This year I really did think it might be different. I’ve been dialing in my race nutrition and have two heaping fistfuls of long hard training days and races under my belt. This would also be my first year racing the course on big 29 inch wheels. The Super Fly would surely take some of the edges off the endless long, rocky descents that pulverize my shoulders and will to go on.
It all started off well enough. After signing in at registration, I kitted up, sprayed on some sunscreen, drank a Red Bull and rolled out with my friend Mike to hit the first hill for a warm up. Legs feel pretty good, I thought as we spun around the bend onto the steepest pitch. Just race your race you’ll be fine. We rolled back down; then hit the climb one more time just to open up the legs and get all systems a-go. As we made our way back to the start finish, the first few drops began to fall. Then it poured. We ducked under the timer’s table. “This sucks,” said the girl sitting behind the race clock. Indeed. As the name implies, French Creek is rocky; nearly nothing but. You’re either climbing up them, sailing down them, or picking your way through them. There are also roots, logs, and many bridges, which take on the traction of freshly Zambonied ice when wet.
The rain tapered off as we began staging. I made my way to the front and looked around for familiar faces. There was Mike to the left; Vegan Rob, Pickle, an old friend Keith, who I haven’t seen in a while but always crushes this course, and Richie Rich, a super friendly, very strong rider I’d met in State College late last year. I was happy to be in good company with plenty of wheels to follow, at least for a while. The race director said, “Ten seconds.” And we were off.
We started fast up the climb, thinning the pack to a small group as we reached the top and made a sharp left for the first big descent of the day. As we barreled over the rock drops and water bars, I was started having flashbacks of sufferings from years past This is why I don’t like racing here, I thought. I’m not a terrible descender. But I’m not a great one either. I’ve gotten much better at learning to ride loose and flow and just point my bike and let it do the work. But the rain had me scared. So there I am white knuckling the bars, wearing my shoulders around my ears and barking at myself to get off the brakes and relax! This behavior, I have deduced, takes a lot of energy, especially repeated 20 or so times over the course of 6 hours.
To be fair, I was riding pretty well and felt good for much of the day. I kept most of the front pack within my sight and finished just a bit behind the lead men on the first lap. I was drinking my bottles, taking my gels, and following the same nutrition plan from the past few weeks. The course was about 10 miles long. I’d made it my goal to do 5 laps. Three laps in, I realized that I was on pace to do 6. Normally that would be a happy realization. But I was starting to feel that creeping fatigue that tells me I’m not staying on top of my food needs. As I came into the pit area for lap four, I was still feeling pretty good, but could tell I was dangerously close to my reserve tank. I grabbed more gels and a bottle and rolled out hoping to rally.
And I did, for a while, until I didn’t. Somewhere, and really it’s sort of a blur, around lap 4 and into 5, I hit the wall. So, I just kept shoveling in calories that my stomach was rejecting, but my body needed. I dialed down the pace and willed myself to digest them. I was grateful for the uphills and swore my way down every jarring, rocky descent that made my shoulders, back, and arms scream and stomach churn. I had fallen off pace for six laps. I was disappointed, but also determined to finish this thing strong. So I made it a game. Just get to the split (the place where the course divides beginner and the rest of the racers) you only have a couple of miles at that point. When I got to the split I thought, just get to the switchbacks. When I got there, it became Just get to the campground; you’re really close then. I nearly got off my bike to do a jig when I came around the tents. I could hear the cheering, music, and general melee of the finish. It’s the most beautiful sound on a good day. It’s like an army of heaven’s angels playing harps for you when you’re suffering like a dog. I turned the final bend and crossed the line at 6:19. Oh, thank God.
In the end, only three riders had made it out for six laps—Vegan Rob and Mike C, 1st and 2nd place respectively (awesome work guys) among them—so I didn’t kick myself too hard. I’d taken first place in the women’s field and come in 11th overall. And Team CF had a killer day with Kristin taking first and Nikki 3rd in the women's elite XC race; Harlan taking 4th on his singlespeed in the men's XC race and Dr. Jim pulling into the podium in 3rd place masters endurance field. All said and done, it was a good day. It just hurt really badly.
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