I could ever have.

Beer of choice this finish line: Bell’s Two-Hearted
My vote for the Landlord of the Midwest: Brian Matter
See you all next year…

Learning to Suffer

It was a tough race. The field was filled with the “who’s who” of racing. My nerves were high and in my mind, I had already lost the race even before it started because of my mental intimidation. The gun sounded, and my heart rate was pegged within 30 seconds. The pace didn’t slow down, but rather kept ramping up and surging even more potently than it had mere minutes ago. Thoughts of quitting began to seep into my mind and I became comforted by the thought that I could make this all end if I just stopped pedaling. I pushed onward for a few moments longer and gave what I thought was my last best effort. However, it was just that, my last effort. Soon after, I watched the field disappear before my front wheel while I fell off the back.

After cooling down, I rolled up to Ray and exclaimed how difficult the race was and how I tried to give it all I had but it just wasn’t good enough. He replied back to me a few simple words, “You know what your problem is Finkel, you need to learn how to suffer!” In disgust and defense I barked back, “Ray! I was suffering in that race!” He refuted, “You didn’t suffer…I’ll tell you when the first time you suffer is.” He went on to retell a classic Dybo Memoir involving Clair Young, a similar defeated race of his, a raddish, and those all so wise words…you need to learn how to suffer.

Ray was right, I hadn’t learned to suffer yet.

On the morning of October 12th, 2010, the sport of cycling lost quite possibly one of its most unsung heroes. This is something I’ve been reluctant to write about for awhile. The task of honoring a person who gave so much seemed monumental and a bit intimidating.

I had only had the privilege of conversing with Clair Young a handful of times. However, during those times I was able to make the accurate assumption that Clair never really said anything that wasn’t worth saying. I always walked away from my interactions with him smarter and wiser than I had been earlier that day. Despite my minimal interactions with Clair, I feel that I am traveling daily on roads he helped pave. As a result, I feel I have an acute understanding of the person he was, and the person he wanted to project to the world. This has not only given me inspiration but great respect for Clair.

Clair left a clear message with the Wolverines that has become a mantra for me not only in terms of racing but in life in general. This message was simple: you need to learn to suffer. I’ve always felt that our highs can only be measured by our lowest lows. Clair lost his wife at the tender age of 37. However, he kept his family together by devoting himself to his children, speed skating, and cycling. Two of his children Roger and Shelia, went on to attain more National Championships, World Championships and Olympic medals than I have room to write on this page.

I feel very fortunate to of been able to interact with Clair. Moreover, I feel fortunate that his teachings and ideals have been passed along to me through the Wolverine Sports Club. Best of all, I am thankful that through Clair’s words of wisdom I have truly learned how to suffer.

Ray was right. At the time, I hadn't suffered yet. It wasn’t until years after that first race I dropped out of, and several results later that Ray finally pulled me aside and said, “You've suffered…Congratulations…I’m proud of you.”