Am I the only person who finds themselves navigating their way down a winding tunnel mostly in the dark and bumping clumsily off the walls, possibly even going backwards or in the wrong direction? Guided by only a pin point glimpse of light far away in the distance. I suspect I am not alone.
My tunnel is becoming narrower, and the twists and turns sharper and the descent steeper. I think it is now a luge, plummeting at a ferocious rate of knots to the point of termination. With eyes wide open and knuckles white and bloodied from hanging on for grim death there is no escaping the buffering of the wind of time and ever decreasing opportunities for learning and fitness gain.
There are now 14 days of training left available before Age Group Nationals. Only 6 or maybe 7 of those where I will have any reasonable pressure to make power and fitness gains. In both my power and fitness, there are gaping wounds of weakness in desperate need of surgery. I'll take rudimentary stitching with a wool sack needle and baler twine at this stage. Or a plaster, whatever is available.
To be honest, I admit that my biggest hurdle right now is my head. Actually this is my biggest opportunity. Luckily for every one else, I am the only one inside my head, you can thank me later, you are welcome. It is a fickle thing, always keeping its host on a veritable roller coaster of enthusiasm, hope, planning, courage and doubt, over thinking and reflection. The power of the mind had the body totally in its grip this Sunday at the WAIBOP road race champs. I am a seasoned athlete of nearly 12 months of clipping into my poor beaten up bike, who if it had the resources would have me jailed for domestic violence. Along with an extensive racing pedigree of two starts, I expect that I have a complete package to strike fear into the heart of any other poor soul whom meets me on the start line. Keep telling yourself that Leigh, but please remember which foot is not available to balance on while waiting in the marshalling area and try to not ride into the wheel of some unsuspecting racer while heading to the start and making a complete turkey of yourself.
Again Gary and I got up at stupid o'clock to get to Tokoroa. Yet there was an air of excitement as we drove through the dark, with the headlights illuminating the way. That is a fun view of darkness, this blinkered view of the day ahead. Tokoroa is not known for it's tropical climes and Sunday was no exception. Scores of shivering under dressed competitors headed for the early start times. Myself, I was still warm in suitable clothing and more likely many more layers of subcutaneous protection than the real athletes. Several more hours needed to pass before I rode, with Gary racing early. So after a coffee and Uno with Sal and Bradley we were rewarded with a few minutes of success. Kyle a close second in his race and my wonderful husband who puts way more time and energy into me than I deserve, finally was rewarded with a fantastic win in his grade. I jumped and squealed in delight. Now it's up to me to keep up the family trend of superior speed and judgement. Sorry guys, you are on your own, I suck. With the embarrassing certainty that I would win gold in my age group, as I was the only participant in that grade, I rode reasonably smoothly for the most part, even trying to go with the break of some exceptional athletes who duly put me in my place and left me in no man's land with the barbed wire and land mines of solitude until the following group mowed me down. From there the
pace was totally manageable and to my astonishment the hills did not render me defenceless. But I dithered and rather than making a decision and sticking to it, I made poor choices and rode with the conviction of someone unsure what to order from the black board menu. And the resulting pitiful effort was all the reward I deserved.
My lesson from racing yesterday is that I train harder than I race. When it counts I chicken out. Doubt and fear of failure robs potential from us. Many many times I have sat on the floor with one of our children wiping tears from puffy eyes. Sometimes it is the kid's faces wet with crying. Usually it is mine as I feel their fear of failure so deeply. Pep talks and positive affirmations ensue and eventually the afflicted youngster asks me to stop so they can finally sleep. So naturally these gems of psychological prowess flow into my own thought processes. That's a no.
If ever there is a time to pull a rabbit out of the wattage hat it is at opportune times of a race. Yet my power numbers and intensity levels were lower than the Tuesday tour of Figure 8. I didn't dare put it all in, instead I trundled along and found myself back at the car in no time under a cloud of disappointment in myself. I let myself down and coach too by allowing the fear of failure and a couple of poor decisions control my outcome. It is a dark hole that I would willingly swap with mechanical or physical misadventure.
From now on there is no fear of failure, I just did that and it hurts way more than physical pain. Give me dead legs and screaming lungs any day, that is a rewarding pain. Yet there is learning to be had, go hard or go home. I owe it to every one around me, to my children and family who have had to adapt and put up with me being away from them more than I should be in my selfish pursuit of development. It is them who pays the biggest price for this, not me. The least I can do is make good use of the gift of their support and tolerance I have been given, and be dragged from the roadside broken and exhausted yet free of the burden of fear.
So this is my challenge of the week, face doubt and fear of failure head on and tame the chorus of negative thoughts which flood the top two inches of my head. Besides, I don't have time to give the out of tune choir between my ears an audience to play to. I have some hill reps to do in a last ditch effort to complete my challenge with some degree of competency.
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