Riding Away
A
bike racer's unvarnished self-assessment of what it takes to
win and why that goal is so difficult to achieve.
By
Mike Hancock
You look up through sweat-seared eyes and your soul gets crushed.
The race is riding away from you. No matter how much your brain
screams, your body still snaps like a dry-rotted rubber band.
There’s nothing left. All of your hopes and aspirations
are replaced with a tidy little package of all-consuming despair.
If you race and haven’t experienced it yet, you will eventually.
Sooner or later the race will ride away from you, too.
In fact, that’s the one time when I have anything at all
in common with a Tour de France rider. I’m the non-threatening
rider who is allowed to carry the yellow jersey while the favorites
sort themselves out, waiting for their moment to pounce.
In that instant, I’m the guy that eventually watches as
stronger riders strip his small moment in the sun away from
him.
I admit it; there have been races where I’ve just laid
down before I gave it my all. My body was tired and my
nerves were raw, and I just decided that finishing would be
enough. I decided to let them ride away, and finish at
my own pace instead of digging down and really pushing to see
how far I could go. It stings a bit, especially afterwards
when I have to honestly admit to myself that I still had something
left in the tank. Then I balance that with my goals for
the race. Most of the time I can live with not destroying myself
for a decent result, because I am usually completely surprised
when one comes along.
Then are the times when I’ve trained, plotted, and wrapped
my whole being around performing well in a completely unhealthy
way. Maybe I’ve strung a couple good races together,
deluding myself into believing that I might not be woefully
inadequate for the task at hand. I’ve measured the
competition, consulted the star charts, and generally done all
sorts of mental calisthenics (sure beats the physical kind)
in preparation for the upcoming event. If I’m really
serious, I might even start tapering my McDonalds intake a day
or two prior. Then I get absolutely destroyed, and that’s
when it’s not so easy to shrug it off. The clarity
is brutal. I know exactly how I stack up, and it’s
not pretty. Wailing about how it’s all so unfair
completely misses the point. I came up short.
Sometimes a known rider comes from nowhere, peaking in what
was supposed to by your time of glory. Sometimes it’s
a rider you’ve never seen who sneaks in and steals the
show. Sometimes you miss a move that ends up costing you.
However, it’s usually the strongest/most skilled rider
who ends up winning. That’s the rider that takes
care of himself, that maybe avoids high fructose corn syrup
or simple carbohydrates, or doesn’t bail on a training
ride to sneak in one more round of Halo. It’s
probably the same rider who is genetically designed with a huge
engine and the metabolism of a hummingbird. That
rider. In the long run, you can’t lay the blame
on him. At some point in his life hemade the conscious
life choice for fitness over bacon. I may disagree with
that choice, but you can’t really argue with results.
No, the blame usually lies solely on my shoulders. Most
of it can be directly tied to all of the promises I broke months
before. Last fall I swore I would eat better, lose weight, build
muscle, expand my overall fitness, and roll into the riding
season ready to chew the tires off of the peloton. Then
life intruded, and once again I made a compromise. Then
another. Then another. Finally I am left salvaging
something less grand and pure than what I had envisioned in
the aftermath of the last humiliation. Sometimes it’s
enough and sometimes it isn’t. Eventually the race
rides away from me again, and as always I’m left with
harsh reality as my riding companion.
Next
time will be different. You’ll see …
Mike Hancock has always
been late for everything. Although he was an extremely active
youth, the biggest thing he did in his 20s was gain 80lbs.
He was 30 before he started skiing seriously, and spent a great
deal of money and time becoming a marginal alpine ski racer.
He now coaches and
races with the Alyeska Masters, and runs a small NASTAR-esque
racing league. Not content to be lousy at only one expensive
sport, he actively sought one where excess weight is a serious
disadvantage - road cycling. He now races to experience acute
embarrassment and learn the value of lung-searing pain. Although
he has lost a considerable amount of weight, he still considers
himself a fat-fat-fatty. He's not the only one.
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