The post race ramblings from a very well known elite female marathon mountain bike racer and successful immigration lawyer who elected to race the 45km Marathon Challenge at Mount Avoca Winery last weekend…
I definitely had no regrets about riding half a race today.
I have previously scorned the idea of ever entering a short version of a marathon but, in light of my last few weeks, it seemed my only option (I could not even call it my only sensible option it was indeed my only option). My training for the last month involved a single speed commute from home to work, via the station (around 1.8km each way starting at 0800 and returning at 2445!) and my training diet involved the 0100 consumption of significant quantities of red wine and organic dark chocolate (although one night Sando did dragg me out of the office temporarily, to eat dumplings).
Pretty much the ideal taper, right?
I never miss a Big Hill Events do (although Apple Maps has tried to thwart such plans on multiple occasions). They are they held in fantastic riding locations you would normally never explore, they are bloody tough, and brilliantly organised. The attention to detail is outstanding and it obvious that the events are run by passionate, elite mountain bike riders (who also understand how much punters LOVE eating free food at aid stations).
I was extremely saddened to hear that this was the last Avoca marathon (due to dwindling numbers), the event is no longer considered viable with the significant amount of detailed logistical preparation. The preparation is the same whether there are 100 or 1000 riders, of course the only difference is the profit margin. So I wasn’t missing this opportunity to ride (half) of my favourite marathon one last time, then hang out in the picturesque surrounds of the Mount Avoca Vineyard with the blue Pyrenees looming in the distance (and many cute puppies in our proximity). And drive past wind farms, because I just LOVE wind farms!
The start: The 8km gravel road climb is a perfect time to:
- Separate the field before the single track
- Vow never to drink red wine the night before a race again
- Relive breakfast
For me, ‘2’ and ‘3’ were prevalent (although the likelihood of ‘2’ ever in fact occurring is akin to the probability of uncensored media in China). However the views into the valley, as the sun burnt away the clouds over the rolling vineyards, were enough to take my mind off unhelpful thoughts such as ‘2’ above. Thanks to my roadie wheelsucking skills, and my ability to totally massacre myself at 8:07am, I managed to stay away from people much better at climbing hills than me (people like Amity McSwan) and it wasn’t until the top I saw her grimacing and heard her swearing behind me.
“People always ask what you think about when you’re riding alone for many hours. The simple answer is… nothing particularly profound… Whether tessellate only applies to repeating triangles, hairy arms, then about polygamous marriages.”
The middle: Over the next 10 or so km of undulating fire road, Amity bobbed away in front of me. I yelled up the road to keep her head still and the boys around me cracked up laughing, but to no avail. It made for an amusing sight, this tiny lady chewing stem to drag 3 much larger men along the fire roads. After the aid station, and happy smiles from the gorgeous Jo, Andrea and Nada, it was a single track party. My technical climbing skills weren’t passing the parcel, but it was all streamers and fairy bread on the technical single track descents. There was a bit of chicking happening, but after that I didn’t see a soul (except for those slutty triplet sisters) until the finish.
The Behind the scenes that we never really appreciate enough. Photo by Maj
People always ask what you think about when you’re riding alone for many hours. The simple answer is… nothing particularly profound. For example, I spent many kilometres thinking about whether all the squashed butterflies on the road were from the same family, then creating new words for genocide (of butterflies), then thinking about whether tessellate only applies to repeating triangles, or whether other geometric shapes are allowed. Then I thought about how I was going to artfully detach myself from a particularly needy client on Monday morning, then I thought about hairy arms, then about how polygamous marriages are acceptable in some cultures but not ours. It’s funny, isn’t it, how the clarity and perspective which comes from cycling must somehow filter through an absolute flood of inane, bizarre thoughts. Perhaps the lack of focus itself, being lost in idiotic thought in a beautiful location, is the freedom we crave.
The end: I was getting chilly descending off the Pyrenees and really mooned along for the last 15km or so. I suspected Nicci wasn’t too far behind me and had been alone for so long that I wished I had company, so I kept looking round hopefully. You could conclude I wasn’t particularly racing, but it was more due to unfitness and inability to physically ride faster than creeping pace, than lack of motivation. I really was having a great time; I loved the course and simply being outside (having been at my desk the last 3 Sundays).
The 45km distance was immensely enjoyable and made it possible to ride unprepared (aka Maj ghetto style: one bottle, one gel, crap shoes, no gloves (I bought 2 left gloves) etc). It was hard but you didn’t want to throw yourself off a precipice.
The end (again): I am sad that this is the end of a great race; hopefully it is a mere temporary absence from our race calendar. As always, my gratitude and thanks to my beautiful sponsors, FitzRev, BikeBox, Schwalbe, Exposure Lights and Monza/Intense for allowing me to ride amazing products all the time (Eddie was faultless, the love affair continues). Due to this looming feeling of losing something amazing, I was quite overwhelmed with emotion today thinking about all the people behind the scenes who make riding possible. The people handbuilding my bike with love and care, the people at my shop who are incessantly patient and helpful (DC, Jimmy, Tim), the people who volunteered to freeze on the ridge line marshaling for 9 hours today, the people who take their excavators and shovels to build trails for us to ride, the people who spent months organising every detail of an event and buying pasta to put in prize bags.
These are not glamorous roles and we cannot understate their fundamental importance to our ability to ride and race.