Ten Points
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5,0 • 4 đánh giá
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- 8,99 US$
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- 8,99 US$
Lời Giới Thiệu Của Nhà Xuất Bản
Of the eight million dedicated cyclists in this country, just 32,044 own amateur racing licenses. There's a reason for that: Racing is not only incredibly difficult, it's downright excruciating, with the possibility for public humiliation never more than one pedal away. So when Natalie, Bill Strickland's preschool-aged daughter, asked him if he could win ten points during one racing season -- the bicycling equivalent of taking an at-bat against Randy Johnson or going one-on-one with Lebron James--a sensible man would've just said no and moved on. Instead, Strickland decided to try.
In the process, he discovered that he was racing toward the loving home life he cherished and, at the same time, trying to get away from something far worse -- his legacy of horrific childhood abuse. Strickland's memoir is filled with lyrical insights on training and dedication, racing scenes packed with nail-biting suspense, and powerful reflections on the meaning of family. Because for Strickland, it's definitely not about the bike.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
The executive editor of Bicycling magazine explores childhood, fatherhood and cycling in this moving memoir about the legacy of child abuse and the healing power of sport and family. In Emmaus, Pa., in 2004, 39-year-old Strickland decided to take up a near-impossible challenge proposed by his preschool-age daughter, Natalie, to score 10 points in a single season; to do so, he has to place among the top four "10 times "in a local weekly race populated by Olympians and cycling legends. Alternating between present-day life and dispatches from his horrific childhood, Strickland introduces his sadistic father, a man who put a loaded gun in his son's mouth, made him eat dog feces and encouraged him to have sex with his babysitter, among other outrages. Strickland juxtaposes these episodes with scenes of his own shortcomings: unbridled anger with his daughter and marital infidelity with a colleague. It's only through numerous races (and missed points) that he learns to tame the inner demons that threaten his new family. Strickland's lyrical prose and swift pacing lighten the material's weight, but it remains a necessarily brutal read that goes several shades darker than most sports memoirs; though noncyclists may get bored during the race scenes (and there are plenty), anyone dealing with familial abuse will find Strickland's journey an inspiration.
