The Dirt Field

The Race: Liberty Classic
The Course: 60 miles
The Field: Pro 1/2 women
The Finish: 31st

I told a lie the other day.

When talking to a coworker about my upcoming race at the Wilmington Grand Prix, I said I would be happy just to finish in the top 10. This was untrue; I knew I’d only be happy finishing in the top five, but was afraid to admit that and then have to report back on Monday and look like I’d failed.

This bothers me, especially because I’ve done it before. I try to calibrate the expectations of people around me so it looks like I’m accomplishing something. That’s disingenuous and cowardly and I don’t want to do it again. If I’m willing to admit to some pretty unflattering things – crying before races, dealing with anxiety over eating, watching shows where the target demographic has yet to hit puberty – then I should be willing to admit my real goals and accept without shame that sometimes they’re not going to be met.

My goal for the 2012 Liberty Classic was a finish in the top 10. That felt like a reach; it’s an Olympic year and the best women/teams in the world were present. The race was guaranteed to be aggressive. But I wanted a top 10 and even now, after finishing very much not in the top ten, I do not believe that goal was unattainable. It was not in my legs on race day, but there were promising signs that leave me still willing to set the bar high next time.

To recap the event:

Lap 1: My coach warned me to be hyper alert on the first lap because everybody in the huge field would be jittery and crash-prone. She was right; 300M after the start, there was an explosive crash and I could feel the tension humming in the peloton as we raced down Benjamin Franklin Parkway. The field flew through the lead-in to the famously steep Manayunk Wall as everybody vied for a place at the front. It wasn’t until the ‘fall from the Wall’ (where I hit 46.1mph flying down wildly bumpy city streets) that the field started to shed riders and calm down. The other two climbs after the Wall passed unremarkably.

Lap 2: There were moments during this lap and the first half of the next where I was able to stop thinking about the details of the race and appreciate the experience: it was a gorgeous day and I was riding comfortably alongside world-class cyclists like Evelyn Stevens, Ina Teutenburg, and Giorgia Bronzini. In the same race last year, I hung towards the back and was afraid to mix it up too close to other riders. Amazing to see how much improvement can happen in a single year.

 
Lap 3: There was a crash in front of me a mile before the Wall. I nearly joined the pile-up and for an instant thought, “If I go down here, I’ll be able to call it a day and chalk it up to a crash.” It didn’t even require a second thought – I swerved sharply, sprinted to rejoin the field, and knew without a doubt that I wanted to be in the race, no matter how much it hurt.

When we hit the Wall, I tried to stay strong, but a gap opened between me and the riders ahead. It seemed small and I figured it would close easily on the following descent, but it didn’t. I nailed a pothole in the apex of a turn during my chase and almost wiped out, and then struggled to close the widening margin. At the bottom of the descent, I settled in to chase with a Tibco rider but was dismayed to realize she wasn’t nearly as eager to get back to the field. I refused to give up and rode until my whole body ached (dropping her in the process), but by the time I crested the next hill, the field was out of sight. It was a really hard moment, riding alone and in pain, thinking my day was over. Then a small group caught up and I joined their rotation, pulling hard and fighting through the caravan of team cars and back into the field. It was elating and an instant reminder to never give up during a race. The only bad part was the cramping that had started in my legs on the final hill of the lap; with a whole lap to go, that was not a good sign.

Lap 4: The final lap was partly exhilarating (so close to the end and I’m still with the front!) and partly terrifying (another hard chase effort would likely end my day). I rode conservatively in the pack and then, when it was time for the last ascent up the Wall, I blocked out the cramping that screamed through both quads and fought my way to the top. There was a small gap to the lead group, but I rotated with two riders from Exergy and Specialized-lululemon to reattach quickly. The next hill was gradual enough to spin up with only light cramping, but I was too far back going into the last hill and cramping hard during the climb. I lost contact with the field on the last descent and as the riders hammered into the final stretch, the pace was too brutal for me to close. I led a chase group into the finish, let them go around for a moment of relief, and then gave the last shred of energy I had to get across the line in front.

And finished 31st.

Unless this is your first visit here, you will know this naturally involved a massive load of disappointment, self-flagellation, and some crying. DUH. How could I have let that last gap open? How could I have just not shut it down? Why didn’t I pedal harder? WHY AM I A FAILURE?

I wish I could say the last part is a joke, but alas, that thought crossed my mind. And now I can look at that, see its horribly self-defeating and totally incorrect nature, and realize that I have lost my mind. It was one race. A hard one, too, with the strongest competition I will see all year, and I did just fine. Maybe I did not accomplish my goal and there things to do different next time. But that shouldn’t make me a failure.

My parents were kind enough to drive to Philadelphia to watch me race. I wanted to do something that would impress them and make it worth their trip, and my first thought at the end was that I hadn’t succeeded. But then somebody pointed out that my parents bought VIP passes to an international event in a major city so they could see their kid race, and that alone was certainly enough to make them proud. I hope that’s true, because it meant so much that they cared enough to come. I just wish I could find a way to be proud of me too.