Four: Lord, I need
Your help, I know I cannot do this on my own, it is all about You and for Your
Glory. Please carry my Father.
Three: Deep breath, what did Scott say just a few minutes
ago, the race is to the top of the hill, just a little over 3.5 miles then it
is a nice steady downhill after that
Two: What did my coach say, start at stay steady do not
spike at the start and then have to recover just to get going again when you
are about 2 miles into it
One: All I see is the
single finger held in front of me, balanced on my bike, clipped in, gear
selected and ready to go with the sound of my heart beating drowning out any
other audible noise. Oh Jesus, here we
go!!
Go!!
One hundred yards and a quick right hand corner, shifting,
gaining speed, a quick glance at the Joule GPS says I am up over 420 watts and
speed is hovering right around 28 mph!!
“NO, I spiked, coach said not to, I knew better, I knew better. Move on Bracken, settle in and focus.” As I settle in I realize that my first time
riding tubulars and watching power should not make me jump to conclusions. I didn’t spike but was building with a slight
tail wind with some awesome equipment (Enve 65mm CycleOps tubular wheels with a
G3 power tap hub and Joule GPS). “Okay
focus, breath, control, remember the hill coming up peaks at 4% grade and is
slightly less than a mile long” As the
road races under the expertly mounted tubulars, the gradual trend up hill is barely
noticed until the scream for more oxygen penetrates my being emanating from my
legs. “Shut up legs, Shut up legs!!!” At
the crest of the hill there is no reprieve however this is self-induced, as to
let up would be to give less than what is required, as the road slowly begins
to fall away, a quick look at the Joule GPS to ensure that cadence and power
are still in check, “okay all is good, keep cranking.” The next few miles are hardly perceptible as
the elation of racing in the true test of a cyclist, pitting rider against the
road and the weather. Coming around a
corner there are a few cars parked on the side of the road, “There it is, that
must be the finish line, just about 1000 meters to go!! Time to dig deep.” As my heart begins to race into the anaerobic
zone and the muscles are making an audible scream, the final dregs of power are
being wringed out of bike and rider to propel the combination not just to the
finish line but well beyond it. As I
settle back in after crossing the line a quick look up the road at the timing
screen indicates 21:30:57. “Thank you
Jesus!!!”
A quick turnaround to head back by the clock to watch for
Scott Ryman to cross as we are riding under the same jersey this weekend and is
a fellow brother in the Lord, my heart rate beings to deflate and the muscles
jubilant response in the return of oxygen bring about an elated feeling knowing
that all had been left on the course.
Later that afternoon after a brief time of recovery, nutriating and some time with the kids in the pool at the hotel it is off to the Crit. At this point, all I knew was that I had left everything out on the time trial course but had no idea as to how I feel against the other competitors. After searching for a spot to park, and going to find the sign in for the next stage it is off to look at the results and standing of the mornings contentions. Looking over the board littered with names and times listed by category, I quickly find the 3 pages that make up CAT 4 men. “Okay, start by looking at times, not names.” Looking over the right hand column, it becomes quickly apparent that the 21 minute range is going to be at the top. “Wait, what, THANK YOU JESUS!!! All the way at the top, number one. Lord this is your doing. Thank you.”
Approaching the start line, all alone, as they call out the
G.C. leaders is a little intimidating.
Feeling the bulls eye being visually painted on by back by each and
every competitor. This and know this is
my first mass start CAT 4 race, not to mentation a crit on a 1.1 mile loop,
with mostly right hand turns (I like left hand turns a lot better), the nerves
are just about palatable. Finally they
call for the rest of the riders to approach the start line and the next thing
heard is the start bell for a 35 minute crit.
Truly not knowing what to expect, I come out strong, but obviously not
strong enough as the first lap is a prime lap.
Over the next few laps I find myself falling farther and farther back in
the peleton. “DO NOT GET DROPPED, DO NOT
GET DROPPED, I DO NOT CARE WHERE IT COMES FROM, BUT DIG DEEPER AND CLIMB THE
PACK!!!” Whether it is the return of
clear though from the land of anxious nerves, the muscles warming up more
fully, trusting the equipment that I am riding on to carry me through the
corners, or all of the pieces coming together, trusting in the Lord, in His
sovereignty working all things together for His glory, not mine, but His, I
find myself climbing the peleton to the front of the pack. “Thank you Lord, this race is Yours, not
mine, win or lose or somewhere in the middle, be glorified.” With 4 laps left I come around turn number 1
and find myself out in front, do not let up now. “2 laps to go, dig and be ready for the
break… there it goes” in one simultaneous
exhale the peleton picks up the pace and the final attack begins. Even though it is expected, somehow it always
catches me by surprise, now I it is time to play catch up. Still holding strong going into the final
lap, back about 6 wheels. How does the
pace continue to accelerate, there is more left in the tank, I don’t know
where, but there is more left. A flood
of training comes back to active memory, even at the point of fatigue there is
somewhere around 50% left in the tank.
“okay, you have some left, remember all the time on the trainer, you
know what to do” With the protest of
every muscular fiber in my body a surge of power explodes through my legs
through the pedals and ultimately down to where the tires meet the road. With the sudden lurch of the equipment and
rider, times simultaneously with the rest of the peleton we enter into the last
corner and the final sprint. I am not a
sprinter, at least not yet, but know that at this moment it doesn’t matter what
I am or what I am not, I need to be a sprinter.
A flurry of bikes and multi colored jerseys both pass and are passed
right into and across the finish line.
Not first across but a pack finish.
“Lord thank you, I have never had a race that tough before. Thank you
for helping me, for a pack finish, above all for Your all sufficient Grace!!!”
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