The sky has darkened, a heavy rain front is pushing along the eastern shore of Lake Biel. In the middle of it all, a shiny front wheel light cuts through the carpet of rain. Nicolas Siegenthaler is perched on his bike, cursing his way through the wall of water. He squints his eyes and blows the drops of water off his nose. His stomach growls, his fingers and feet are swollen like after a long day in the outdoor pool. The 59-year-old is flat. Flat from the rain and the cold, from coaching, from his marriages and his maths lessons.
Less than 20 minutes later, the Swiss rider is lounging on his living room carpet. A Downhill World Cup is flickering on the television screen. Siegenthaler munches on muesli with raspberries from a large Tupperware bowl - there's not much else in his fridge: berries, vegetables, eggs, milk and a beer. Outside, the rain continues to hammer on the Velux window. Siegenthaler swears "Merde" and turns up the volume on the TV. Then he stops the picture - the podium ceremony for third place. Siegenthaler shovels and mumbles to himself: "Nine years in the World Cup and the first time on the podium - my daughter Emilie."
The successful coach behind superstar Nino Schurter
Nicolas Siegenthaler - a name that is always associated with a second rider: Nino Schurter. Siegenthaler has been training the Swiss national hero for almost 15 years, 15 years full of success: world championship titles, World Cup victories and the big crowning glory in 2016: the gold medal at the Olympic Games in Rio. But how is it that a primary school teacher proved the entire sports science community wrong and became one of the most successful cycling coaches ever? If you want to understand the story, you have to press the rewind button. In 1988, Siegenthaler had his knee repaired in a Swiss hospital. Too many falls while skiing had damaged the joint. Skiing was over, but rehab on the bike gave him a taste for it. Two years later and ten kilos lighter, the teacher stood on the podium at the Grand Raid Cristalp. "You have to understand the sport to be successful. After my skiing days, I took a close look at what is crucial in biking and I broke it down."
Siegenthaler's life itself appears to be compartmentalised and orderly: Next to the toilet are piles of mountain bike magazines sorted by issue number. His self-painted pictures: colourful squares, portraits with flat colours and clear boundaries. There are eight pairs of cross-country skis in his studio - each one labelled according to its intended use. Cycling shoes are stored in boxes. Siegenthaler thrives on detail, a type of Smarties sorted by colour, then by size and later from light to dark colours.
In his study there is a sofa, table, computer and an oversized monitor. A chestnut tree sways in the wind in front of the window, with a tractor and his SUV parked below. Siegenthaler lives on a farm. He likes it, it reminds him of his childhood.
A bird flies through the air. "A kite," says the trainer, "a beautiful bird of prey. Great, that movement - it's like dancing."
Then he looks at the screen and starts Excel. Siegenthaler is typing on a presentation for a lecture. It's about the psychological profile of successful professional athletes. "Name me a German rider," he suddenly asks me. I think about it, then suggest "Markus Schulte-Lünzum". Siegenthaler types in the name, the German's results appear and Siegenthaler's sober realisation: statistically speaking, he would never win a big race. "It would be nice if an athlete were to break out of these statistics for once... but that has never happened in 15 years."
Siegenthaler is a data octopus
Siegenthaler is a data octopus, and he was one long before Google branched out into the web. The teacher collects everything that appears to be usable. And that goes far beyond race lap times, wattage or heart rate values. Siegenthaler has profiles of every relevant mountain biker. He has lactate values and weather data and knows the rolling resistance of the various tyre models. "Every detail counts in cross country," says Siegenthaler. That's why he has perfected every single aspect of Nino's training: Endurance, technique, coordination, psyche and material. "There are athletes who have bigger engines, but then they lack in other areas. Nino can play the right card at any time in the race. He can do everything, he's a Mozart on the bike. What makes him unique is that, in addition to his talent, he also has ambition - in every respect. Nino Schurter is never ill, never injured, always on time: he's every coach's dream," enthuses the Swiss rider and heads for the kitchen.
When he started with Nino Schurter 16 years ago, they laughed at his coaching ambition and his ideas. Siegenthaler wanted to do diagnostics with his athletes at the national sports centre in Magglingen - roughly the equivalent of the sports university in Cologne (the country's elite training centre). But there he was told not to come with children. Siegenthaler's training seemed like a circus act to the established sports scientists: he balanced on Pezzi balls, juggled with balls and rode pedalos around the hall. A few years later, he delivered medal winners such as Nino Schurter and Daniel Federspiel. In 2016, the Swiss voted the 59-year-old the best coach in the country.
From 1990, Siegenthaler was in charge of training at Scott Allianz Michelin, where he was team manager until 2005. This is also where he met Nino Schurter. And he already had a plan back then: Siegenthaler wanted to break down every aspect of bike sport into its individual parts. "I did that with all the skills you need for biking: Strength, endurance, coordination, riding technique, psyche and so on. But first I had to recognise the skills, then select them and later put them together. That's how learning works," explains the primary school teacher.
The successful coach trains his daughter Emilie for the Downhill World Cup
Siegenthaler pushes himself up from his office chair and walks somewhat clumsily into the kitchen. His legs are still a little heavy from the weekend: five hours of cycling through the mountains. So now for an espresso.
A silver and gold espresso machine that he received as a gift from his master student after the Olympic Games gleams on the worktop. The machine hums, thick crema drips from the portafilter into the cup. The 59-year-old takes the cup and stares out of the window. Outside, the storm is tearing the clouds apart. Leaves swirl through the air. "All that glitters is not gold. Everyone has a skeleton in the closet," Siegenthaler suddenly says, looking at the machine. "I've been in this flat for four months - alone. I separated from my wife three years ago because I simply fell in love again. I couldn't do anything about it. I got remarried, but that wasn't it either. She's too young, we're both too different. I currently have no contact with my wife and I work with my ex-wife at school. I'm torn between the two." The rain pelts against the windscreen. Siegenthaler takes a big sip. "That's life. The only question is, how well do we deal with it? The most successful athletes are the ones who still find support within themselves under pressure - in the face of failure or family tragedy," says Siegenthaler, watching the raindrops run down the windscreen.
Siegenthaler sits in front of the television. He wants to watch his daughter's World Cup again. "Nine years of the World Cup, and her own father as coach. I can't believe that would go well again." Siegenthaler smiles and stretches his tired legs. The last rumble of thunder fades somewhere far behind the nearby mountains. The sun glints in the windows. Tomorrow he will get to school dry.
