T.o.P. Roving Reporter
In the eighties and nineties, there was the big four: Dave Scott, Scott Molina, Scott Tinley, and Mark Allen. They were the most recognized names and faces in the world of triathlon. In reality, there was a fifth member of this illustrious crowd, though lacking in the name recognition, Curt Alitz, a mild-mannered Army Doctor towered over the field of wee-little athletes. While Triathlon Today called him “the most feared man in any race”, most knew of him for his sense of style, his effervescing confidence, and the way he could pull off a threadbare and baggy Speedo (it was chocolate brown, and no doubt heralded back to those heady high school swim days).
Having run the fastest collegiate 10K in the nation during his junior year, he was an early pioneer in the world of multi-sport. A standout swimmer as well, he blatantly snubbed his nose at the establishment as a member of the Long Grey Line. It was not uncommon for him to show up, sometimes minutes late, to enthusiastically cheer on the real athletes of ARMY, the warriors of the gridiron. He still talks proudly of the honor of standing at attention throughout the game, holding his head high even as his beloved heroes would lose yet another “close one” – this after destroying the entire east coast in a cross country run or 1000 meter free. Yet no bitterness for Curt, why even today, as the head of orthopedic surgery for West Point, he still rushes toward the sound of fire to bravely wrap their ankles, pad their cuts and scrapes, and to staunchly follow that strong held creed “Doctor, do no harm”.
Like all of us, age and the responsibility of an oft-avoided attempt toward adulthood has taken the sting out of the legs – yet the fire remains. Many the lonely miles were spent dreaming of the classic road trip, “The Train of Pain”, he shouted out when he received the call-up, “Count me in, I have a pair of mustard yellow and brown polyester trousers that are screaming for a trip to the west coast”.
Having recently jumped back into the pond of competition (at least, he put his toe in to see the temperature) he is back with a vengeance. Of course, as any old pro knows, the times they are a changing – just ask Iron Mike Tyson, the tools of the past can’t compete with the plethora of new found technology. What could be won with a growl and a good overbite yesterday, needs a little more today. So it was in August, when Curt lined up for his first race in well over a decade. As he pushed his bike into the transition area, a hush fell upon the raucous atmosphere. His gleaming pride and joy, a Kestrel fully outfitted for speed, was not appreciated in the same manner as it was in 1986. The once bright paint now resembled an old white button down oxford, one that has hung forlorn in the back of the closet for years. The Profile bars, shaped in honor of the minutemen, were no longer “cutting-edge”. For some reason, the other racers failed to fully understand the logic behind down-tube shifters and a 5-speed freewheel – “but it’s tight, and is made from proven steel”, he cried out in defense. Yet, there they stood, circled around his bike, their mouths agape as though he had only just pulled it from the primordial ooze, as opposed to the pile of rusty relics that lay abandoned in his garage.
Delivered to his house this week is his salvation, a gleaming new Trek 5.5 Madone. The “proven steel” of yesterday replaced with a 10-speed Dura Ace group. A good 5 pounds lighter, 10 additional gears, and a set of handlebars that won’t make the curious pat him gently on the head as though he were about to step onto the short bus.
The bike is taken care of; I can’t make any promises regarding that threadbare and baggy Speedo.
No comments:
Post a Comment