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Snerf's slant: The 2004 Nicole Freedman Diary
Sprinter, 2000 Olympian and a founder of the Basis women's team, Nicole Freedman - known as Snerf to her friends - is one of the US circuit's great characters. Her goal for 2004 is to make the Olympic team for Israel and failing that "to see one of my developmental teammates win their first NRC race and subsequently take all their prize money."
Introduction: The Olympic Quest
Dear Diary,
I can't tell you what an honor it is to write a diary for Cyclingnews. What an opportunity to get in touch with my deepest, most personal emotions, previously shared with nobody, then self-importantly post these thoughts all over the internet. See section 2: Naked photos, also previously never shared on the internet.
In truth, I believe the wild popularity of this column will be elemental in the launching of my post-cycling career touring the late night shows including Letterman, Leno and most notably the Town of Wellesley local cable channel.
The 2004 season kicks off with one primary goal for myself and for my Team Basis teammates: to qualify for the Olympics. For my domestic Basis teammates this means working together to win the US Olympic trials. Please join Team Basis for our "Pre-Olympic Trials Open House" to be conducted at the deep, sharp nail section of Home Depot on June 16th.
For myself, earning an Olympic spot means fulfilling the UCI Olympic qualifying standards for individuals (Top 100 in the UCI individual rankings) as a representative of the Israeli cycling team.
In 2000 I represented the US in the Sydney Olympics. Shortly thereafter, I realized falafel was better in Israel. I have since taken advantage of my Israeli dual citizenship. If I succeed in making the Israeli team, it will be the first time ever that Israel sends a woman cyclist to the Olympics. They have, on the other hand, sent every woman citizen to the army.
February - A Trip Down Under
I checked in at the airport for my flight to Australia for the Geelong Tour and World Cup - the opening races on the 2004 UCI calendar. To qualify as an individual for the Olympics, I need to earn enough UCI points to be ranked in the Top 100.
I love Australia. Without a doubt this country, founded by convicts, has emerged to have the nicest people in the world. Even in the races, one can sense this:
Australian racer: "Mate, perhaps you might F%$%ing go with that break."
Australians are known for being able to have fascinating conversations with a rock, which happens often as the country averages less than 6 people per square mile and country's most famous monument is a big rock - Ayer's rock.
Stepping off the airplane, while commenting to a friend on the amicability of the Australian, I trip over a fellow passengers handbag.
"Oh, I am so sorry. So sorry. I apologize, mate," the Australian handbag owner comments.
"Wow, amazing. Thank you so much. In the US nobody would ever apologize! " I replied.
"No worries. That's just how we are here."
I then rip the Canadian flag from my backpack (it's never deceived anyone), wave my arms in the air and declare, "But I AM STILL AN AMERICAN!" And I launch her bag into the air with my foot.
Stop One, for early arrivers is the Carlton Hotel. Visions of the Boston's five-star Ritz Carlton, complete with afternoon tea and cheese, pop into my head. Visions of the Carlton Minneapolis maximum security penitentiary popped into the promoter's head. For three days, we share kitchens, bathrooms, toilets and showers with those otherwise homeless. "How bad can it be? When I am in the bathroom, at least, it is private." I think as I head into the bathroom after an exiting resident zipping himself into his fly. For $30 per night, perhaps it is understandable.
I take an enjoyable ride out to the Oceanside borough of Queenscliff. Mockingly, I see a sunny, ocean front, 1850's Victorian mansion with a garden setting. The sign, "Rooms $35 per night." I feel so fortunate to have saved the $5 so I can toss it into the Sumner toll booth on my drive home from the airport.
Three days later, we are relocated with the rest of the to the Geelong Conference Center. There we eat, slept and count down the days to the races by watching American Idol.
Every night, post dinner, a delicious gooey, chocolatey desert, part of cyclist's taboo brown/black food group (cookies, cake, beer, coffee, chocolate) is left untouched on EVERY racer's plate. "Just one bite, just one bite," I think to myself .
Middle School counseling proves insufficient to deal with the intensity of this chocolate peer pressure. 9:00 pm, night three, when all the "good" cyclists are sound asleep practicing visualization technique, I silently unlatch my door and tiptoe to the front office. There, it is standing alone and unguarded. I slide my bill into the metal opening, and wipe the drool from my cheeks. Twisting and descending, it is only a matter of seconds before the chocolate bar plunges towards the machine's opening, just inches from my outstretched mouth. Just millimeters away, the machine begins making a deafening banging, scraping sound, similar to my bike when I oversee my own mechanics. I dart into the nearest door and slide back to my room, empty-handed.
Perhaps part of the key to my success, I exceed my goals, for the week, posting sixth, fifth and second place finishes in the stage race and thirteenth in the World Cup. Emails pour in from friends whose job description includes 7:59 hours of astute surveying of infinitesimally obscure cycling Internet sites.
"Hey Nerf, great 2nd place sprint. I could swear I saw your orange, purple and green jersey walking up the hill in one of the photos?"
"Dear Former Friend," DELETE.
Two weeks and four days of racing later, I board a return flight, 10 UCI points richer, US$187 per UCI point poorer. I am halfway to the 20 points currently needed for a Top 100 ranking.
Keep on,
Nicole
Next installment: March 16-28: Meeting the team & racing in Europe
