Aug 13 2009
National Championships-Part 2
Even though pretty much everyone knows about my results from the National time trial, I still feel obligated to write about it since it is one of the biggest highlights of my cycling career thus far. The 24K course the individual time trial was to take place on was certainly a challenging one, and can simply be described by the use of one symbol; /. No, I wasn’t referring to the semi-colon or the period there (though those courses would be challenging in their own way, too), but instead the slash mark. The 12K ride out was a very painful, very slow ascent, and the ride back was a very fast, very fun descent. Going out I averaged about 15 mph, and coming back I averaged speeds above 40 mph, with my 170 psi. tubular tires acting very much like those superballs you get at just about every arcade in the world.
I knew I was doing well when I had passed every rider in front of me by the turnaround, and by that time the race was pretty much over because the real race was on the uphill, seeing as though not much time could be made up on a screaming fast downhill. As I crossed the finish line I looked up to see a time of 40:3-something (I actually don’t really know what my time was. Every article or e-mail I read says a different time) which really didn’t mean much to me at the moment because I was the first person in anyway. It was only after the other riders started coming in that I realized how truely fast my time was–almost 2 minutes faster than most. I must say, having to sit there and watch every rider finish was a truely nerve-racking experience, but when I saw last year’s winner (Coryn Rivera) cross almost a minute down, I knew I had won this one. Believe it or not, I have so many silver and bronze medals that my living room wall is in danger of falling over, but I have never actually gotten a national jersey. The only other time I got a gold medal was by winning the 2007 15-16 girls track scratch race in Colorado Springs, but never got a jersey from it because it was an omnium event, which means I had to win the overall (scratch, points, and 500m TT) to get it.
So you can bet I savored my first real national championship. The podium ceremony that night was packed with onlookers (even more than usual) and included several national coaches and other various important faces. I would love to be able to say that I walked up there all cool and suave, and then did a super amazing back-flip up onto the podium with a dazzling smile on my face, but the truth is that I took one look at that crowd and suddenly felt more like hiding behind that podium. If you’ve ever read my rider report about my horrendous Vernon Hills podium experience, then you’d understand that I have a serious condition of Stageaphobia, and I think both me and the crowd were both relieved I didn’t have to make any speeches because, after all, I have set the world record of the “Worst Sentence Ever Put Together By a Human Being”. I really didn’t feel like breaking that record, so I already had an escape plan in mind which included jumping into the river (which happened to be only several feet from the podium) and swimming to safety on the other side. Fortunately, as I have said before, I didn’t have to make a speech, so all I had to do was stand nervously on the top step, not make too much of a mess of putting on my jersey, and inconspicuously try to figure out that the podium girl was trying to kiss me on the cheeks like French people do.
After the podium ceremony, I walked around for a while in my National Champions jersey and gold medal, just to savor the moment, because this was a moment I had worked so hard for over the past five years. It would be easy to make it sound like it was just another victory in a stack of medals, and another result to add to a growing race resume, but in reality, this meant far more than that to me. From my first year of racing I had dreamed of winning a National Championship, and it had become an unsaid goal of mine since winning the silver medal in the time trial of my first Nationals as a 12-year-old. Every year since has been a frustration in some way as my collection of silver medals increased rapidly, but I still failed to win one gold. And to finally win in the hardest, most unforgiving type of race brings the greatest satisfaction, to know I didn’t just win by the luck of another’s crash, or by a millimeter in a photo finish, but instead because everyone had started with the same opportunity, with the same course ahead of them and the same clock counting their seconds, and I had simply ridden it the fastest. It’s the most basic form of victory in cycling, but also the greatest test of all, because there are no secret energy-conserving tricks or shortcuts or team tactics in a time trial; it’s just you and your bike.
And that’s what is so great about time trials;big names and reputations no longer matter, because when that gun goes off, and the clock starts ticking, the true champions will show.
And they have shown.
