Graeme Obree's Yin and Yang
My brother bought me 'Flying Scotsman', Graeme Obree's autobiography for Christmas and after finishing it in a day, I can safely say it's one of the most moving and thought-provoking books I've ever read. In 1993, Obree amazed the cycling world by popping up from total obscurity to shatter Francesco Moser's Hour Record (quite simply, riding as far as possible in an hour, on an indoor track). An amateur cyclist, riding a home-made bike and training without a coach, or even a heart-rate monitor, he was in many ways the antithesis of his rival and contemporary Chris Boardman, who won Olympic Gold for Britain in 1992 on a wind tunnel-honed carbon fibre 'superbike', slept in an altitude tent and was nicknamed 'the Professor' for his attention to detail. I had just started cycling seriously in the early nineties and I remember being massively inspired by both Chris and Graeme, and by the way they spurred each other on to bigger and better things.
To me, the most striking aspect of Obree's story is what he describes as his 'yin and yang'; in training and in competition, it's clear that he possessed an ability to push himself harder than anyone had ever pushed themselves before. With each race, and each hour attempt, he aimed for what he termed 'total self-destruction', something the French newspaper L'Equipe summed up wonderfully:
'An hour after waking up, after a short warm-up, Obree caressed the stem of his machine, let his blue eyes rest on the front wheel and took off as if he was going to the moon without any oxygen, without knowing if he would ever come back. Bye, bye Graeme.'
His yang, his success as an athlete – world record breaker and world champion, is all the more amazing when you learn about his yin – the bouts of intense depression he suffered, the multiple suicide attempts, the cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, poverty and months without training.
The final chapter, where he describes the heart-wrenching decision to give up competitive cycling completely, really got me thinking.
'Not having an end goal was difficult because I had no imaginary pillar of success to hide behind, which left me feeling naked an exposed emotionally. It was a hard time but somehow or other I would have to stop 'being my achievement' and start 'just being'. It was difficult 'just being' and there were terrible feelings of insecurity, unworthiness and depression..'
I'm not sure exactly how much of my identity and self-worth I derive from my achievements (i.e. expeditions) but I suspect it's way more than most people. Perhaps one consolation is that self-destruction was the last thing I was thinking of when I clicked into my ski bindings and tightened up my sledge harness last spring…
You can buy the book From Amazon.co.uk (UK) or from Amazon.com (USA). I can't recommend it enough.
— Filed under Cycling