So you want to be a pro motocrosser? Make your own hours ... travel the world ... get paid to stay in shape? Have you ever wondered how a rider with the potential to make a million dollars a year continuously struggles with endurance? It would seem from the sidelines that riders don't take their "jobs" as professional racers with enough seriousness and devotion. I always thought the same thing, but now I know how much more there is to living the dream.

The beginning of every year starts out with a renewed sense of hope, motivation and a higher level of health. Go to the Olympic training center before the season starts, give blood and hook yourself up a million machines while pushing yourself to the max in order to find every threshold and limit you can personally take. With that information you start on a foolproof training regime. In the beginning it's simple, no big deal. Then your hands start bleeding through your gloves from the blisters. Super-Glue mends all wounds, but that's just the beginning.

By week two you'll probably have your first major crash. This is when the Advil and hot tub program begins. Week three starts the daily icing of the swollen parts program. By week four, jogging is thrown out of the program due to sprained ankles or bad knees. This exercise program is replaced with swimming, unless you have bad shoulders or live an hour from a gym like most racers.

With the right planning, your season will begin at this point: Moderately healthy, two solid calluses for hands, in top condition and optimistically awaiting Round One.

Now it gets tough. The training week is shortened to three or, at the maximum, four days. Thursday through Sunday for the next nine months will be dedicated to the press, autograph signings, airplanes and racing. When things get hurt, there is no time for recuperation. It's not too difficult to push yourself through pain at the races, but practice is a different story.

Last year I broke my foot, caught the flu three times, broke my thumb, severely sprained my ankle, tore tendons and ligaments in my hand, developed a cyst in my wrist from constant abuse, raced five events in a cast and had a concussion. I never missed a single event in the entire 2000 season, but I skipped a lot of practice.

Last month I was staying with Robbie Reynard. The press always bags on him for being out of shape, but there isn't anyone who tries harder. For three weeks straight, the guy went twice a week to get his knee drained and once a week to get cortisone shots in his shoulders just so he would be able to train. Robbie broke his neck a few years back when he flipped over in the whoops. Not only did he finish the race, Robbie pushed through the pain and qualified out of his heart the next weekend at Minneapolis. In the main event, Robbie almost died when he came up short on a triple. He started racing again two months later. His shoulder pops out on a seemingly regular basis, but Robbie never lost focus. Maybe he hasn't always made the best choices, but anyone who says he isn't totally dedicated to our sport hasn't spent a week in his shoes.

Injuries are only the beginning of what we go through in a season. Racers are sick no less than one week out of every month. The constant traveling, shaking millions of hands while keeping odd sleeping hours and pushing ourselves to the limit every day makes our immune systems susceptible to anything. Unfortunately, sick days do not exist at the races.

Last year at Pontiac, I was so sick that I could barely see, and I pushed myself so hard that I went deaf for almost thirty minutes. I managed to make it back to the outside porta-john before losing my dinner. As I stepped out, there was already a line of people waiting for my autograph. I signed that night until 1:00 a.m.

This year I re-sprained my ankle, had a severe concussion, lost consciousness in one race, tore cartilage in my chest, severely tweaked my knee, got strep throat, came down with the flu, tackled a Tuff Block at 40 mph, developed chronic sinusitis from inhaling too much dust and tore up my back bad enough to keep me from walking for more than a week. And even though I won the 125cc East SX title this year, I still managed to catch a lot of criticism for pulling out of two 250cc races "for no reason."

Even with steadily increased dosages of Advil, ice and hot tub visits throughout the year, you have to be tough in order to win a championship. You would probably never know it, but Mike LaRocco had a broken foot for most of the supercross season. Carmichael raced and won three times even though he could barely get out of bed with the flu. Lusk knocked himself silly so many times in the whoops this year that I lost count! But each week he attacks them harder and flies through them faster than anyone on the circuit.

Motocross is the best sport on the planet, but all of the money in the world isn't enough to make someone race and train through injury. Every racer out there loves what they do more than most people can imagine. And for guys to stay on top of their game for such a long period of time as McGrath and LaRocco is an almost unattainable feat.

So you want to be a motocross racer? I do.

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