I never once thought about climbing off yesterday. Yes it pissed rain. No it wasn't easy passing the carpark on each lap. Seeing more and more boots open, bikes abandoned, vacant stares on defeated cyclist's faces. Never crossed my mind. But I'm not Sean Kelly and tough as nails isn't my thing. Its just that its been a long winter, breaking my elbow only the half of it. When I sat and watched the TV in February I was a broken boy. The bike stayed in the shed communicating with the spiders. My mind was blank but despairing. Only my Coach Richie and one or two others kept at me, getting me up and going again. Non sports people don't get it. They are funny. If you break a bone its the end of you. For them a surge of adrenaline is an extra finger of Prosecco. For me, as a cyclist, I saw it differently. I'd invested heavily in my fitness from September to January and Richie got me to reboot, throw off the mantle of setbacks and get going again. And he was right. It was only a matter of weeks.
Fast forward to the Frank O'Rourke races yesterday. It was my club, the Wexford Wheeler's biggest event and it was time to repay their faith in me. All that time and effort to climb off? No thanks. So my legs were a purple/blue shade? So what? I was shaking on the headwind sections but hadn't I been out in every conceivable type of weather all winter? It was going to take more to get me to quit my first open race of the year. Besides, if my legs were a funny colour and if I was cold to the bone, so was everyone else.
So when Philip scuttled up the road in a break of four it was our race to lose. Albert filtered around the front running interference as the gap hovered at 30 seconds. We still thought it was crossable but a couple of stalls in the bunch and then it was a minute. Game over. Our guys had a few digs. But fourth and fifth places for myself and Dave were not yet guaranteed. After the race Dave said that he'd been way back coming into the last few kilometres. That was some game of leap-frog to play because there was no bunch, just a long, sorry line of sodden bodies marching home. I, on the other hand found myself too far up front, scared and exposed like a groom tied to a lamp-post on a stag-night.
I'd done a recce the night before. How was I going to use the south-easterly wind to my advantage? Driving up and down the finishing straight with me Ma in the passenger seat, I discovered a channel down the right-hand gutter that would be more exposed to wind-assist than the traditional left side I always seemed to be in.
Come race day I jammed it in a heavy gear and exploded down the right, two seconds before I reckoned the sprint would start. Instead of cramps, cramps and more cramps, I just felt numb. I doubt I'd have hurt myself if I'd fallen. However. I wasn't numb to the dude creeping up my left-hand side. On a Colnago. He used the same road-channel and the vortex of my escaping ass to tootle past and claim third. Just as well I like Colnago bikes or I'd be gutted.
I didn't have a sprint so much as a numb, jelly-legged wobble to the line. But the hardest part of the day was ten minutes later trying to hold a coffee cup without drowning everyone in the hall. I shook like I had the DTs. And then it struck me. If I had the shakes while staying warm by cycling, how on earth did the stewards, Marshalls and photographers feel? They must have been destroyed!!! Good God! And what about Sean Rowe, a cross between Gandalf [for appearing out of nowhere, anywhere on the course] and Captain Ahab [for that rain-cape and his single-minded dedication, bordering on obsession]. The bigger performances of the day were of the non-cycling variety. I had it easy. Hats off!!!!
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