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.
1 Comment
Savilia Blunk
7/27/2017 10:29:58 am
You freaking superstar. So proud of you.
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