What I Wasn't Expecting on My First Race Back

Foreword: Thank you to all of the incredible women in my community. You have shown your care and support both at races and behind the scenes. I wouldn’t be where I am without your intentional empathy and earnest conversations. To the people who read the draft of this post, especially the women in my field, I honestly can’t sum up how much that meant to me. The tear filled emails and conversations we had only scratch the surface. 🥲💜

Prelude

Cheeky Preamble: Yes I know I’m a verbose storyteller. It’s not all concise with the scenes clipped where possible. I’ve also discovered and discussed the beauty of neurodivergent storytelling, and often ADHD storytelling. So true to form: I will unapologetically this story as I dang please. 😆

Last week, I had my first race of the season. It’s a season that I’ve been longing for and anxious about. I appreciate the friendships I have with the women I race with. I love hearing about the exciting things they have been doing. I love the fun post race banter of different strategies, strong efforts—that is when we’ve all recovered enough from maximizing our oxygen input and are gasping for air.

I was anxious of what may happen if I race. Not from a local perspective, but from unknown people who have seemingly the opposite perspective of so many experiences around me. There’s only so much that I can do. How do I approach this apparent tension? Well I procrastinated a few months. Obviously not by choice. Those darn railroad tracks and poor decision making.

The hour before the race started, people started mingling after they had checked in. It was great to catch up with people. It was touching to hear several women wondering where I had been or excited that I had healed from my injury and was riding outdoors again. It was lovely, but it was only the beginning of a larger perspective to come.

The Surge of Adrenaline

Dang these women rip my legs off. I didn’t think I was going to survive the first 2 laps. How long could people keep up this pace? They would start to drop me, and I’d find a bit more push to jump back on. Ok, here’s 5 seconds where I can breathe and calm the heart rate a few beats per minute. Strategies seem to be forming. Small attacks and counterattacks start testing the waters.

The 2nd to last lap is upon us which is always a question of which lap it is. Sure we should get 2 more laps, but there is always the question of the moto¹. The Senior Women are closing in and about to lap us. Can we hold on long enough? Or will this suddenly become our last lap? The flats section with the scary bump is gone. Do we hear the weird sound of an engine breaking through the many layers of the pain cave? Well we don’t see it yet. Keep pushing on.

The sound gets closer. I swear I’m not hearing things. There are only so many things to focus on, making sure to conserve energy where possible. A quick look confirms the moto is right behind us. It’s time to attack. I hear someone yelling that it’s “not our field.” We can’t intermix the fields and have the 4/5s trying to draft on the 1/2/3s. But this is different. If the moto passes us, this suddenly becomes our last lap with maybe 500m to go. I keep pressing, trusting this split second decision, before the final turn and seeing the checkered flag. A quick look back to see what the gap is. Ok I can hold at this pace for the last 30m.

After we all catch our breath and spin down in the little parking lot, we start the fun race banter. What is it going to be today? Massive kudos to the women who somehow kept keeping up the power for what felt like an eternity. Someone comes up and apologizes about yelling before the finish. We laugh about the experience. I didn’t have enough breath to respond during the race. She replies that I was the smarter racer this time. We start checking in with the other women’s field to see how their race went and the different dynamics at play there. The podium spots are starting to get sorted out.

We celebrate the women who won the race that week. An empty podium spot is truly that someone had to run home early. Also, she left all of us in the dust. 💯😮 There’s a lot more random discussions and plans being made. There is more of the we’re glad you are back discussions and catching up that didn’t happen before the race. Alright, I really should stop being a social butterfly and tell my legs it is time to listen because we have to ride home. At least it is all downhill. Do I take it easy on the way home? Of course not, my adrenaline is still going, it’s time to hit some random PRs on the way home.

Emotional Revelations

Shower. Food. Yoga. Sleep. In that order. I start thing about how endurance sports helps me to care for and appreciate my body, but that is a different post on its own. I see one of the racers got a QOM² after the race. Chances are one of us is going to get one or at least end up in the top 5. Extra congrats are shared. That was a wonderful evening and great way to re-enter the racing scene. Getting 2nd was exciting, but also surprising. It really did seem to come from the split second decision with the moto. I thought that was the end of my processing, but it took two more days for the second round to sink in.

That darn apparent tension. It’s a real thing. It’s had a lot of negative impacts on all women. We talk about it. I’m not naïve enough to think that there aren’t those with that sentiment who are involved in my local cycling scene. However, that is countered with the huge number of genuine interactions before, during, and after the race. It’s also about sharing the different goals and celebratory moments in our lives. Especially when we achieve one of the goals we had shared before. Those are precious. Occam’s razor is clear.

I was excited to rejoin the race scene. To catch up with my friends and see how we each pushed ourselves in different ways over the past year. What I wasn’t expecting was the continuous reaffirmation of “without question you belong here with us.” Writing about it and finally putting those pieces together still makes me cry. This comes with the recognition of another thing that I’m still processing. I can let down some of my guards here. I don’t have to defend myself here. I have a growing number of friendships within the field. At the same time, I start to realize that it isn’t just one or two women who have my back. I can breathe. 🥲