The Dirt Field

The Race: Speed Week Roswell Criterium
The Course: 60 minutes of racing on a mostly flat course with 5 corners
The Field: Pro 1/2/3 women
The Finish: 6th

Spring may have sprung in the DC metropolitan area, but down in Georgia, it might as well be the middle of August. A few minutes into my trainer warm-up, I was drowning in sweat and debating about where to hurl the Honey Stinger chews I was choking down. I’m still in wind-vest-and-crisp-evenings mode; wringing-out-my-helmet-and-desperately-drinking-from-lawn-sprinklers mode is something that generally happens gradually. By the time I went to the start line, I was dripping and swaying unsteadily.

My start was not good. I had a decent position in the second row until the final roll to the line after call-ups, when somebody shoved me and her own teammate out of the way to get closer to the front. Then she failed to launch and failed to clip in, and while she struggled and I waited for her to grow moss, the field streamed by. SWEET. I LOVE THE BACK. I clawed my way up into the middle of the field, just in time for a crash on the back of the course. A few riders went down hard, while I slowly tipped over like an axed redwood, uninjured except for a bruise on my butt.

After rejoining the field from the pit, I settled in just in time to hear another loud crash. It was rattling and I had to take a few deep breaths to calm down and focus. It didn’t take long; with primes coming every few laps, I was quickly distracted by working to hold a good position in the field and be alert to action. A killer break went at one point – Laura Van Gilder, Erica Allar, Debbie Milne, and a couple of other really strong women – and I saw it quick enough to bridge, attach, and have time to think ‘OMG BREAKOFALIFETIME!’ And then the break didn’t go anywhere and I was sad.

The rest of the race was pretty standard: prime, close the gap to the prime sprinters, ride, prime, etc. I couldn’t find the lap cards, so I kept listening to the announcer to hear when it was time to party. When he said “three to go!” I knew it was time to follow my coach’s advice and fight like hell to hold a good place near the front. I’ve been too timid in the past, thinking I needed to conserve energy for the final burst while inadvertently sliding back as the pace ramps up. This time, I sucked it up and worked a lot harder, staying right at the front.

Coming through the final corner, I went a bit too wide but stayed in the mix down the stretch to the finish. It was chaotic – I couldn’t find a wheel to hold and things were moving around a lot, but I eventually stood up and tried to find a way through. Laura Van Gilder won, Erica Allar took second, and Sarah Fader rounded out the podium for third. I crossed the line right next to a Tibco rider and was praying a strand of my hair was long enough to have beat her across the line for fifth, but no dice; I was sixth.

So it’s the best finish I’ve had in a national race yet and all I can think is what if I’d stood to sprint a little sooner, what if I’d been ballsier getting to the line, what if I’d thrown the bike harder at the line, what if what if what if. SERIOUSLY. This is why I eat my feelings. On the bright side, I’m also hungry to try again in Beaufort tomorrow.

I even got some cool shots on Cyclingnews.com that you can see here, here, here, and here. I’m still new enough to this that appearing in photos on cycling websites is cause for squeaking and tweeting and spamming my parents.