So here we are again. My first post after a long absence is taken from my diary on my Tri club forums at www.togamultisport.com
"Bicycle road racing is unlike other amateur pursuits, such as softball or bowling or even running 5Ks, where you can be mediocre or even lousy but still participate. In a bike race, once you have dropped from the pack, you get pulled out of the event by officials-humiliated as well as depleted. And most beginners are left behind within minutes, if not seconds."
Bill Strickland in Ten PointsI love Multisport... I love Triathlon... I am a Triathlete....
Those who know me know how I love every aspect of the sport; Training, race prep, cheering for others, being cheered on by others, competing and crossing that line, watching the great racers and races, all of it....
But what brought me to Triathlon is bike racing. Bike racing is a different kind of mistress. She will love you and support you as long as you suffer the pain and the hurt of the pack. But once dropped she leaves you broken and destitute...
Tri gives you three arenas within which to make your mark giving each of us small victories within the larger venue. I'm not a great runner but I can blitz on the bike giving me a high placement amongst the cyclists despite losing ground to the runners. Yeah, you may have beaten my overall time but I wasted you on the bike
Conversations surrounding Triathlon often include PRs. Two years ago at Hudson Valley I took a medal in my AG. One year later I bettered my time by four minutes and came in 11 minutes behind the 1st place finisher in my AG. But I had posted a PR and that was something, that was a victory...
Bike racing is a different animal with different rules and forms of etiquette. It is no better or worse nor do I love it any less or any more. But I revere it in a different way. Bike racing for me is an epic sport that is at once, exhilarating and hurtful in equal measure. There is nothing of forgiveness in her. She leaves victor and vanquished exhausted and wasted.
A bike race has trickery and stealth and plans within plans and opportunities captured and lost where friend and foe change constantly....
I have had conversations with Triathletes who drop comments the like of, "Well you can draft in bike racing so its got to be easier..." My general response is, "Listen, when you're ready, come do a bike race with me. Afterwards tell me how you feel..."
At the line amongst all the others you play out in your mind how you want your race to go. You steel yourself mentally, physically you are where you are. You are set, ready and the gun goes off....
The pack moves out and you are inside the demon
, that's what the pack is really. The demon will lead you on and lie to you. You are a part of the undulating, roiling body of the demon pack that is ever changing and you feel one with the rest.The speed is consistent and you feel good, all is going according to plan. Then comes the first surge, the first tremor that the race is about to start in earnest. Your heart quickens, this is it!
A moment ago you were cruising along at 19mph perhaps even talking to the spandex warrior next to you, now you're pushing 27 and some already struggle. The surge may last for a mere minute and thirty seconds but it feels like forever in vacuum. You have two simple choices; Push as hard as you can or give up.
Your legs begin to ache and ache and ache, your heart pushes itself beyond thresholds put there to keep you safe and strong and alive and your lungs... Your lungs fight to expand beyond your ribcage as you fight for every extra bit of oxygen you can force into those life giving membranes...
When you get into the seeming second hour of that minute and thirty second surge at what you know must be your breaking point, your mind screaming at you to hold on, its almost over, its almost over, its almost over its... finally over. The pack heaves a collective sigh and slows itself to a softer manageable pace.
You survived
A small wry smile creeps up on your face despite the heaving open mouthed intake of precious air you suck down as you look behind to see the detritus left behind. Those not strong enough or quick enough or alert enough to anticipate the surge. They all have the same look; Slumped shoulders, hollow eyes... defeat. But you are still in it.
The demon wraps itself around you promising you only more pain, if you're strong enough. Because the next surge will be faster, more savage and equally merciless.
And you love every minute of it because that's when you are most alive. Inside that swirling maelstrom of flesh and blood and bone and carbon and metal bodies. A Juggernaut that goes on with or without you. Your mind sings while the gift of a group draft carries you aloft making you a faster cyclist than you can ever be on your own...
But you must stay alert. You must keep an eye out for the attack from behind, or the opening that will get you those five places up ahead in the pack, or the decisive break that can mean staying in the race or just another tourist with a racing jersey.
And if you are ever lucky enough to be in that final sprint.... Now that's something.
At Bethel once, I made it into that final breakaway and for the last half mile I and ten others jockeyed for position as we neared the last few meters. Do I wait and sprint from behind or go off first in hopes of taking the others by surprise? Do I let another break and use him to lead me out and then break off leaving him spent?
But what if I get caught inside? Fight for position, struggle with timing and then its either make your move or react to someone else's.
Its over in seconds; Every fiber of your being is aflame as you pour into the bike every bit and ounce and gram of energy and life and force you have left. Because you know if you hold back even an infinitely tiny bit you have already lost.
Due to injuries two years running I lost out on bike racing despite two full seasons of Triathlons. When the post concerning Battenkill came up I found I didn't just want to do this race, I need to do this race. And others this season....
I enjoy swimming, I endure running but my bike is my church. It is where I go to worship and cleanse. Native Americans have sweat tents as most religions have their own rituals of sacrifice and deprivation to bring you closer to yourself or God... I have always found my worship in the saddle. And nowhere more so than when a long race takes you to the bottom and the limits of your mental, physical and emotional endurance...
TIME TO GO TO CHURCH!
Battenkill awaits and I welcome summoning the demon once more... Bring on the pain!
This morning was 1 hour and 10minutes on the trainer. 10m w/u then 2x Twenty minutes at threshold with a 10m interval and a cool down afterwards. I watched Tom Boonen win Flanders while I suffered in worship for an hour...
