Dear Readers,
Yesterday, one of my favorite people in the world Anne Rock raced in the Arsenal Crit in South Philly. The was a huge mile stone, and victory for Anne. After swapping texts with her in the afternoon, I asked her to put together a write up of her event. I hope you love this piece as much as I do! Without any further ado:
Brain, Body, Heart & Soul
I love bike racing. Road. Track. Cross. Mountain. All of it.
You know those freaks that go bananas on the top of cols at the Tour de France? Who join
fantasy cycling leagues? Who wear costumes at races because how could you not? Who eat
French pastries during July and watch both morning and evening broadcasts of the Tour
stages? C’est moi.
My passion for spectating is almost proportionally opposite to my skill at racing. I’m a cat 1
spectator and pack fodder in cross and mountain bike races. Road has been my weakest
discipline, my nemesis, the one that constantly crushes my spirit.
I’ve been doing Tuesday morning sprints. And the Thursday Great Valley training crit. I’ve
got two ascents of Monte Sainte Anne in my legs. Two! I’ve lost the equivalent of a cat litter
bag of weight over the last few months. I’ve been frequenting the local yoga studio so much
I say OM in my sleep.
My body is ready!
When I got shelled almost immediately in last week’s women’s open at the Ambler Crit, I
couldn’t believe it. Getting shelled is what usually happens when I try a road race, but I
thought all this training would produce different results.
It turns out my shellacking wasn’t due to lack of fitness. Worse. The culprit was my brain.
I am a head case. And my head is enemy territory.
I’ve never been a strong road rider. Or at least that’s what I’ve told myself. And when you
tell yourself something enough, you start to believe it. Then you become it.
“I can’t climb.” So I get dropped on hills.
“I can’t bridge gaps.” So I get dropped during attacks.
“I have no business being at this race.” So I take myself out.
In preparation for cross, I aimed for the ¾ race at the Arsenal crit. As I rode through 24
miles from Northwest to South Philadelphia to get to the course, I was at peace with being a
head case. I knew that being physically prepared for the race wasn’t an issue. It’s all about
mental toughness.
Before the race, I chatted with Shaina Kravitz, a rider I admire greatly for her grit and
perspicacity. She offered sage advice, as did Werner Freymann and my husband, Gus
Maurer.
For once, I followed directions.
From Shaina: “Stay in the pack. Don’t go off the front.”
From Werner: “Try to be 5th wheel. Don’t go off the front.”
From Gus: “Your goal is not to win. Your goal is to finish with the pack.”
The race went well, without incident. I managed to stay 5th wheel or thereabouts for most of
the race. I ignored invitations from the front to take a pull, accepting only one and pulled
for about ¼ lap. Any time a gap started to form, I had Paul Incognito’s voice in my head
yelling, “Grab a wheel, Rock!” I almost over-cooked a turn, narrowly avoiding hitting the
curb, and slightly soiling my chamois. Just kidding. Not about the turn, but the chamois.
Bell lap, and I’m still in it. Not just in it, not just hanging on, but moving up, making choices,
bridging gaps.
You know. Racing.
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| Photo Credit: Jeffrey Miesemner via Annette Weaver FB |
I didn’t contest the sprint. Coming out of the final turn, I sat up, mesmerized by the
kaleidoscope of jerseys and whirling cassettes. Dizzy from a hard effort. Comforted by a
sense of belonging. Grateful for the joy of two wheels. Pumped that my body overcame my
brain.
And that’s when I burst into tears.
Because today was all about the mental and emotional aspects of racing.
After my cool down lap, I rode over to Gus who had been cheering for me like a champ. He
helped me understand that it doesn’t matter what other people think about your
performance. It’s only important what you think about your performance.
And then I burst into tears again.
Because let’s face it. Cycling is all about the passion.
At least for me.
Thanks Anne and Congratulations and thanks for reading.
respect
fatmarc