I am not sure I want to write this post today. Because if I do then that means I must acknowledge that my journey to the Nationals has come to an end. It has been 8 weeks since I first started to document my rise to stardom, and the wait for contracts and sponsorship from the throngs of businesses and organisations desperate to sign such undeniable talent. Neither the rise to glory nor brightly coloured clothing and shiny equipment eventuated. Oh well, their loss.
Eight weeks. That was the time I had to morph from an octopus on a bike into something that might resemble an athlete if looked at from far away and through squinted eyes with the sun in them. Fortunately my ignorance and lack of intelligence was what stopped me from dismissing BT's tongue in cheek suggestion that I enter. Conversely it was lack of said qualities that sent me head long into the unknown. I did notice Gary's look of 'you can't be serious' when the idea was put forth, I am glad that I didn't let on at the time. Other wise I would never have had this incredible life changing experience. A massive contributor to this has been me trying to share it with any one who is reading this. It has left me vulnerable yet empowered. Over the past few weeks, I have been astounded that there are others out there who have actually read my bumbling efforts. And now I am not sure how to say thank you without seeming insincere. For I am no one special, I have no particular talent or any part of me that is different, more or less than any one else. I am just me. A socially awkward and often times insecure creature who has chosen to do something she finds uncomfortable. And from my discomfort others have been able to relate, laugh and hopefully look into themselves to challenge their own self imposed limitations. Yet again I am procrastinating, so I shall get on with what I have to say......
This week I wanted more time. This has come around far too quickly and I am not ready. And to add anxiety to the muddy mix of excitement, anticipation and fear my stomach was often doing little twists and contortions every time I thought of the coming weekend. I had a strong urge to panic train, to cram those last few kilometers in in a vain attempt to ever feel prepared. It's too late for that now. And the only thing that was going to help was to do less.
Race week has become just a few days, and now we are at the point of no return. Gary and I have talked of this time over and over. Every little detail has been planned. He and I both enjoy structure and routine, so we love nothing more than knowing exactly what is going to happen and when. So with the security of a check list and start times from the race committee we go about being at the right place at the right time, prepared. Friday was TT day for Gary. The drive to Waikite Valley is one we are familiar with now. On the way over I thought, no, actually waffled on for quite a while, about how this hidden away place south of Rotorua has become such a direct focus in our home for the last couple of months. We have pored over maps, ridden and driven the roads. By that I mean all of the roads, getting lost and disorientated seemed to be the norm. And after this weekend, we possibly will never travel this way again.
I get an immense amount of pleasure and pride watching Gary race. Seeing him do well makes me happier than any thing I can do for myself. This weekend was no exception to the rule. On Friday his TT went foot perfect, coming in a solid second. But the victory was that he rode it exactly how he had planned. I wish I could do any thing as I had planned. In my mind it's all figured out but when I have to deliver, I always seem to fall short or deviate, which usually ends in failure. Saturday did roll around quickly, and as it was raining and I didn't want to risk melting, a prep ride on the trainer was the order of the day. Then back off to Waikite for Gary's road race. I had no time to wallow in my nerves or entertain the nagging voices in my head of what I fraud I am to actually think I can foot it here, with the loud speakers and sponsors banners. What transpired that day made life as I know it perfect. And I didn't even manage to record it properly. From the lengthening shadows of the late afternoon, a solo figure came into view. Wait a minute, I recognise that shape, and the blue shoes left no doubt. The carefully positioned iPhone was now capturing fleeting glimpses of tarmac and sky as the operator lost all motor control. And I cried. Shuddering sobs. Other spectators must have looked at me and thought I was a complete nutter. They'd be one hundred percent correct. But I didn't care. Gary's solo win in his road race had made the weekend complete. And again a welcome distraction from my looming fate.
Try as I might, I could not sleep on Saturday night. Eventually the alarm blurted awake and that day had dawned. This was it. Under the blanket of darkness we set off back to Waikite. Now I had nowhere to hide. We knew it was going to be cold, not this cold though. The further we travelled, the temperature dropped. Once we got there is was a tropical 1 degree and the countryside was cloaked in frost. Shivering as I stripped down to the meagre layers of protection offered by bib shorts and top, it certainly wasn't just the frigid air that was making me shake. I was scared. I had no place there. To really add to my despair I had packed differing brands of leg warmers both for a left leg. One clever hack I did learn from coach himself was to shove a piece of newspaper down my front for extra insulation. Great, I look like the village idiot, dressed like fish and chips, kill me now. As we assembled in the collection area, I wanted to cry and run away. I had a lump in my throat. Eventually once we had been delivered with the obligatory briefing about safety and road rules, I followed the group out to the start line with the enthusiasm of someone heading to have a tooth extracted without anesthetic. I had no place here, these girls look fast, I look ridiculous. Fortunately for me, as I was totally not plugged in, the first few kilometers were sedately paced and I wasn't dropped immediately. As it transpired we were all dropped post haste by one particularly talented rider, never to be seen again. This served as a prompt sharpen up prod, and the race was on for silver and bronze. Now I came right. The pain of the cold was forgotten. Over the course of the efforts, our wee group broke down into two. Fortunately I had survived to make the front group, and now I had a real challenge. My attention was firmly on the task at hand. We were very evenly matched and our race went quickly and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Silly girl, there was nothing to get so worked up about, rip that newspaper out from under your shirt and just go ride your bike. It did transpire that I was not strong enough at the very end and although I tried my best fourth was my place.
So that was that. I raced in my age group at Nationals. But I had succeeded in my own way. I took on what seemed like a insanely irrational challenge and completed it. Along the way, I learned a lot about myself. I learned a lot about others. Every one has been so supportive and genuinely kind in my endeavours of personal growth. There were tears of happiness, tiredness and dare I say it a touch of pride. Minty was loaded back into the car and we drove out of the field for the last time. Come Monday morning, the children will return to their school and the only sign that their country valley and roads had hosted hundreds of riders searching for glory will be the burnt grass from wheels on ice.
That draws to a close my challenge. I did do it, probably not as poorly as I had feared I would. No body died in the process. Actually there was growth, not death, nor failure. It was something I could not have achieved on my own. I owe all of my learnings to those around me and their support and knowledge that was so freely given. Thank you, again and again to every single person who has been a part of this girls minor goal which has reaped major rewards. Physically, emotionally and spiritually.
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