Thirteen
One lap into the biggest race of the season, it's not going well and the situation has the potential to get worse. I am in about 15th place and struggling for breath, power and skill. A decent performance is in doubt. I'm not superstitious, but getting to the start line of my 13th consecutive national cyclocross championships has been a debilitating mix of injury, illness and crippling hypochondria. The usual week of paranoia leading up to the big day had this year ballooned to five weeks of self-induced stress. It all started going a bit wrong on the 9th December;
A race at the cyclopark in Essex involved more running than most races require. My body is no longer able to get away with anymore than just a minimal amount of running and I pull a calf and hamstring during the race. This was the first injury for about three years, I manage to finish but I still had three races to go; at Clanfield, Andover and then up to Scotland for the National. I have multiple visits for treatment in the ensuing weeks and spend more time stretching than training!
Clanfield has become one of my favourite venues, so much so that this time even though it is only 90 minutes away, I decide to take the campervan and stay on site the night before. I use it as a test run for the van in preparation for the upcoming trip to Scotland. The organiser allowed me to stay in the horse paddock, there was no one else around except for a couple of horses. It’s a privately owned permanent cyclocross venue at a beautifully secluded location. The race the following day was not only a real test of strength on a hillside course but an indication of whether these injuries are going to cast doubt on my national appearance. The running up a steep long bank each lap did cause the calf to pull again but only on the last lap and luckily I was clear of the field as I hobbled to the finish line.
I now had a three week break from racing to try and repair the injuries. The idea was also to train super hard over Christmas. However, things did not go to plan with first a cold but then worse, as a stomach bug has me throwing up my lunch. On my bathroom floor, wrapped around the toilet, retching was not the form I needed to be in! Then a chest infection caused breathing issues. All this disruption also triggered some mental anxiety. It was all going wrong just before the highlight and main goal of the season. A few times I was unable to even turn the pedals when trying to train, I was seriously lacking any strength. I was now also struggling to sleep. Only getting 2 or 3 hours at a time. I was a zombie, waking up with either cramp in the calves or coughing up and suffering with a raw throat. Not training much at all and feeling rubbish. The day before the penultimate race of the season at Andover, I was wondering if I should pull out and even had to consider not travelling up to the National. As it was in Scotland the trip was a full four days away, how could I commit to that as I was doubting my ability to function? I was gutted this was happening, I treasure being able to compete at the national. I knew I was ill and injured but my mind was making things a lot worse, exacerbating the insomnia and degrading my confidence. My paranoia was increasing, I knew this was foolish. I tried to relax and be cool about the situation but nothing was working. Being cool used to be so easy, I'd just put on a Scritti Politti T-shirt and walk with a slight swagger. Now at 54 everything seems to be a worry.
Then came the turning point, with the help of Davina’s motivational chats,
(She saw how foolish I was being and the pointless struggle I was having with my mental attitude);
‘You are not a failure if you don't succeed, you are a failure if you don't try’.
I finally snap out of my low at Andover and despite feeling weak and lacking any power beforehand, I have a great race (just a week now before the National) and achieve my season’s goal of podiuming at a senior race with a 2nd place. Being surrounded by twenty year olds in a race is exhilarating and only cramp in the final two laps prevented me from challenging for the win. The over distance workout (61 minutes rather than the usual 40 minutes for a vets race), proved the strength was there after all. As you can see for the photos, I am having to wear leggings during these races to try and keep my calves warm, and to minimise the possibility of aggravating the injuries, I laboriously have to tape up the back of my legs each race and session. These efforts take a lot to recover from and I celebrate my 54th birthday feeling my body is barely holding together.
The solo road trip up to Nationals was a great adventure. Four nights in my camper and as Clark W Griswold would say ‘'getting there is half the fun'’. First night (Thursday) was in Rotherham at the Rother Valley Park. I had a lovely ride around the muddy trails and massive lakes there and the camp site was right beside the bike routes. The relaxing time there was also spent checking over my bikes and kit. The following day was a long solo drive to Scotland, then I ride five laps of practice on the course on the Friday afternoon (it was a tough and slightly scary course with multiple bomb holes and drops). I spent the night beside the amazing Falkirk Wheel and finally feel I am ready to now make the most of the situation and just do the best I can.
Back to the actual national race and after that bad first lap, I am well down. From a couple of minutes in my left shoe has not clipped in. This is standard when mud gets clogged in the pedals and cleats and usually just needs a few whacks of the pedal to clear, but not this time, I may have a stone wedged in there. I swap bikes but I am still unable to clip in. Completing a full lap not clipped in was so treacherous on this course. I shout to my pit crew for a left shoe, which I have in the pits for such emergencies. Unbeknownst to me this request is causing panic for my two helpers. They have the shoe ok, just not sure of the changing procedure! Apparently, they even considered clipping the spare shoe into the spare bike before I approached, like in triathlon! That would have been interesting but a few minutes later as I approach the pits to change shoe, I just give the pedal one last big whack. It works, I dislodge whatever was restricting connection. To the relief of my helpers, I don't pit again.
The connection triggered a fresh hope that I can salvage something, so I throw everything at the next three laps. Inspired by my friend’s last minute good luck text message ‘In bocce al lupo’ (in the mouth of the wolf), I move through the field well, the power, the aggression are back. Also, I suddenly have the course under control and ride smoother, faster and with the skill that had been lacking. My last lap was my fastest as I nail some great sections and have an excellent battle with 1986 world junior champion Stuart Marshall. I just beat him and finish in 5th. Looking at the lap times I lost so much in the first lap, ruling out any chance of a medal but that's irrelevant now. I'd finished and the intense stress of the last five weeks instantly evaporates. The worry that my calves and hamstrings wouldn't hold out proved incorrect, (I really must work on my mental game next season, I’d been a fool to make the situation worse for myself). I was happy I had pulled a half decent performance out of the bag but a perfect race will have to wait until another time.
The next day during the long drive home however, I totally lose my voice, I’m coughing up thick mucus and yet again my throat is raw. I'm bed ridden for two days, so at least my hypochondria was justified, I was nowhere near 100%. On the plus side once home my 8-year-old daughter finds losing my voice hysterical, most days I don't need to play to be the fool and that's just fine with me.