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Emotional rollercoaster A day in the life of a mountain biker's family
SYDNEY, Australia -- Covering mountain biking requires a decision. Do you honor these aerobic freaks who test the limits of human endurance by venturing out onto the course, which in the case of these Olympics involved a trek into the rough, intimidating terrain of the Bush? Or do you sit down comfortably in the infield, program in one hand, hot dog in the other, and watch the action on the big-screen TV? In this respect -- and in this respect only -- mountain bike journalism is like golf journalism. There are frequent lead changes that take place on a vast expanse of terrain that can be best chronicled from a central location, especially one stocked with adult beverages. Anyway, for Saturday's Olympic women's race, I decided to follow around the family of Alison Dunlap, America's best hope for a medal. Wherever they went, I would follow. I ask Dunlap's husband, Greg Frozley, who is also a mountain biker and therefore an extraordinarily fit fellow, from what vantage point he intended to watch the race. Much to my relief, he says it is best to stay basically in one place, keep tabs on her via the big screen, rush to the rail on the half dozen or so occasions when his wife will whoosh by and try to offer encouragement. Thus did I get an interesting insight into how the family of an Olympic athlete celebrates -- and suffers -- over the course of an event.
As the riders approach one of the visual vantage points, Ginny and her other daughter, Carrie, a physical therapist, walk arm and arm to the fence. They are wearing identical white T-shirts that read "Official Support Team" with Alison's name on the front. Mother and daughter drape the Colorado (the Dunlaps' home state) flag across the rail and Carrie rings a tiny cowbell strapped to her wrist as the riders pass by. "Let's go Alison!" shouts Carrie as her sister passes, now in fifth place. "Never-racking" is the way Ginny describes being a spectator at a race, during which so much takes place out of visual contact. Mother, sister and husband begin talking about Alison's drive, her enthusiasm, her love of nature and the outdoors. Greg reveals that it was Allison who first asked him out, "although I said 'yes' pretty quickly." They are upbeat but starting to show some worry as Alison slips further behind the leaders. As the race goes on, the name "Alison Dunlap" is no longer heard among the leaders. As the family drifts to the rail to watch for her again, Carrie kiddingly but dourly suggests that she stick her American flag into the spokes of the riders in front of her sister. Greg is crouched glumly on both heels, watching the big screen impassively. The chance for a bronze is gone. Carrie walks slowly to the fence for Alison's final pass. She stands alone and shakes her fist as her sister goes by in seventh place. "I'm so proud of her," she says. Gradually, the family reconvenes at the table. Alison is being interviewed on the other side of the track; they won't even see her for another hour. Spirits are beginning to rise again. Someone takes a group photo. Ginny is smiling. She and Carrie share a hug. Bob is asked how he feels. "Relieved," he says. "Alison came back safe." Sports Illustrated senior writer Jack McCallum is in Sydney covering the
Games for the magazine and CNNSI.com. Check back daily to read McCallum's
behind-the-scene reports from Down
Under.
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