How many times have you been at the coffee shop, and you overhear someone saying ‘wow dude – that’s so pro’. Or someone else say “yeah – I picked up some sponsors, I’m kinda pro now”.
#fullpro – it’s the tag to use on Twitter (so I am told by my Twitter advisors).
There was even an article on a cycling website written by a bitter guy about how people shouldn’t expect to be sponsored and how it doesn’t really work for brands to engage in sponsorship. Suggesting that people are all out there expecting to be given kit, just because they win a C-grade criterium.
Everyone wants to be ‘Pro’ in some sense, but I wonder whether they really appreciate what it might entail.
Being a ‘pro’ isn’t just latte’s and free kit.
I’m lucky enough to be able to see a few sides to this subject, and felt inpsired to share with people the reality of what it often is like.
Over the summer, Chris Sutton (Sky) comes back to Australia. He rides with us. He is a great bloke. He is ‘Pro’. Nice kit, a good wage (I assume – I have never asked), and time for everyone. But Team Sky is really the very top of the tree when it comes to being Pro.
At the other end of the scale, a good friend of mine was recently offered his first ‘contract’ to race his bike abroad. He ultimately postponed the trip for a year, because it was going to cost him a lot of money. Seems strange hey? Costing him money to race ‘Pro’. I advised him through the negotiation (when he asked for some advice). It reminded me of my first experience.
Once upon a time, I was what I called ‘semi-pro’ in the sport of Triathlon. I was 20 years old.
I raced Elite, and made a bit of money from race winnings, and had people give me bikes and kit to race in. Race entries were often given to me by the event promotors.
I was ‘Semi-Pro’.
The next step – was the step to this mythical ‘Pro’ level. Which, to my mind, was solely defined by the fact that you were being paid to race. Paid a wage.
That was the difference.
One winter, I was in Stellenbosch, South Africa, training as usual. I took a trip to the internet café to check my ‘hotmail’ (wow – that sentence really date stamps this event! Who uses internet cafes anymore?!). There was an invite from a team in France to join them for a ‘trial’ race, and if it proved successful (they wanted a top 10 position) then they would sign me for the year to race as a ‘Pro’.
My best friend, Tim, was with me at the time. He was already ‘Pro’ after having won the Junior World Champs the year prior. We were delighted, as he was also on contract to a team in France – so we would spend the summer travelling to races.
I went to the trial race. Prepared meticulously, and came home 7th. Kerrr-Ching! The contract was signed, handshakes all round. I was a ‘Pro’. I’d made it. I wonder where they would park my team car…?
I was given the keys to a flat in town. Wow. I was so excited. I got a lift there with one of my new team-mates. We arrived, and I thought he was having a laugh. A huge block, it was a state housing project. The flat was on the 3rd floor and it was stairs only. Grimey. Horrible. I let myself in, and it was a studio, a bed, a table and one chair. A kitchen with electric burners, and a small ‘beer’ fridge.
My mate had left. I was alone, in France, in a cell.
In the contract, food and housing was provided, as was travel to all races, and all equipment.
Being #fullpro is about more than just matching kit and bikes.
My team manager appeared at my door a few hours of total silence later. He brought in my bike for the season. It was a complete dog. It fitted me, but the saddle was a shocker, and the components were low end. He then gave me my cycling shoes. I wont mention the brand, but they were horrific. Not in an ugly, or uncomfortable way, but in a technical way. They were hard to get your feet in and out of – so it would cost you during a race. I raised my concerns with him.
He just looked at me and said in his thick French accent “Zis is ze material we ‘ave bin given, so you must wear zis – no changes”. Oh.
He took me shopping for food. I picked up some bits that looked nice, as well as the usual healthy stuff. We came to check-out, and he just took the ‘bad’ bits out of my basket and put them down on the side.
“not wen I am paying will you eat zis sheet”. He then shook his finger and gave me a little ‘double tut’
Oh.
Still – a bit of adjustment, I’ll be fine. I took some scissors to my new shoes, and ‘modified’ them so I could get my feet in and out. Perfecto. I went and bought my own tyres for the race bike – but blacked out the brand on the side. I was happier.
Race 1 of the Grand Prix season was the coming weekend. I raced terribly. I got a lesson. On finishing the race, I went over to my friend Tim. I was pretty much in tears. With blood coming out of my feet because of blisters caused by my shoes, I had come (pretty much) last. Hero to Zero.
I told him I was giving up, and going home. This wasn’t what I wanted. He told me to take a few days, that everyone is meant to struggle in their first year etc etc.
Back at the hotel, the team manager came and found me. I plucked up courage and said “I’m sorry, I don’t want to race next weekend, I want to go home train a bit more, and then race in a month. In any case, my feet are a total mess, so I cant race”
He looked at me and just laughed. He then put on a serious face and said “I didn’t pay for your flights, for your flat, for your food for you to take a holiday. Our sponsors didn’t give us shoes, and wheels to be used when we like. You are here to race, and that’s it. Put tape on your feet, do some training this week, and I will see you next weekend for the race”.
I sat / slumped on my hotel bed and it dawned on me. This was ‘Pro’.
Money was the last part about it. Fancy tanlines, and days riding your bike in the sun – so what. It was about racing the races you didn’t want to, riding equipment you didn’t like, and just getting the job done. Because it was just that. A job.
So I spent my whole season in France. I took a spanking at pretty much every race, but I finished them all. These were the managers orders. He told me to finish every race, go home for the off-season, and in year 2 I would be a different athlete.
Turns out he was right. I went back, and was therefore ‘Pro’, for 5 seasons. I really got the hang of it, and saw the youngsters coming in and having their eyes opened too. I don’t regret a moment, but it certainly wasn’t what I had imagined it to be.
The cycling clothing brand Assos had a slogan a year or so ago. It was “Sponsor Yourself”. There is an awful lot to be said for that.
I hear people speak of ‘Pro’ and in most cases, it’s not quite right. I think what they mean is that they want to be part of something. A group, a collective, or a team. You might lead each other out for a sprint – like the pros. You might wear the same kit too. You might even ride the same bike, and secure a discount on some kit (material) as a group with a shop. Its great to be part of that. You get to ride what you want, when you want. You might be feeling sick, so you pull out of a race instead of finishing last…
This is sporting nirvana. It’s the promised land of enjoyment and sporting pleasure.
Be careful about aspiring to be #fullpro, it looks all cool, but there is a lot that is unseen. Sponsor yourself. Semi Pro is the thinking mans ‘Pro’