Viktor Arsenevich Kapitonov(October 25, Kalinin - March 5, Moscow) - Soviet cyclist, the first Soviet Olympic champion in cycling, coach of the USSR national cycling team. Honored Master of Sports of the USSR (1959). Honored Trainer of the USSR.
Education
In 1968 he graduated from the Military Faculty at.
Biography
Marital status:
- wife of Kapitonov (Zakharova) Elena Ivanovna, Honored Trainer of Russia in artistic gymnastics. Years of life: 06/11/1941-12/07/2013
- children: Yulia and Vladimir Kapitonov.
Repeated champion of the USSR: 1959 in pair track racing; 1962 team road race; 1956 stage race; 1958 in group and team race.
Started seven times in the world cycling race. The winner of this race in team competition - 1958, 1959, 1961, 1962.
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Literature
- Kapitonov V.A. This is worth living for. The story of the first Soviet Olympic champion in cycling, Honored Master of Sports of the USSR, Honored Coach of the USSR about his sports path. - M.: Physical culture and sport, 1978. - 216 p. - (Hearts given to sports).
- V. Malakhov. One hundred great Olympic champions. - Moscow: Veche, 2006. - P. 215-220. - ISBN 5-9533-1078-1.
Links
- - Olympic statistics on the website Sports-Reference.com(English)
An excerpt characterizing Kapitonov, Viktor Arsenievich
He saw subtle cunning here, as people like Lavrushka always see cunning in everything, he frowned and was silent.“It means: if there is a battle,” he said thoughtfully, “and in speed, then it’s so accurate.” Well, if three days pass after that very date, then it means that this very battle will be delayed.
It was translated to Napoleon as follows: “Si la bataille est donnee avant trois jours, les Francais la gagneraient, mais que si elle serait donnee plus tard, Dieu seul sait ce qui en arrivrait” [“If the battle takes place before three days, the French will win him, but if after three days, then God knows what will happen.”] - smilingly conveyed Lelorgne d "Ideville. Napoleon did not smile, although he was apparently in the most cheerful mood, and ordered these words to be repeated to himself.
Lavrushka noticed this and, to cheer him up, said, pretending that he did not know who he was.
“We know, you have Bonaparte, he beat everyone in the world, well, that’s another story about us...” he said, not knowing how and why in the end a boastful patriotism slipped into his words. The translator conveyed these words to Napoleon without ending, and Bonaparte smiled. “Le jeune Cosaque fit sourire son puissant interlocuteur,” [The young Cossack made his powerful interlocutor smile.] says Thiers. Having walked a few steps in silence, Napoleon turned to Berthier and said that he wanted to experience the effect that would have sur cet enfant du Don [on this child of the Don] the news that the person with whom this enfant du Don was speaking was the Emperor himself , the same emperor who wrote the immortally victorious name on the pyramids.
The news was transmitted.
Lavrushka (realizing that this was done to puzzle him, and that Napoleon thought that he would be afraid), in order to please the new gentlemen, immediately pretended to be amazed, stunned, bulged his eyes and made the same face that he was accustomed to when he was led around flog. “A peine l"interprete de Napoleon," says Thiers, "avait il parle, que le Cosaque, saisi d"une sorte d"ebahissement, no profera plus une parole et marcha les yeux constamment attaches sur ce conquerant, dont le nom avait penetre jusqu"a lui, a travers les steppes de l"Orient. Toute sa loquacite s"etait subitement arretee, pour faire place a un sentiment d"admiration naive et silencieuse, apres l"avoir recompense, lui fit donner la liberte. , comme a un oiseau qu"on rend aux champs qui l"ont vu naitre". [As soon as Napoleon’s translator said this to the Cossack, the Cossack, overcome by some kind of stupor, did not utter a single word and continued to ride, not taking his eyes off the conqueror, whose name had reached him through the eastern steppes. All his talkativeness suddenly stopped and was replaced by a naive and silent feeling of delight. Napoleon, having rewarded the Cossack, ordered him to be given freedom, like a bird that is returned to its native fields.]
Napoleon rode on, dreaming of that Moscou, which so occupied his imagination, and l "oiseau qu"on rendit aux champs qui l"on vu naitre [a bird returned to its native fields] galloped to the outposts, inventing in advance everything that was not there and that he would tell his own people. He did not want to tell what really happened to him precisely because it seemed to him unworthy of telling. He went to the Cossacks, asked where the regiment that was in Platov’s detachment was, and in the evening. I found my master Nikolai Rostov, who was standing in Yankov and had just mounted a horse to go for a walk with Ilyin through the surrounding villages. He gave another horse to Lavrushka and took him with him.
Princess Marya was not in Moscow and out of danger, as Prince Andrei thought.
After Alpatych returned from Smolensk, the old prince seemed to suddenly come to his senses from his sleep. He ordered militiamen to be collected from the villages, to arm them, and wrote a letter to the commander-in-chief, in which he informed him of his intention to remain in the Bald Mountains to the last extremity, to defend himself, leaving it at his discretion to take or not take measures to protect the Bald Mountains, in which he would be taken one of the oldest Russian generals was captured or killed, and announced to his family that he was staying in Bald Mountains.
But, remaining himself in Bald Mountains, the prince ordered the sending of the princess and Desalles with the little prince to Bogucharovo and from there to Moscow. Princess Marya, frightened by her father's feverish, sleepless activity, which replaced his previous dejection, could not decide to leave him alone and for the first time in her life allowed herself to disobey him. She refused to go, and a terrible thunderstorm of the prince’s wrath fell upon her. He reminded her of all the ways in which he had been unfair to her. Trying to blame her, he told her that she had tormented him, that she had quarreled with his son, had nasty suspicions against him, that she had made it her life's task to poison his life, and kicked her out of his office, telling her that if she he won't leave, he doesn't care. He said that he did not want to know about her existence, but warned her in advance so that she should not dare to catch his eye. The fact that he, contrary to Princess Marya’s fears, did not order her to be forcibly taken away, but only did not order her to show herself, pleased Princess Marya. She knew that this proved that in the very secret of his soul he was glad that she stayed at home and did not leave.
Olympic champion in cycling: on Olympic Games ah I960 won the individual group road race over a distance of 175 kilometers. The first Soviet cyclist to win the Olympic championship. At the same Olympics I received bronze medal in the 100 km team race. At the 1956 Olympic Games he took 6th place in the team race and 32nd in the individual race. Repeated champion of the USSR in 1956-1962 in various races. Coach of the national team of road cyclists 1970-1988. Honored Coach of the USSR (1970).
Viktor Arsenievich Kapitonov born October 25, 1933 in Kalinin. He grew up in a working-class family. Mother Tatyana Akimovna is a worker at a carriage factory, father Arseny Matveevich is a blacksmith. After leaving school, Victor worked as a mechanic. Got carried away speed skating. So, more for myself, I “twisted the bike.” One day he was asked to compete at a city twenty-kilometer cyclocross competition. Cross, to his surprise, he won. That's how it started.
There was one more competition in Victor’s life, which actually determined the entire future fate of the athlete. On the outskirts of Kalinin, a fifty-kilometer road race started. Several dozen city athletes took part in it. Among others, an eighteen-year-old Victor Kapitonov.
He was on his third at the time. sports category. A strong, self-confident guy, he had almost no doubt about success. Confidence was based on a solid, as it seemed to him then, base. The fact is that the young man, preparing for the competition, drove almost three hundred kilometers along the Leningradskoe Highway in a week, and especially carefully studied the profile of the route in the city area, where, as he assumed, the distance would be laid.
But Victor made a mistake in his calculations. Most of the race route - almost thirty kilometers - was on cobblestones and country roads. Kapitonov found out about this only the day before the competition.
And now he was already racing in the center of a bright avalanche of racers. Before turning onto the dirt road, everything was going more or less well. True, having failed to choose a place, Victor, overwhelmed by his rivals, missed the moment of separation of a small group of the strongest. But he had not yet lost hope of being among the winners and pressed hard on the pedals, listening to the soft rustle of tires on the smooth asphalt of the highway.
However, after the turnaround, things got worse. Soon my back began to hurt, and then, due to the incessant shaking on the cobblestones, my hands became numb on the steering wheel. The speed has decreased. I painfully wanted to stop, at least rest a little. Moreover, most of the riders went ahead - and good result I no longer had to count. But Kapitonov did not stop. Gritting his teeth until it hurt, sweating profusely, he, although he finished one of the last, managed to overtake several less persistent cyclists.
And yet it was a defeat. And it was especially offensive because of its unexpectedness. But failure taught the young athlete a lot. He realized how many qualities he still lacked in order to become a great racer. He not only passionately dreamed about it, but also firmly believed in making his dream come true. But this required work, enormous, persistent work, measured not in weeks and months, but perhaps in years.
And somehow, unbeknownst to themselves, many Kalinin residents became accustomed every day, in summer and winter, in any weather, to meet in the morning on the streets and outskirts of the city a tall, slender guy bent over the handlebar of a well-worn bicycle, tirelessly pressing the pedals for hours. Measuring tens of kilometers of familiar roads day after day, accumulating that phenomenal endurance, which later caused surprise among sports connoisseurs, improving his riding technique, Victor began to prepare for his ascent to the Olympic podium back in 1951.
Kapitonov joined the national team Soviet Union already a mature, established master. But until the first big international competition - the World Cycling Race - in which he was supposed to participate together with his new friends, it was difficult to determine. Victor closely watched the training of Evgeny Klevtsov and Rodislan Chizhikov, talked for a long time with Pavel Vostryakov, and watched with good envy the excellent technique of Evgeny Nemytov.
On the sunny days of windy April 1954, fifteen of the country's strongest riders held qualifying competitions on the famous Sochi ring, preparing for the trip to Warsaw, where the traditional cycling race began. Victor was not among the advanced ones, but nevertheless the coaches decided to include him in the national team, sensing a huge reserve of untapped strength in this shy, silent guy.
True, already there in Sochi he amazed the specialists with his ability to overcome difficult long climbs with amazing ease, without any visible stress. “You can trust me,” said national team coach Sheleshnev, “Kapitonov will turn around, he will definitely turn around.” And Victor turned around. He won one of the stages, finished among the leaders several times, confidently proving his right to compete in the national team.
A start has been made. And then the failures began, if almost won and at the last moment lost victories at the largest events can be considered failures. international competitions. Kapitonov visited Australia at the XVI Olympics, competed in the World Championships, and in several major cycling races. Everywhere he was ahead, and something always prevented him from finishing first. “Am I unlucky at crucial moments?” - he said once shortly before his trip to Rome. - I fell in Melbourne, I was already preparing to finish at the World Championships - I had a puncture. At the World Cycling Race - two years ago - I was a leader - and again I failed."
It was a memorable bike race. Having received the "Mountain Goats" prize for best results on difficult stages, replete with steep climbs, unexpected turns and descents, Victor put on the blue leader's jersey. Then, on the plains of Poland, when nothing seemed to be able to stop him from winning the competition, he lost his advantage in the space of a short hour due to a machine malfunction. But not the will to win. It was then that, demonstrating truly amazing endurance, Kapitonov managed to finish among the first at all remaining stages and eventually took an honorable third place.
Every serious race was a test of endurance for him. A year before Rome 60, at the first stage of the World Cycling Race near Berlin, Victor fell as fast as he could onto the concrete. It was as if someone had walked with coarse sandpaper from thigh to shin. After the finish I lay on the massage table. The German doctor - there was no one - fussed over Him. He used hydrogen peroxide and brilliant green with all his might and, pointing to his shin, explained to the coaches that things were bad. "Schwah! You can't go any further!" And our cyclist just shook his head and mumbled. And everyone who was in the room turned away so as not to see Kapitonov’s leg. And everyone knew that he wouldn’t get away anyway. The doctor who arrived from the embassy said: “He can’t go further,” to which coach Sheleshnev replied: “He’ll decide that himself.” Grimacing in pain, Victor said: “I’ll go, whatever…”
Clutch malfunction, punctures, unexpected “blockages” that Kapitonov got into - all of these, of course, on the one hand, are offensive accidents. But, on the other hand, there is a pattern in all these road accidents. After all, the car could have been checked a little more thoroughly before the start, and the place on the race route could have been chosen so as to protect itself from anything accidental.
All these are elements of mastery, which comes gradually, sometimes even completely unnoticed by the one to whom it comes. In any case, no surprises happened in two Roman cycling races with Viktor Kapitonov.
Rome. XVII Olympic Games. The team race took place under the merciless southern sun. The main opponent is time. At regular intervals, the teams leave the start. Sometimes athletes don’t even know how their main competitors are doing, because it happens that one jerk decides the matter. The friendly, coordinated work of all team members plays an exceptional role here. Clearly changing places, the athletes take turns leading each other. The front one cuts through the wind, the rest line up behind it. But the forces, as a rule, are not equal, the heat and headwind gradually begin to exhaust the riders. And so, watching the progress of the competition, you see how one stays ahead a hundred meters, the other only fifty. There is no other way. In order to maintain speed until the end, it is necessary, in coordination with each other, to expend forces in different ways.
Without underestimating the merits of Evgeny Klevtsov, Yuri Melikhov and Alexey Petrov, it must be said that in the last laps of the distance the leader began to play the role of leader more and more often and longer Victor Kapitonov. Tireless, he not only sharply increased the speed at the moment of his leadership, but also, settling into the back of the four, encouraged the guys, especially Petrov, who was more tired than the others.
It was a surprisingly tough race. Unable to withstand the tension, individual athletes, and even entire teams, quit the race. About halfway through, the young Dane suddenly swayed in the saddle and fell to the side of the road. A few hours later he died in hospital from sunstroke. As it turned out later, a significant dose of doping, taken by the young man before the start at the insistence of his coaches, played a significant role in the tragic incident.
It was difficult for us too. For the last two laps, Alexey Petrov was almost unable to lead and was only trying to keep up with his comrades. The courageous athlete still managed to finish the distance, but was no longer able to compete in Rome again. We lost just a few seconds to the Germans, who won the silver medals. And maybe Klevtsov was right when he later said that in order to take second place, Soviet team All that was missing was... four mugs of water.
And then there was an individual race of 175 kilometers. The racer himself spoke about it in the book “This is worth living for”: “The start was given at eleven o’clock. The sun was at its zenith, and, as during the team race, it was forty-five degrees hot. All one hundred and forty-three racers dreamed of victory. But most of all Trape hoped for success. The signs on the houses and sidewalks shouted: “Trape! Trape! Trape!" Temperamental fans chanted: "Trape! Trape! Trape!"
I was unlucky in the first meters. As cyclists say, “I got into the mud,” that is, in the very thick of the group. I got angry and wanted to get out right away, but still thought: “Why worry? The road is long. The sun is scorching. Of course, the heat and distance will shuffle everyone’s chances more than once! In the meantime, we need to take a closer look at our opponents.”
The leaders of the Soviet delegation took into account the lessons of the team race, and on August 29, all our athletes, free from competition, took to the streets with buckets, cans, and plastic bags filled with water. They watered us generously. But the water evaporated almost instantly.
For the first minutes, I stayed closer to the side of the road so that in case of a “blockage” I could go around those who had fallen. I looked around. Everything was fine. Gainan Saidkhuzhin, Evgeny Klevtsov and Yuri Melikhov were riding nearby. The opponents were also in no hurry. The Belgian Van der Bergen, who had a powerful finishing throw, calmly lined up behind the four Italians: Trape, Balletti, Barivera and Tonucci. Three cyclists from the GDR - Schur, Adler and Hagen - walked confidently and in harmony.
Which of them will you have to clash with in the last meters of the distance? I knew for sure that these eleven people were really vying for victory. Of course, accidents cannot be ruled out, because it’s not for nothing that a group race is called a lottery! Yes, accidents are not excluded, but I always believed in sober calculation and therefore kept a vigilant eye on my opponents.
And the race picked up and picked up the pace. The highway twisted like a snake. He ran from mountain to mountain. And the whole column, like an avalanche, poured into the narrow throat of the highway, repeating the bends of the Grottarossa highway. Suddenly one rider fell. The second rider ran into him. The third didn’t even have time to turn... The fourth tried to get around the losers, but on a narrow highway he crashed into a neighbor - and two more hit the asphalt.
Someone screamed desperately. Someone swore. Our guys didn't get caught in the rubble. We slowed down, driving around a bunch of them. And from behind we were urged on by the cocky voices of the Italians: “Tempo! Tempo!” And suddenly, in this deafening roar, coach Sheleshnev’s bass voice was heard: “Don’t yawn! One hundred and sixty-second, don’t yawn!” I shook myself: “one hundred and sixty-two” is me. On the fifth lap, our captain Zhenya Klevtsov drove up to me and whispered: “Nutrition point soon! Make your way forward. You look fresher than others. And we’ll help you from behind - we’ll slow down.”
In front of the feeding point, the column naturally stretched out. The riders grabbed plastic glasses as they went, threw back their heads, and drank greedily. At that moment I threw the car forward. Three other athletes left with me. These were not very strong racers; I knew that none of them would last until the end. But for now it was possible to go with them. It's easier with four than one!
When we went to the sixth circle - and there were twelve in total - I had a mischievous desire to “sneak away” at breakneck speed. Ride off alone! The mood was fighting. I remember I even smiled at my thoughts... I noticed that many athletes did not have time to take food at the nutrition station. "The guys will get hungry!" - flashed through my head.
I somehow broke away from everyone very easily. I had to travel eight kilometers alone. “It’s not the one who is alone who is lonely, the one who feels lonely is lonely,” flashed through my head. And Trape, and the winner of the World race Hagen, and the world champion Eckstein, and two-time champion world Schur, and the very frisky Belgian Van der Bergen, whom I, frankly speaking, feared most of all. They were catching up. With them I could reach the finish line comfortably. And what will happen there? But this kind of compromise didn’t really suit me. I stuck with the group while it worked conscientiously and preserved high speed. But then the impulse dried up, the pace slowed down, those in the back took out sandwiches and began to chew, wondering whether they should probably “work” or not. Is it profitable? That’s when I counted everything, “crossed myself” in my soul and “shot.” On a climb with a strong headwind. Apparently, he remembered that for three years in a row he won the title of “Mountain King” of the World Races... No one expected a breakthrough. It’s funny to leave good company four laps before the finish, and even alone! They didn't even chase me. For what?
This spurt almost killed me. I have already said that almost all members of the Soviet delegation stood on the streets with buckets and cans of water. But when I rushed away, for some reason they didn’t spray me with water. And I felt a cramp in my legs. All that was needed was for a story similar to the drama of Lesha Petrov to repeat itself! When my head began to get foggy, I forced myself to repeat the rhyme: “On the golden porch sat the king, the prince, the king, the prince...”
At the seventh (almost 15-kilometer) ring, I turned around and saw that four cyclists were catching up with me. I couldn’t distinguish their faces, but my intuition told me: these are exactly the ones with whom I will have to fight at the finish line. Yes, it turned out to be them: Hagen, Trape and two unfamiliar English riders. If the British were not worth taking into account, then Hagen and Trape as opponents demanded maximum caution and clarity from me.
There was a steep climb ahead. And then it dawned on me: “It’s either now or never...” Should I leave on a high again? The risk seemed unjustified. But some kind of insolence pushed me in the saddle, and I “shot.” The highway began to descend on me from above. And I climbed meter by meter. He didn’t look back, because he knew that only Trape and Hagen could support such a breakthrough. Only after climbing to the very top of the mountain did I begin to discern fragments of incomprehensible phrases. The fans went wild: "Trape! Trape!" I had to look back. Trape!
He was catching up with me, surrounded by an escort of motorcycles. There was a continuous roar hanging over the track. Of course, the man who represents the hope of Italian cycling, Trape, joined the attack! He apparently realized that jokes were bad, that I had enough stamina, anger and patience to fight for victory to the end. And he set off in pursuit. I saw Livio when I turned around on the rise; somewhere far, far behind there is a group, then a deserted black ribbon of highway and in the middle of it, bent over the steering wheel, is an Italian. It was smarter, smarter, more logical to wait for him, because when leaving the group, I knew and was sure that someone would accept the challenge. And this someone will be the main rival.
Now, thinking about that race, I think that I chose then the only the right way to victory. Only attack! Nothing else could bring victory! And it is no coincidence that the rival last stage The fight turned out to be an Italian. It could be Tonucci, Trape, Venturelli. It doesn’t matter who exactly, but definitely an Italian. I spent all eight laps of the race looking for him, to see him, to fight him face to face. And I found it.
I waited for the Italian. After all, it’s easier with two people! The sun ran behind us, fierce and burning. We ran the race alternately.
- Tempo! - And I came forward, hearing Trape’s voice.
- Let's! - And Livio instantly reacted to my wheezing, replacing me in first position.
So we raced along Grottarossa. And we all knew: for the time being, we are obliged to conscientiously help each other. But only for the time being. Until the decisive throw. To the last one - the 175th kilometer, or rather to the last 38 meters.
When I was traveling with Trape, the Italians constantly and generously poured water on me. They understood: Trape could not go without me, just as I could not go without him.
I shouted to the Soviet tourists: “Don’t waste water on me! Save Klevtsov, Melikhov and Gainana!”
But how many laps are left? One? Two? Everything was mixed up in my head. The race tactics captured my attention so much that I forgot to count the laps. I forgot - that's all! Hair stuck to forehead. My mouth is dry. Well, of course, this is the last lap, it cannot be otherwise! I suddenly rushed to the finish line, putting all my strength into the dash. Experienced racers claim that such a spurt can only be accomplished once. I did it: I rushed forward with such force that at that moment I could overtake the courier train. And he raised his hands in a victorious salute. And suddenly I saw Sheleshnev’s eyes... And I didn’t believe in my mistake.
“That’s it,” a sharp tremor flashed through me, “that’s it! But I can’t raise my head. And my arms feel like they’re made of cotton. And I can’t move my leg... Everything was given over to this erroneous jerk. Everything! And suddenly it turned out that I was wrong by a whole circle. I still have 15 kilometers to “saw” and “saw” under the merciless Roman sun!.. At that moment, as I was later told, a French correspondent approached coach Leonid Mikhailovich Shelepshev and asked: “What’s the matter? Sheleshnev scratched his thick hair, not yet?” gray eyebrows: “Kapitonov decided to make a test finish - to practice.”
But you and I know that I was grossly mistaken and thereby let down the team, which, working for me, held back the rapid progress of the main group, giving Trapa and me the opportunity to compete for gold and silver medals!.. Seventeen years later I see the race on the screen . Trape rushes alone. The ramp is a good 500 meters ahead. Well, just go ahead! I was catching up with him, catching up... Two kilometers before the finish line we found ourselves together again.
And again we walked in a continuous corridor of screaming spectators. Cars and judge motorcycles rushed behind us. The end was approaching. Yes, both worked like automatons. Before my eyes is either a ribbon of asphalt or the opponent’s back.
- Let's! - I invite Trape to attack.
- Tempo! - he commands.
“Come on!” I yell.
“Tempo...” he whispers. 1.5 kilometers to the finish.
- Let's!
But he doesn’t react.
- Let's!!
And Trape is cunning, he pretends that he does not understand my Russian words. He waves his head, he doesn’t want to lead... And from behind you can already hear the characteristic “groan” of almost three hundred wheels...
- Let's! - I shout.
The ladder does not go forward. What's happened? After all, the finish is close - 1.5 kilometers. This is 1500 meters... And if we don’t help each other, the whole cavalcade of riders can catch up with us... Maybe something happened to him? Stay? Help? After all, we fought honestly from the 119th to the 174th kilometer! I have to help him if...
I turn around. No, Trape is fine. Livio just wants to sit on my wheel. Our eyes met, and Trape looked away.
- Tempo! - he wheezes.
Is he still in charge?! "Tempo, tempo..." How much "tempo" can you say?
- Let's! - I don’t yield a single word to him. A duel is such a duel!
Trape knows all the intricacies at the finish line very well. He wants to wait until I have spent my last strength, and then, before the finish line, he will pass me from the wheel. In the end, Trape believes, a silver medal is enough for me!
No, I won't let myself be deceived! If you fight, it's fair. I'm slowing down. The trap almost crashes into me. He also slows down. Livio is at a loss. Then I throw the car to the side. And Trape rushes after me. We're barely moving. You could say we crawl along the asphalt like turtles. And behind... behind us an avalanche of racers is already roaring. 250 meters to the finish. An armada of colorful T-shirts nearby. She, like the sticky tongue of a monster, reaches out to us. If we “stick”, everything is lost. It's time to finish!
Since Trape doesn't want to go first, then I'll start. And at that moment Trape forcefully breaks out from behind my back. His nerves can't stand it. I don’t remember what I thought at that moment when Trape quickly rushed from behind me towards cherished trait. Probably nothing. Probably, everything that I could do thinking was left somewhere behind, on the highway. Now only internal composure, will and thirst for victory led forward. All the last kilometers of the race I lived with the inevitability of this moment. Nerves were tense to the extreme, feelings were heightened. I “caught” Trape’s jerk, and the next second I rose up in the saddle, spinning the pedals, rocking the car from side to side. And there was a dramatic moment of “equilibrium” when the rudders became equal.
It was already a fight. Long awaited. Olympic. Either/or. I rush after Trape. 200 meters to the finish. I'm already moving close to my opponent. Twenty meters! Something unimaginable is happening among the fans. The police can barely contain the pressure of a crowd of thousands. When I caught up with the Italian, he suddenly blocked the road. Then, rising from the saddle, I rushed to the right, to where my opponent could no longer stop me... I repeat: the sky was falling. I didn’t see anything - I was so desperate for victory!
The speed was crazy. Everything merged in the eyes. The hot wind whipped into my face. Trape was moaning and wheezing nearby. Our mad dance was coming to an end... I crossed the finish line half a wheel ahead of the Italian. And feeling that he had won, he allowed himself to straighten up in the saddle - that’s it! And Trape, covering his face with his hands, began to cry. I don't know what I would do if I were second...
On the same day, an Agence France-Presse correspondent telexed a phrase that was later included in all books on the Rome Olympics: “With the victory of the Soviet officer Viktor Kapitonov, Russia enters through the front door into the citadel of great international cycling”...
Then there were two more victories for Kapitonov as part of the USSR national team at the prestigious World Cycling Race and a transition to coaching. Coach Kapitonov achieved even greater success than the cyclist. Viktor Arsenyevich led the cycling team from 1970 to 1988. Three times in a row - in 1972, 1976 and 1980 - Soviet cyclists won the 100-kilometer road team race. And at the Olympics in
By tradition, the number of Olympic champions in cycling before the 1960 Games in Rome included representatives of Italy, France, Belgium, and the Netherlands. Therefore, the Soviet racer Viktor Kapitonov created a real sensation in Rome. The Moscow army man won the group road race. After the finish, one of the French journalists reported to his newspaper:
“With Kapitonov’s victory, Russia enters through the front door into big international cycling.”
Victor was no stranger to Rome. Before this, Kapitonov visited Australia at the XVI Olympics, competed in the World Championships, and in several major cycling races. Everywhere he was ahead, and something always prevented him from finishing first.
Am I unlucky at crucial moments? - he said once shortly before his trip to Rome. - I fell in Melbourne, I was already preparing to finish at the World Championships - I had a puncture. At the World Cycling Race - two years ago - I was a leader - and again I failed.
Every serious race was a test of endurance for him. A year before Rome 60, at the first stage of the World Cycling Race near Berlin, Victor fell as fast as he could onto the concrete. It was as if someone had walked with coarse sandpaper from thigh to shin. After the finish I lay on the massage table. The German doctor - there was no one - fussed over him. He used hydrogen peroxide and brilliant green with all his might and, pointing to his shin, explained to the coaches that things were bad. "Schwah! You can't go any further!" And our cyclist just shook his head and mumbled. And everyone who was in the room turned away so as not to see Kapitonov’s leg. And everyone knew that he wouldn’t get away anyway. The doctor who arrived from the embassy said: “He can’t go further,” to which coach Sheleshnev replied: “He’ll decide that himself.” Grimacing in pain, Victor said: “I’ll go, whatever…”
XVII Olympic Games. The team race took place in forty-degree heat. Unable to withstand the tension, individual athletes, and even entire teams, quit the race. About halfway through, the young Dane suddenly swayed in the saddle and fell to the side of the road. A few hours later he died in hospital from sunstroke.
In this inferno, we lost only a few seconds to the German racers who won silver medals. And maybe Klevtsov was right when he later said that in order to take second place, the Soviet team only needed... four mugs of water.
And then there was an individual race of 175 kilometers. The racer himself spoke about it in the book “It’s Worth Living For”:
Best of the day
“The start was given at eleven o’clock. The sun was at its zenith, and, as during the team race, it was forty-five degrees hot.
All one hundred and forty-three racers dreamed of victory. But Trape hoped most of all for success. Signs on houses and sidewalks shouted: "Trape! Trape! Trape!" Temperamental fans chanted: "Trape! Trape! Trape!"
The leaders of the Soviet delegation took into account the lessons of the team race, and on August 29, all our athletes, free from competition, took to the streets with buckets, cans, and plastic bags filled with water. They watered us generously. But the water evaporated almost instantly.
And the race picked up and picked up the pace. The highway twisted like a snake. He ran from mountain to mountain. And the whole column, like an avalanche, poured into the narrow throat of the highway, repeating the bends of the Grottarossa highway...
There was a steep climb ahead. And then it dawned on me: “It’s either now or never...” Should I leave on a high again? The risk seemed unjustified. But some kind of insolence pushed me in the saddle, and I “shot.” The highway began to descend on me from above. And I climbed meter by meter. He didn’t look back, because he knew that only Trape and Hagen could support such a breakthrough. Only after climbing to the very top of the mountain did I begin to discern fragments of incomprehensible phrases. The fans went wild: "Trape! Trape!" I had to look back. Trape!
I waited for the Italian. After all, it’s easier with two people! The sun ran behind us, fierce and burning. We ran the race alternately.
I invested too much into my lonely dash on the melted highway... But how many laps are left? One? Two? Everything was mixed up in my head. The race tactics captured my attention so much that I forgot to count the laps. I... rushed to the finish line, putting all my strength into the dash: I rushed forward with such force that at that moment I could overtake the courier train. And he raised his hands in a victorious salute...
And I didn’t believe in my mistake... it turned out that I was wrong by a whole circle. I still have 15 kilometers to “saw” and “saw” under the merciless Roman sun!...” “Trape was already a good 500 meters ahead. 2 km before the finish they ended up together again. It was already a battle: either-or. Kapitonov crossed the finish line half a wheel ahead of the Italian. And Trape, covering his face with his hands, began to cry. I don’t know what I would do if I were second...”
Then there were two more victories for Viktor Kapitonov as part of the USSR national team at the prestigious World Cycling Race and a transition to coaching.
Victor Kapitonov
(1933–2005)
Soviet cyclist. Champion of the XVII Olympiad in Rome (Italy), 1960
The games of the XVII Olympiad were already the second in a row for Viktor Kapitonov. In 1956, he was among the Soviet cyclists who competed at the Olympic Games in Melbourne, but finished only thirty-second in the road race. No luck - I fell on the track and lost time. The champion then became the Italian racer Ercole Baldini. In the team race at the Melbourne Olympics, Soviet cyclists were little more fortunate, finishing sixth.
Big victories were not expected from them then: at all previous Olympic Games, the winners invariably became representatives of countries where cycling has long been one of the the most popular types sports - most often Italians. The French were slightly inferior to them in terms of the number of victories, but the Belgians, the Dutch, and the Swedes also happened to become Olympic champions.
At the Rome Olympics, Italian cyclists were also the undisputed favorites in the team road race. And the favorite of the group road race with the sole winner is Italian Livio Trape. It goes without saying that the whole country was rooting for their athletes frantically and noisily, as is always done in Italy.
On the day of the 100-kilometer team road race in Rome, it was unbearably hot. Unable to bear it, some riders left the race. Danish cyclist K.E. Jensen lost consciousness heatstroke. As expected, the victory was won by Italian cyclists - Antonio Bailetti, Ottavio Coiliati, Giacomo Fornoni and Livio Trape.
But the third place won by the Soviet riders turned out to be a surprise to everyone. One of the four cyclists who won bronze medals was Viktor Kapitonov. However, no one yet expected that he was to become one of the main heroes of the Roman Olympics.
142 athletes from 42 countries took part in the group road race over a distance of 175 kilometers. When they started at 11 a.m., the thermometer showed more than 40 degrees. A sultry haze rose above the asphalt, softened by the scorching rays of the sun.
Huge words painted in paint were visible on the walls of houses and on the sidewalks: “Livio Trape.” Thousands of people stood along the route, pouring water from cans, bottles and even plastic bags on the speeding riders.
After the race, Viktor Kapitanov admitted that from the very first meters he dreamed of... ice cream. At first he stayed in the very thick of the group of riders - “he got into the putty,” as road cyclists say. Some time later, one of the riders fell, a second one ran into him, then several more. I had to go around the resulting “heap and small”.
Even later, while the others paused for a moment to refresh their faces with water at the food station, Kapitonov rushed forward. Alone, he traveled several kilometers. However, on the seventh lap he was overtaken by four rivals, including Livio Trape and German Erik Hagen.
Kapitonov made his next attempt to break away from everyone when they least expected it: on the next climb.
“A steep climb was approaching,” recalled Viktor Kapitonov years later in his book “This is worth living for.” “The risk seemed unjustified, but some kind of insolence pushed me in the saddle. The highway began to descend on me from above. And I climbed meter by meter. He didn’t look back, because he knew that only Trape and Hagen could support such a breakthrough. Only after climbing to the very top of the mountain did I begin to discern fragments of incomprehensible phrases. The fans went wild: “Trape! Trape! I had to look back: Trape!
He was catching up with me, surrounded by an escort of motorcyclists. There was a continuous roar hanging over the track. Surely, the man who represents the hope of Italian cycling, Trape joined the attack! He apparently realized that jokes were bad, that I had enough stamina, anger and patience to fight for victory to the end. And he set off in pursuit...
I waited for the Italian. After all, it’s easier with two people. The sun ran behind us, fierce and burning. We ran the race alternately.”
According to the unwritten but sacred law of road racing, rival leaders helped each other. Not out of altruism, of course, but in order to get both of them further away from everyone else, and end the argument between themselves at the finish line. This was the case in the rivalry between Kapitonov and Trape. Alternately, first one and then the other came forward.
When Trape was ahead and felt that he no longer had the strength to lead the race, he commanded: “Tempo,” and Kapitonov became the leader. Now he cut the air flying towards him so that Trape, who was slightly behind, could rest for a while behind his back. Then it was Kapitonov’s turn to shout: “Come on,” and the Italian again took on the role of leader.
So, helping each other, they went ahead of all the other racers. Now there was no longer any doubt that the golden olympic medal will go to one of the two leaders.
Then something happened that was remembered for a long time, discussed in every way. When the penultimate lap was ending, Kapitanov suddenly made a sharp jerk with the last of his strength, and then braked and raised his hands in victory. The Italian who caught up with him flew past like lightning and began to quickly move away.
It turned out that in the heat of the race, Kapitanov lost count of the laps and decided that the finish line was ahead - so he made a breakthrough, giving his all to the end. But he was mistaken - there were still 15 kilometers of track ahead.
Presumably, now Livio Trape no longer doubted his victory. He broke away from Kapitonov, who again rushed after him, by a good half kilometer. He raced forward to the cheers of Italian fans cheering on the roadside. But Kapitanov continued the chase, and overtook the Italian when there were two kilometers left before the finish - now the real one.
The two riders stayed close for the last 250 meters, but Trape was still slightly ahead. A long chain of multi-colored T-shirts was catching up behind them. 20 meters before the finish both leaders were still racing side by side, but already in the last meters Kapitonov did the impossible - he crossed the finish line half a wheel ahead of the Italian.
In all protocols, the time for both Kapitonov and Trape is indicated the same - 4 hours 20 minutes 37 seconds. But for the first time a racer from the USSR became an Olympic champion. Livio Trape, who won the silver medal, covered his face with his hands and cried. And those Italian boys who dreamed of becoming famous cyclists, a new idol instantly appeared. And for a long time throughout Italy, where cycling as popular as football, road race winners have been compared to Kapitonov.
So the 27-year-old racer from the USSR won the most important victory in its sports career. Congratulating Viktor Kapitonov, the Minister of Foreign Affairs of Italy said that the whole country, without hesitation, would agree to exchange the gold medals received at this Olympics by Italian cyclists - in a standing round, sprint race, tandem race, team pursuit and team road race - for one medal, which was won by Kapitonov in the hardest struggle of the road race.
And Viktor Kapitonov won the first victory in his sports career long before the Roman Olympics - immediately after the Great Patriotic War in his hometown Tver, which was then called Kalinin. Playing for the team of the carriage factory, the mechanic boy received as a prize... a pack of sugar. In those hungry post-war years, this was incredible wealth.
This is where it started sports biography future Olympic champion. He became the national champion more than once different types racing, in 1963, already an Olympic champion, he won a bronze medal at the World Championships in the team road race.
Viktor Kapitonov no longer took part in the 1964 Tokyo Olympics; at that time he was seriously studying, deciding to take up coaching work. And from 1970 to 1988 he was the coach of the national team of road cyclists. Sergey Sukhoruchenkov, winner gold medal in the road race at the games XXII Olympiad 1980 in Moscow - student of Viktor Kapitonov.
Three years after the Moscow Olympics, Kapitonov defended his dissertation, receiving a candidate of pedagogical sciences degree, and later wrote textbooks “Training High-Class Cyclists” and “Cycling at the Olympics.”
Viktor Arsenievich Kapitonov passed away quite recently - he died in Moscow in March 2005.
Since 1976, an annual cycling race for the Victor Kapitonov Prize has been held in Tver.
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