The definition of torture, the toughest women’s race in the UK, the first UCI Nat A in over a year (covid... you absolute tosspot). A royal baptism of fire, an acquired taste and test of every skill on the bike that you could think of - The Cicle Classic.
It took me a while to compose this blog…
This wasn’t something I’d been aiming for, it came up a little last minute after I showed I was capable of being in a big race and I ‘belonged there'. I had earned my spot by producing some decent results so far, in my first season.
It was a nerve-racking conversation I’d had with my DS. He offered the idea to me as if trying to offer someone a tin of sardines... someone who doesn't like sardines. You can imagine my face. My stomach sank at first… I’d watched James fail to finish the Cycle Classic three times, and three times I had promised myself I’d never put myself in that hole. And then I agreed.
I hadn’t been training for this kind of race. I was still new to racing and this was going to be only my third road race (although the second I had punctured out of) , a Nat A with 140 riders. So we agreed this would be a ‘super recce’ for next year, absolutely no pressure, as long as I didn’t sit up in the neutralised zone. That’s a tough request pal.
Sadly, I had spent the week and a half beforehand quite unwell. I'd touched my bike once when I was feeling just ‘rough’ and after that? Nothing. I spent a solid week on the sofa, asleep.
I knew going into this race that the odds were against me and I probably should have accepted that I shouldn’t race. I still wasn’t feeling 100% healthy by race day - still, am not… and it’s been another week since the race - and it was an achievement just making it to the start line.
I basically did nothing but cry before the race. Deep down I knew I wasn’t up for the challenge health wise, but I wanted to do it so badly. I’d set myself a low goal of making it half-way, but deep down in my heart I knew I wanted to get round, and I knew if I was fully fit I could achieve that goal.
I had told myself; I would do this for my mum. In hindsight, that was a mistake because I was already set up for failure, and by adding that goal I had piled on extra pressure my body couldn’t cope with.
It felt like we waited forever just to roll out to the start line. Eventually we lined up at the gates ready to be led out. Only of course the 'comms' needed to squeeze cars through, and people moved in all directions to open space for them, which meant I’d already got stuck at the back. They started leading us to the start line, where we were told to stay on the left-hand side because the roads weren’t closed – aye aye captain.
When we arrived at the start, they stopped us and started gridding us, leaving no room to squeeze up a few places. The wait was agonising, and as I sunk into the background of the last three rows, they finally started the race in the neutralised zone. I started moving up a few places – thanks to a good clip in (the only thing London riding has taught me). Unfortunately, someone came down in front of me - a nervous touch of wheels, it think, but I’m not sure. I really hope she was ok. But this made me unclip and have to restart my move up process, a skill I am not yet familiar with in such a big bunch.
All I could think was ‘is this game over? Sarah, our director sportive, told us not to be any further back than 40th, and I’m stuck in the muck at the back.’
There were so many talented riders, I couldn’t quite believe I was involved alongside them. We had to climb up a hill in the neutralised zone and the lead car stopped us to start the race. But the front of the bunch had crested the hill and before I knew it, the race was started and they were gone. I was so far back I was just cresting the hill and I could see the front riders at the bottom of the descent, already turning left. I was so overwhelmed.
My heart sank: I knew deep down that was my day over. I had already messed the race up, and I had already got inside my own head, and not in a good way.
It was so stressful at the back of the race. By the time we got to corners, everyone in front had slowed down which meant those of us at the back were almost at a stand still and accelerating hard out of every single corner. Mix that in with bergs, my illness and cardiovascular system that seemed to be failing me, and I was utterly demoralised. Every part of me wanted to sit up, give up, get off.
We hit the first gravel sector still attached to the bunch - you don’t even realise you’re doing a gravel sector when you’re in the race, concentrating.
I saw a split happen up the road in the peloton, but I was too far back to get up quickly enough. I chased for a while and finally a couple of girls started working with me. We picked up stragglers along the way as we tried moving up. For most of the race I could see the bunch in front of us, but there was nothing we could do to close the gap, they were absolutely tanking it.
I got distanced from my group during another sector, I’d ridden so fiercely over it I had some wheel slips and then a couple of girls slowed right down in front of me, meaning I couldn’t get past and ended up slowing down - a lot. I then spent a fair amount of time dangling off the back.
By now I was arguing with myself. I knew if I hurt myself, I could get across and sit in the group comfortably, but I also knew I was slower through the corners – not because I can’t corner, because hell, I can, but because I didn’t have the confidence.
A team-mate had punctured behind and ended up catching back up, with me. She asked how I was and all I could say was ‘bloody awful’. Then my team car appeared, checking in on me, but by this stage, I’d sat up, my head had completely given up.
It is so much harder riding a race from the back, somewhere I’d never been before, somewhere I didn’t understand. It was a tough race, but I could have done much better.
Take a guess what I did at the end? Cry? Me? Always mate. I'm the most emotional person you’ll ever meet… I cry with frustration, I cry with happiness, sadness… you name it. I couldn’t see any positives from the race, all I could see was failure. There were some salty comments made and some big-headed ones, which naturally make you feel worse about your performance… but such as life.
A week on and I can see some positives. I’m still gutted by my performance, but let’s be realistic… what the hell did I expect from my body? I’d been unwell, a couch potato for a week. I was still unwell on race day, and I expected to just smash out a solid race in my first Nat A, my sixth race ever ,and my second road race… What a clown! Going by my lead up to the race and poor positioning, and the fact I made it over half way round, the first goal I tried to kid myself was big enough, I did okay.
My team smashed it, as always. Two of them got round in the front bunch for most of the race, with mechanicals slowing them down a bit... but certainly not stopping them.
Looking back, I can now also say I enjoyed some parts of the race. The gravel was fun (hella scary) and it showed me that I’m not half bad on the rough stuff, good to know for when I ride my ACTUAL gravel bike, with its thick tyres and knobbly bobblies (James will be most pleased, when he doesn’t have to wait after every descent for me).
The funny thing is, I learn something new every time I race, and I quickly learnt, the people making stupid comments are not people to be afraid of. It just says bundles about who they are, and it makes them seem silly. You never hear the pro’s bragging about how well they did...
Will I race again? No.
Just kidding… of course I will, but when I’m back to full fitness. I’m still struggling with my breathing from being ill, and I feel continuing to push will lengthen this boring recovery process. You never know… I might end my cycling career here and become a full-time couch potato… life of luxury.
Now get on your bike and enter that race you’re procrastinating over.
Ride bikes, eat cake, be happy :)
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