Racing My Bike

Looking down at my top tube - just a reminder...

You know...this bike racing thing? I think I'm finally getting it.

I mean, sort of. I'm not actually winning. I'm just, well, getting it.

Let me explain.

Seven weeks ago - after the first race in the Mason Lake series - Jadine and Izette from Group Health sat down with the Cat 4 field to talk about what they witnessed during our 24-mile contest. They spent some time talking about the tactics of a bunch finish, and I remember Jadine poking fun at someone who had started her sprint at the one-kilometer sign. "If you can hold that to the finish," she joked, "then I can't wait till you upgrade so I can race against you in the 1/2's!"

[erm, just to avoid any confusion...that was not me]

What I remember most from that meeting, however, was something else that she said:

In each race, there can be only one winner. If crossing the finish line in first place is your only goal - if winning is your only measure of success - then more often than not, you are going to fail.

On that particular day, I finished the race about a minute off the back and crossed the line in 37th place. So, as you can imagine, this statement made me feel a lot better about the outcome (I mean, somebody had to get 37th place, right?). And yet, at the same time, I guess I didn't really get it. Not completely. Not yet.

I continued to race as hard as I could, but even on days when I was working to help a teammate finish strong (when my placing had absolutely no reflection on whether or not the day was a success for Oly Ortho) I still looked at my own results and couldn't help but feel disappointed.

And frustrated.

I thought I should be doing "better". I wondered what I could have done differently during the winter. And I began to envision myself as a Cat 4 "lifer" (not that there is anything wrong with that - it's just that, realistic or not, I'd set my own sights a little higher).

What I didn't realize at the time was that all of these perceived "setbacks" were actually really positive experiences (yes, even my flat tire at Mason Lake #3). Not only that, they were slowly adding up, and at some point, that metaphorical light bulb would finally turn on, and I would not only understand why I was racing, but I would feel it and believe it.

The truth is, I can tell myself a million times "it doesn't matter how I place as long as I am respectful and a good teammate and have fun out there". But unless I actually believe that, I will fail each and every time I race (because, let's face it, at this point in my young life as a racer, I still haven't developed the legs or the smarts to win a bike race).

So just when did "it" happen? When did I finally start to believe my own words?

I don't know.

Maybe it was in Walla Walla when a lack of teammates underlined the importance of getting to know the other gals in the Cat 4 peloton. Maybe it was the following week when my training schedule didn't line up with anyone else's and I just really missed riding with my friends. Maybe it was during the last hill climb on Sunday, when my legs were screaming, I was seeing spots, and I was breathing like a female rhinoceros going into labor, but I was surrounded by teammates and friends, by girls I wanted to drop and others that I wanted to catch.



Seriously, occasions like this call for a happy dance.

Not because I finished 11th at Vance Creek (because deep down, part of me will never be happy with 11th...or 10th...or even 2nd). I'm going to do a happy dance because even when I was nervous before the race, even when I was frustrated at the back on those narrow country roads, even when I was suffering on that last hill climb, I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Racing my bike.