Post Nationals and I was back in the car, for another long day (12 hours). Finally, the small, winding roads turned to freeway and I found myself in Providence, where I would be staying for the week. I finished settling into the hotel when the bug bites that I had noticed first thing in the morning seemed to appear all over my body. Pretty soon, I have welts crisscrossing every surface of my skin. Still, I think: bad reaction to some bug bites, I’m fine. However, a restless night of sleep, and a feeble attempt at an endurance ride tells me otherwise. I feel awful. Something is wrong so I head to a clinic. They tell me I’m having an allergic reaction and that the welts are hives. Some strong antihistamines later, the swelling starts to subside. I take the next couple of days pretty mellow so I can race the coming weekend. Friday dawns and with it, the opportunity to ride the course. Awaiting me is a track full of rock gardens, swooping corners, roots and a drop. Although it starts on a fire road, it quickly funnels to single track and remains so for virtually the whole course. I know passing will be a challenge. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough. Sure enough, tomorrow does come. An HC event means that the start list is deep and stacked. I line up alongside women from the Costa Rican National Team, New Zealand National Team, Canada, Australia, and Chili. Among the ranks are newly crowned National Champions from Canada, US, Australia and New Zealand. I’m ready We are off! I get squashed in a corner and fall back but then move forward. I take the inside line into the single track and gain a couple more places. We are flying. Through the rock garden, through the rooty climb- faster, faster, faster. I can hear the gasping of the women behind me. I am riding in a group of six women. I patiently wait for a chance to pass. My legs feel great. Up ahead, I see the Australian National Champion, Rebecca Henderson. I make an explosive pass and push forward. Off the drop and I am almost done with the lap. ‘Wow,’ I think, ‘That was a really smooth lap, and I feel good. I am riding well.’ I quickly catch myself, ‘Stay focused,’ I tell myself, ‘The lap isn’t over yet.’ We come into the last rock garden on the course and BAM. I don’t get my front wheel up enough and I slam down, over the bars. I’m fine and recover quickly. Back on, chasing the group of girls I was with but can no longer see. However, I quickly discover that my brake levers are not only severely out of alignment but also knocked in completely different angles. By the time I figure this out, I am back on winding single track and don’t have the terrain to fix it. I ride a slower lap over the technical sections before coming into a straightaway, and hammering the levers back into place. From there, I stay on the gas as much as possible. At one point, Lea Davison, recovering from a mechanical passes me, and calls for me to stay on her wheel but her pace is a little too stiff for me. Before I know it, I’m on my last lap. I catch a glimpse of a rider ahead of me and dig even deeper to catch her but don’t quite get there. I cross the line, gassed in 12th. My best friend from Stanford, Julia, who is kind enough to let me invade her home for the week, takes me to her favorite beach for sunset and a swim. A perfect end to a perfect day. The next day is Short Track. A good warmup later and I am back on the line. The whistle blows and everything slows down for a second. I am determined to have a better start than yesterday. I inch my way up the outside and am soon sitting in the top five. Up the first (and only) climb at full sprint. I mistake the first right curve as the turn onto single track and slow down, losing positions. I fight to regain spots and move back up as best I can. Pretty soon, I am sitting in a pack of 5. I glance at my Garmin, six and a half minutes in (out of twenty plus) and I am already hurting. Oh man. A woman attacks and I follow. I follow all the breaks in the group and before I know it, the race official signals 3 laps to go. More attacks. Smooth over the rock garden. Into the last lap. Full gas. Sprint into the finish line but pinched off around the corner. Can’t quite get up to fourth but across the line in seventh. Looking back at my earlier season races at the other US Cups or HC events, I am excited about the growth I have experienced this year. This year has been full of new challenges but also abundant in opportunity to develop. I am so thankful for the people who have supported me on this journey. To Dario, Josh, and my parents who may not have been physically present, thank you for being there in spirit every step of the way. Also a special thank you the Schaepe's for welcoming me into their home, showing me around and all the support pre, post and during the races.
Next stop, Mont Saint Anne World Cup!
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U23 Women Cross Country: 3rd Elite Women Short Track: 16th Website: www.usacycling.org/2017/mountain-bike-nationals Pre-race spin. The drive to West Virginia winds us through snaking countryside roads where we pass through tumbling rivers, jagged rock formations and finally, the Appalachian Mountains. I finish unloading the team van when a crack erupts through the air, so close to us that we consider a gunshot. Wrong. Thunder announces dumping rain and lightning: weather that will plague us all week. The rest of the team arrives and we settle quickly and easily back into our race routine. I finally get on course. I can hardly contain my delight at finding slippery rock gardens, a couple of brutal climbs, and flowy descents. I dial in my lines and my mind. I cannot wait to race. Friday and Short Track race day arrives. Although Pro Women are scheduled to go at 3:30pm, the schedule waffles all afternoon due to bad weather. Finally, we are in the clear. We will race at 5pm. The Short Track lap is not only about a minute longer than a classic course, but also has a large descent, a large climb and a gnarly rock garden that is certain to wreak havoc as only the first rider or so will be able to ride it smoothly. No matter what happens, it will be an action packed 30 minutes of racing. Although initially the race official asks us to determine the call up order amongst ourselves, finally the actual list is presented. I am called up to the line 12th, in the second row. I know my chance at success in this race will be determined by the first lap: if I am able to be among the first to the rock garden. Bam! We are off. Everything slows. I sprint into sixth wheel and hold it there. The pace is already stiff. We hit the rock garden. I can hear the sounds of bars hooking and feet stumbling over rocks behind me but I don’t dare look back. Back on the bike and charging up the climb. My legs know what to do. I feel good. I am sitting in the front group of six as we enter the second lap. That’s when I feel it. My blood has stopped flowing. A rush of dizziness collides with me but I keep fighting. I hang with the first group for as long as possible, through the rock garden and up the next climb. However, I simply can’t seem to keep my pedals moving fast enough. I drop back. I fight with all my might and I drop further and further back. I can’t even seem to move properly. As I am passed, I try and hold my competitors’ wheels. No avail. Finally, I am pulled. Although I initially feel slightly gutted, there are good and bad days. That’s bike racing. I fought with my all and that’s what really matters. My start showed me where I can ride and the rest of my race is fuel for the fire for Sunday’s Cross Country. Although I don’t race until Sunday, my teammates all race Cross Country the next day. Our house overlooks the most brutal climb of the course and Anders and I head down to heckle. I watch some of my dearest friends and teammates race their hearts out and I can’t wait for it to be my turn. A 9am race demands an early wakeup call. I am up as the sun rises. The fog is so thick I can hardly see out of my window and the puddles are deep on the ground from last night’s rain. The course is guaranteed to be grueling and I cannot wait (the whole point of racing is the challenge, after all). On the line. Go time. Gun blows. I miss my pedal but somehow recover. I take the hole shot into the single-track and lead until halfway up the first significant climb. I settle into third, behind Clif Pro Team riders Haley Batten and Hannah Finchamp, planning on following their pace. We hit a rooty single-track climb and the rider in front of me is a little messy through it. Haley pulls away. There is no place for me to pass so I have to be patient. Next climb, I pass Hannah at the top, before the descent. I gap her on the descent and she has to work to catch up with me on the next climb. She puts the hammer down a little bit. My legs, although they feel good, tell me that at altitude, I won’t be able to recover from digging too deep so early. I let her go for now. I settle into my own pace and focus on riding smooth on the descents and digging on the climbs. The lines have changed pretty dramatically from the rain since last time I rode the course and as a result, I am not as efficient in choosing lines as I could be. There are new, faster lines that I miss the first two laps. I am in a rhythm by the third lap and finally start closing down on Hannah- a little too late. I cross the line third, proud of having ridden a solid ride after a rollercoaster of a season. Photos: Kenny Wehn We race because we embrace the unknown, we embrace the opportunity to pour our hearts out, to take it one breath at a time. We race because there is nothing like the feeling of satisfaction when you cross the line and have ridden outside of your skin, with 100% of your body and 100% of your mind. Although I have learned many things this season, the most important one remains simple: the bike is my ultimate happy place. The chance to race my bike means the chance to face new hurtles, to grow, to learn and to ask everything of myself, to live with my whole heart, to know what it means to be fully alive, to see the power of people united by one passion, and to be present. Racing is not simple. It doesn’t just happen. Racing takes a village of people. “Thank you” does not even begin to be substantial enough to everyone who has made it possible for me to race. To the coach who has analyzed hundreds of workouts by the second with me, to the family who has sacrificed ‘normal,’ to the friends who lend an ear when I struggle to grasp perspective, to the teammates with whom I prep for battle, to the mechanic who makes my bike flawless and keeps me laughing, I appreciate you endlessly and thank you for enabling me to chase my passion. Finally! No more cafeteria food! Back in my happy places. Initially I had calendared two Pro XCT’s after Europe. However, after some brutal races, I did some revaluating and decided that instead of rushing out of town during the throws of finals week to race at altitude, it would make much more sense to get some hardcore training in before National Championships. In the weeks following, I often felt like racing might have been an easier choice than the grueling training I was doing. Summer break quickly turned into a summer grind. I spent demanding hours on and off the bike working on my physical fitness, mental fitness, skills and health condition. After some solid weeks of training, I was more than ready to head to the East Coast for a block of racing (Williston, Vermont à Snowshoe, West Virginia à Boston, Massachusetts à hopefully qualifying for a World Cup in Mont Saint Anne, Quebec). I arrive in Vermont late Wednesday night after a cancelled flight, two delayed flights and lodging plans falling through. It is a relief to finally curl up in the sofa bed and crash for the night. Saturday’s race time rolls around and the thunderstorms have held off for us, if only for a couple hours. On the line: focused and excited for the next hour and a half which is guaranteed to push our field to the limits. The course is composed of rooty singletrack, rock gardens and A-lines. Every corner, every rock, every feature ridden smoothly is a time warp: ride it smoothly and gain a couple seconds but dare hesitate and the seconds quickly turn to minutes lost. 1:35pm, we are off. As the trail quickly turns to singletrack, I sit fourth wheel. Up ahead, through the twisty turns and dense forest, I can see Kate Courtney and Lea Davison already start to put in an attack. However, two riders sit between me and them. I quickly settle into a chase group of three riders but the technical nature of the course causes us to quickly spread out. By the end of the first lap, I am sitting in sixth. I focus on emptying my tank on the singletrack climbs and staying smooth on the descents. With each lap, I feel faster and smoother on the course. With each straightaway, I can see fifth just ahead of me. Spectators yell “15 seconds,” then, “12!” then, “10!” I want that top five finish. I am already suffering but I grit my teeth and suffer a bit more. We head out on our last lap and there she is. Just around the corner, and just like that, I have caught her. As we hit the first singletrack, she stutters. She puts her foot down and dabs around the next couple corners. An explosive pass and I am around her. I can hear her behind me and decide not to give her the option to regain confidence. I bury myself up each and every climb and continue to do so long after I stop hearing her shifting gears in the trees behind me. I cross the line in fifth and stand on my first Elite Women podium. Successful day. Short track is the next afternoon. My mom and I can’t get a late enough hotel check out, so we pack up the hotel room at twelve and kill an hour or so in the local coffee shop before heading to the venue. The heat is penetrating and the humidity is cloying. My warmup is an attempt at spinning out the cobwebs in my legs from the day before. Its 3:00pm and go time. The course is mostly singletrack and therefore, untraditional for a short track. The field is small, stacked and will spread out fast. I want to hang in as long as possible. The whistle releases us, I miss my pedal but miraculously don’t lose too much time. I latch onto the front group and hang on. I am again, sitting fifth wheel. I get dropped for a lap but grab back on. Repeat, repeat. Finally, I am off the back for good. I hang consistently off the back and cross the line in fifth again. Wiped but another successful day.
A 13 hour drive and soon to arrive in Snowshoe, West Virginia for National Championships! Wahoo! |