The Berkhamsted Nat-B road race was a race I didn’t know I was doing until about three days beforehand, having been ill and suffering for a couple of months. To be honest, I didn’t know if I’d be able to get round a road race any time soon, let alone my first Nat-B. My GP told me not to race… so, like the good patient I am, I said ‘OK’, and did the opposite.
Truth be told, I was still struggling with my breathing and still am, so I wasn’t expecting much, but at least it would show me how I was truly feeling - I can never push myself far enough in training to assess how my body is really coping. Leading up to the race I think I had only done about one week of decent training with some intense riding since the start of my ill health. It was also 80km long, which is big for me at race pace.
DISCLAIMER: listen to your doctor – do as I say not as I do.
My thoughts behind choosing to race? My remaining health problems are to do with my breathing, and we aren’t sure of the exact cause. Chest X-rays are in the pipeline, among various other investigations and treatments, but what the GP said stuck with me: ‘Sometimes viruses and Covid can leave the lungs with scar tissue and it can just be that way forever.’ That scared me, and I didn’t want to give in like that or accept that could be the reason… So, I decided to fight fire with fire. Of course, none of that is confirmed, but the thought of it was too negative to accept and dwell on, being the worrier I am.
Cue race day. I had to go alone as James was also racing, luckily, I had our Director Sportif Sarah and some great team mates to keep me from insanity. I managed to control my volcanic nerves until arriving at the race HQ – unheard of for me. I’m not sure if my brain and gut are finally communicating appropriately, or if having no expectations meant I wasn’t stressed, but if I could hold onto that lack of stress, I’d be grateful. On previous race days, I have agitatedly bitten poor James’s head off to almost to the point of decapitation… poor show from me, fair play to him for sucking it up like a saint.
Things were a little different with my warm-up. James took the rollers to his race, so I had to warm-up on the roads – not all bad, but in hindsight, it wasn’t enough. We had a pre-race chitchat with Sarah, and some-how she managed to maintain my level of calm and keep me smiling.
I was the first to the start line, I don’t have much experience racing (7 in total with 2 DNF’s due to illness and mechanicals) and have ended up too far back in the neutralised zone so, I made it my mission to be on the car and that, I did. It meant when we glided through the neutral, and when I drifted backwards a bit I was still in the front part of the bunch.
A bloody great hill lead us into the circuit on the back of the car, which… might I add, didn’t go at a snail’s pace up the hill! Riders were fighting for position, scrambling with one another, and almost causing a vibrating twitch throughout the bunch. But it was a privilege to be in a bunch of women full of experience and talent.
As soon as the car released us, the bunch exploded with a hunger like no other, it kind of caught me off guard… I’m not sure why! The circuit wasn’t too bad, fairly flat for most of it and a 700-800m climb into a bend and a turn to the finish. However, the surface was filth… they had kindly placed a sign at the side of the road that read ‘CAUTION road surface failed’ – which it so happened to be on the descent: fabulous.
We had 12.5 laps to do, a mentally foggy, haze of a number! On the second time up the hill, there was a crash… and of course, someone tried to avoid it and rode straight into me, leaving me on the grass verge (of a nervous breakdown) and having to chase back on. The bunch was going so fast, I thought that was my race over. This is where the battle with my head started.
My head was looking for excuses to give up… was this fate? Should I sit up now? Surely, I was never going to get back on at that speed - they weren’t too far up the road, but it felt far enough!! However, while one voice in my head was telling me to quit, the angel on my shoulder was yelling ‘nothing worth having is ever easy.’ I knuckled down, optimised my aero position, and dug as hard as I could, mentally and physically. By some miracle, I rode myself back onto the bunch. But not without suffering.
By this time, I was wondering if I’d get dropped, or fail to make it around the race… I mean, I was happy I’d even started.
For about six laps the pace didn’t ease at all, people kept attacking, but nothing was going to stick… Nobody was working to make the attacks stick, and the whole peloton was at a very similar ability level… STRONG AS HELL. I worked out quickly that it would be incredibly hard for anything to go away and stick, so felt comfortable just watching the race unfold.
My chest wasn’t great: I had some pain and, thinking about what my GP said, I wondered if I ought to stop. But I swiftly concluded that if I died, at least I’d die whilst fulfilling my addiction. The sensations in my legs were horrendous… it was like towing around a tonne of lead.
I was the definition of ‘washing machine.’ I’d ride up to the front 15 and then be last wheel again, this process continued for the first five or so laps as the pace stayed high.
I was too concerned to get out of the saddle up the hill after watching the first crash occur from people overlapping their bars. So I sat in the saddle and churned my way up, and every time we passed the lap board, I made sure to check how much suffering I had left.
Eventually, by lap seven, it eased a bit, briefly, until someone sensed a slow in pace and felt it better for everyone to suffer. Tactics I guess, but all I could think was ‘nothing will stick, please chill out, and let us enjoy the damn ride.’
With two laps to go, the pace got even faster – I didn’t think it was possible, but we were drilling it like our lives depended on it. Then suddenly, here’s the bell for the last lap, and low and behold, here comes more speed.
This was where I needed to start moving up again. I knew I had 6km to do so, I wasn’t too concerned. The roads were wide enough for me to move around the outside of the bunch, which had shrunk drastically, and with half a lap, to go I was readying myself to move up more coming into the climb.
We flew around the last bend into the bottom of the climb. I was moving up carefully, but my progress was blocked by an oncoming car! I had nowhere to go, and obviously riders weren’t going to make too much space at this time. I ended up squished and practically last wheel again. Somehow, I didn’t panic. I just sat on someone’s wheel until a third of the way up the climb.
That’s when it hit me. I have to go. NOW!! I literally put my head down, got out of the saddle, and turned up the power to 11. I don’t know how, but all I remember is coming around the bend up the hill and thinking ‘hell, this is the front.’ The only thing I could think was: ‘this is the last time up the hill, PUSHHHH, you’re done!!’ As I crested the hill and took the bend, I could see that three riders had already gone up the road with some in tow. I managed to overtake a couple more but unfortunately, I couldn’t catch the three ahead - I’d started so far back, that by the time I reached the middle of the bunch the first three had attacked and were away and out of sight. Frustrating, because had I got myself into a better position, I might have been able to go with them, but such as life!
I can’t tell you, how proud I am of myself and the way my body performed.
I spent 70% of the race thinking I was going to get dropped, that I wasn’t going to make it and if I did get round, a top 20 would be incredible. With two laps to go, a top 20 was my goal.
I literally had no idea what I’d just done, I didn't know I’d actually gotten fourth. I thought I’d been caught. It wasn’t until Sarah told me, that I believed I'd got myself into fourth place. But damn, it wasn’t easy! The skill and pure strength in that bunch was something every single rider should be proud of. We are FEMALE CYCLISTS and we are taking the country by storm.
Usually after races I’m immediately looking for improvements I can make, but after this one I was just in awe of what my body did and the mental fight I’d won against myself.
It’s ok to be proud of your achievements and its acceptable to look at the positives.
Ride bikes, eat cake, be happy :)
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