FROM RUSSIA WITH TOUGH LOVE
My first view of Kolomna, Russia, at almost midnight…we were still a long way from the hotel!!
Sometimes two weeks in Europe can feel like two months. In fifteen days, the speed skating team made temporary homes out of three countries: Germany, Russia and Holland. If I had to pick a favourite at this time, high in the sky cruising home to Canada, I would be at a loss to choose. Each had its own highs and lows, and when jet-lag and racing (good and bad) is factored in, there are far too many areas to consider and decide on a winner.
Germany was a matter of survival with the wicked jet lag that was not aided in my usual manner with sleeping pills. Those blue little saviours that I count on exclusively when globetrotting were one of a few key items I neglected to pack. Feeling awkward asking to use a teammates dwindling supply, I would suffer that painful lack of sleep through the wee hours of the evening, only to medicate the fatigue each morning with multiple cups of coffee. Skating felt like a dream, varying from sweet to scary. Whirling around the rink at various speeds depending on the program was like moving through a foggy blur. Such is the case when dealing with overseas travel while simultaneously preparing for high-level competition. You do what you can and pound the coffee when glue won’t keep the eyes open.
Just as this stupor seemed to subside, it was time for another 13-hour travel day, this time to Russia. The reason we spent those initial days in Berlin was the fear of suffering in Moscow. This speculation was based on the team’s experience the year prior, and a week of hell leaving some people unable to find their racing form again all year. Bad hotel, bad food and fear of abduction, coupled with the majority of the team bringing some form of SARS home to Canada, was not a risk the coaches were willing to take again. This was before the roof almost caved in on the 3-year old rink in Moscow became headline news. Incredibly, the entire world cup procession was moved to the city of Kolomna, a short 100kms that took a long 3 ½ hours from the airport.
Airport time with the team
This wonderful travel day was endured after a rushed training session on ice, leaving us to race to the airport for our delayed flight to Moscow. Somehow, the fact that we shared the same itinerary with the entire German team gave us solace in this ridiculously long journey.
Waiting for the bus at the Moscow Airport- welcome winter!!
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My training partner Aaron Sadlier trying to keep warm
Relentless traffic forced a crawling pace along the freeway veins scarring the outskirts of Moscow. Winter howled outside the crowded bus windows, snow mixing with thick diesel fumes, neon lights flashing words unrecognizable to my English brain. Having been to Russia once prior, I should have been more prepared for this foreign land and culture that both intimidates and intrigues.
Pulling into the city of Kolomna, the entire speed skating contingent on the bus (German, Canadian, and one Dutch) ooh-ed and awed at the boisterous shiny domes of Russian Orthodox Churches clustered throughout the city. The newly polished speed skating oval shone in the surrounding floodlights and I could not help but be amazed by the modern aura this facility resonated. The remaining wall of a fortress and the foreignness of this far away place only accentuated this feeling. Rumour had it over a hundred million euros went into the building and the Russians were eager to show off their prized creation.
We had plenty of time to admire the surrounds while our bus driver enjoyed a cigarette or two outside the bus. Patience ran thin as the clock ticked past 1130pm, then crept towards midnight. How many cigarettes could this driver need at this hour, and where was our hotel? As blue lights grew from obscurity and the whining siren became audible from the distance, we realised the reason for our pit stop. It was the mandatory Police escort that we had each day a few years back in Moscow at the world championships. Insane traffic in the booming metropolis of Moscow was understandable to necessitate such a thing, but at midnight in the 100,000 people city of Kolomna?
After a few minutes, we reached the hotel. At least what we thought was our hotel. An overly officious Russian woman entered the bus, announcing the stop was for ‘one Dutch skater’ and we all grumbled. A few choice members of the German team off the bus, incredulous, revolting against any more travel. They inevitably returned, cursing in their native tongue while in the back of the bus a more light-hearted member of the German team played the Rocky theme song on his i-phone, causing the Canadian contingent to cry with laughter.
With the lone Dutch skater happily and unapologetically off the bus and checking into his fancy, close the oval hotel, our police escort lit the way through and out of the city for us and another bus of speed skaters from the unlucky nations not staying in town. Laughs ebbed and flowed as we sped through the dark country night, eventually and incredulously turning onto a dirt road, past a village fit for Borat, ultimately dwindling to a smaller, hillier dirt path seeming to lead to nowhere. To be on a tour bus in rural Russia at midnight, no lights in sight, flashes of drop-offs right and left is not the most settling of experiences. Most of us were giddy with fatigue and imagined these big busses attempting u-turns in the middle of nowhere.
What seemed like the point of no return rewarded us with an oddly situated cluster of buildings. Marble stairs recently swept clean of snow led up to well-manicured and meticulously made-up Russian women holding the doors. They stood, shivered and smoked while we struggled to unload our massive amount of gear from bus to snow to hotel. At least six nations of athletes and staff crowded into the lobby, wondering where the heck we were, feeling too tired to really care. My subconscious took over with images and thoughts of what morning light would bring.
Crowded in the lobby after midnight
Looking out into the blue of dawn left the impression of gazing into a black and white photo of forest and snow. We were effectively in the middle of nowhere, by sight, but somewhere, by sounds of barking dogs. The oval turned out to be a 30 minute commute each way, with police escort, and the hotel had rumour to be either an (a) brand new resort hotel or (b) a soon-to-be insane asylum. Thinking of jack Nicholson in The Shining, I chose to believe the former and actually did not mind my stay. With the exception of nightly drunks loud-talking in the hallways, it was a peaceful place. And entertaining, too, with the consistently empty discotheque strangely linked to the cafeteria flashing strobes whilst blasting Russian techno music nightly, tempting the odd skater to jump in at times and make a foolish spectacle on the dance floor, always alone.
A blue morning
The rink was unique in a sport that typically builds facilities either dated or wooden, showing the world it is indeed possible to make a modern, sleek and massive building and have fast ice. Each day on the new ice I felt my rhythm improve. This, coupled with the prospect of finally racing my preferred distance of 5km at the world cup level, left me with a tingle of excitement. Not that there was much time to let this excitement build, with only one day between travel and racing.
A modern oval
Though the racing went well, I could not help but marvel at my brain’s activities during the 5000m. Typically the focus is on technique, rhythm and then shifts to the tolerance of pain a little after halfway through. The jet lag, travel and sheer fatigue left my mind wandering to friends back home, potential dinner surprises and sometimes skating. That I was able to finish second came as a pleasant surprise and left me wishing to do another long distance in Holland the following weekend.
Some things, however, are not meant to be, and until the ISU decides to give us, the skaters, more opportunities to skate the long distances, I will begrudgingly settle with the shorter 3000m week after week. After a walk around town through slushy winter, a visit to the grocery store to help choose Vodka and ultimately, a Russian Big Mac at the disgustingly ubiquitous golden arches, it was time to go to Holland’s version of winter: rain, wind, rain and more rain.
McDonalds, the most happening place in Kolomna
This leg of the journey began at 3am from our home in the hills, and ended 13 hours later in our saving grace of a hotel in Wolvega. Big rooms, delicious food and English TV awaited us: the worse for wear travelers. Though we skated on horrible ice each day in Heerenveen, Holland, and were ultimately only in Russia for 3 days, we could not have been happier to be on relatively more comfortable soil.
Travel as an athlete often goes like that- it’s difficult to enjoy a place for what it has to offer culturally because everything depends on performance. That we spent so much time and energy going first to Berlin, and then to Kolomna, was in the end worth it. What I am left with is, however, a foggy sense of what real Russia is. I’m often left with this feeling of wishing there was more time, or perhaps a window in my future, to return to the myriad places I rush through in sport.
Until that time, travel is what it is, and I can only dream of that future where there is time, energy and patience to really experience a people, a place and a time.
