Its a surreal existence here at the Olympic Sailing Center Qingdao. In reality, its been a surreal existence throughout the last three years sailing full time on the Olympic-class sailing circuit. The boatracing is intense, fast and at times frustrating. The improvement is constant albeit slow-going. Because the US system to this point puts so little emphasis on performance on the international circuit when it comes to attaining the Olympic berth, al l the regattas to this point have been part of my training. In my head, I have a stockpile of incidents where I walked away scratching my head and saying, I won’t let that happen at the Olympics.
In the last three years only one regatta has really mattered: the Olympic Trials in Newport last October. Between then and now I’ve treated every regatta as a new venue training: getting used to sailing at a lighter weight, trying out different strategies, gameplans, and techniques. The schedule was tailor-made for in order to peak at the Olympic Games, just as my schedule in ‘07 was scheduled to peak at the PanAm Games and the Olympic Trials.
The surreal part of training at the Olympic facility, in the Olympic boats, under the Olympic rings, and soon under the Olympic flame is that the faces and the names are the same. Of course they are. But this time, we’re no longer living together, eating together, and as loose as we’d normally be. Last week all of the Laser sailors went to their respective processing and were outfitted in their country’s colors and logos. The rest of their teams were dressed appropriately as well. When you enter the dining hall the tables are organized by color and country code, not by design, but mostly because it would look weird for all the tables to be color coded and then have American red, white and blue sitting with Turkish red, Aussie yellow and green, French blue, Kiwi black, or Canadian gold mesh (the Canadians have some hilarious gold and red print uniforms). At the village we’re living with our teammates instead of with our training partners. It is an curious dynamic where the coaches and training partners you were generally cordial and friendly with become colder and more distant under the stress of the Olympic environment. I’m comfortable having dealt with similar circumstance many times before. Sailing the Youth Worlds, University Games and PanAms I know what its like to live with my team. Sailing in college I know what its like to have to put my teammates before friends that I may have known for my entire life in the sport. I rather enjoy seeing people change right before my very eyes because I can read their stress level as the changes happen.
The surreal nature of the Olympic venue is that we’re finally at the Big Show. Eleven days from now I’ll sail out to the race course without sail numbers. Only fifty stars, thirteen stripes, and my name under the title USA will luff over my head on the starting line of that race. Every regatta I’ve ever sailed in my life, every day that I went out sailing after school, every fork and spoon tactic talk I had with Dad at the dinner table will culminate with this Olympic regatta this week. I can think of a thousand instances where I thought to myself, I’m doing this because I know some day I will need to use this tactic, or this strategy, or this technique. This is that time.
I realize now that all those things lead into every regatta I sail every week. But, it is impossible to peak properly and win every event every time you go out. Laser sailing in college is one thing, but on any given week on the Olympic circuit, there are fifteen guys who can win. There will be fifteen guys or perhaps more in the Laser fleet here that can win an Olympic medal this week, and I’m excited because I know in my heart that I am one of them. I’m in a no-holds-barred scenario, and I am ready. The schedule is set. I know the days I’m going to sail and the days I’m going to rest. Measurement is Sunday afternoon, and then no commitments until the 1 o’clock on the 12th.
We went to dinner last night off the reservation at an Italian restaurant in Qingdao to celebrate one of our teammate’s birthday. I toasted our buddy explaining to the table that he and I have been racing against each other since the 1999 Laser Radial Youth Worlds we traveled to nine years ago. I sat across the table from a guy who I’ve been sailing against since our families’ famous introduction at the 1998 Bruce Cup, ten years ago this Thanksgiving. Next to me, another teammate and I have been racing with each other at SDYC since before we can remember probably closer to the fifteen years. I’m 24. We’ve known each other a long time by our standards. The surreal existence of this Olympic experience is that we are among friendly faces and yet this is a very new, very large context. Every minute is focused for the task at hand, a week away. But I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy every minute I have here.
