It's
been months now since WEMBO 24 hour solo World Championships. I still haven't
managed to sit down and write about it... My assumption that things would
“quieten down” was completely unfounded and I found myself working on all those
“responsible” things that adults do that I should have been doing and mixing
that in with bouts of procrastination on the trails in the sunshine after work.
In fact, I haven't really written about anything... And that has haunted me,
day in and day out, like a monster lurking in the shadows of my mind. Without
penning my thoughts, there appears to still be unfinished business with my most
recent world championships experience, and I sincerely hope that in writing
about it now, I can put it to rest and move onto the next thing (whatever that may be!) with energy and
enthusiasm.
My training and preparation up to race day was good. In fact,
generally, I had a blast... Climbing mountains and having wicked adventures on
my bike with good people. I'll admit that the final month before the race, my
training became a little disjointed as the pressures of work, training and life
in general encroached on my rest time. The week before world champs, I became
quite sick... In fact, sick enough that I had to take a couple of days off
work. It was stressful, and the thought of missing out on the one event I had
been training for all year was entirely unfathomable... I was 100% invested...
But I felt good in my head, and I have always staunchly believed that your body
is merely a vehicle for the mind to achieve what it so desires.
Finally arriving in Canberra was a relief, especially with my best buddy
Sarah by my side as support crew. I felt nervous and excited, but surprisingly
calm. I was intent to not let anything phase me, despite my patience being
tested on a number of occasions. Such occasions included replacing my rear
brake calliper the day before the race (achieved by bribing the mechanic with
beer), darting from Stromlo to the airport to pick up my bro-in-law, then back
to Stromlo again to pick up my bike, running out of money (I mean completely
broke and maxed out credit card) on the second day we were there (thank God for
my best buddy and prize money) and appeasing my parents, who (God bless them)
just wanted to go out and boogey with their daughter the night before the race.
It would be remiss of me to not acknowledge that there are people who went a
long way for me for this one race. Mum and Dad braved the long drive up from
central Victoria to Canberra and then hung out in the cold and dark at the top
of the hill to cheer for me each lap. My brother-in-law, Dan, was kindly
volunteered for support duties by my sister and flew into Canberra especially
for the race (Dan is a physio and gives excellent massages, by the way!). My
good mate Sarah travelled all the way from NZ with me to take on the thankless
task of supporting me for the race. Kashi at Yeti NZ had made arrangements for
me to have a second bike for the year, pretty much identical to my race bike,
which was a privilege few riders get without spending copious amounts of money.
Andrew at AyUp lights had sent me out new lights which matched my bike. Mark at
Adidas Eyewear had decked me out with new eyewear for the race (which was also
put to good use by the support crew when I swapped out glasses!). And Bryce at
Cycletech had sorted out sexy new wheels for my Ninja. I think it would be fair
to say that I felt I was going into the race not only racing for myself, but
also for those people who believed in me. I wanted to be able to write about
the experience after and be proud of what I had achieved.
This is where I begin to struggle… I wasn’t necessarily proud of what I
achieved that weekend… Not remotely… I didn’t enjoy it, I didn’t get a good
result, and I felt nothing afterwards except a sense of relief that it was over.
When I arrived at the track on race day, my belly full of two breakfasts
from the morning, I plugged my ears with some tunes and strolled casually to
the pit that my crew had set up so lovingly. My bikes were lined up, and all my
food laid out. It had been some time since I had been amongst this but it felt
familiar, like a home I never left. I got on my bike and did some cruisy warm-up
laps of the starting circuit. I bumped into people I hadn’t seen in years,
including people I used to rock climb with who were also now bikers… But it
occurred to me that I could count on one hand the number of people who had been
doing this 24 hour solo gig for as long as me. I was part of the furniture
here, and it made me feel kinda proud to be a “veteran” of sorts on the scene.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was there to stand on the podium… At a bare
minimum, top 5. And the expectation I placed on myself was founded in my result
from last year in Italy, when I came 3
rd. I’d been shy about
broadcasting my own expectations of myself but the people who mattered knew
where I wanted to be, and those who asked politely would be privy to the
information, too. So there I stood on the start line, in my moment of truth.
The starters gun went off, we ran to our bikes and then thrashed ourselves
up the first fire trail. My legs felt sluggish and my heart rate was running
high. It was nothing unusual… Just nerves, I guessed… And I assumed my body
would settle into a rhythm over the first lap or two… But that pace off the
start line was super hot… In fact, hot enough that I couldn’t hold the front
bunch, and they disappeared up the first bit of single track without me. It
wasn’t how I imagined it would pan out. In fact, it wasn’t how anyone I knew
imagined it, but they were the cards I was dealt at the start of this race and
I was going to have to work with that. I remember years ago speaking to my mate
Andy Fellows after I had a shit day on the bike at the Red Centre Enduro in
Alice Springs… He said to me, “sometimes, you are having a shit day, and you
just have to say to yourself “well, that’s what I have to work with today””…
For some reason, that conversation comes into my head a lot, and it came into
my head at the start of that day. I vividly remember thinking “it’s ok Megan.
You have 24 hours to do this. You have the experience to do this. Just let them
blow each other up and reel them in later”… But they didn’t, and I never did.
All I could do was ride around in circles chasing 6
th or 7
th
place.
I rode through the day and as I did, my interest waned with my realisation
that I was a long, long way off the pointy end. My feet swelled in my shoes
from the heat until the pain was unbearable. Swapping shoes did nothing,
massage did nothing, loosening the shoes did nothing, and neither did the
Panadol. It wasn’t until the coolness of the evening set in that the pressure
subsided and the pain throbbing through my feet and up my legs stopped. It wasn’t
all bad… The trails at Stromlo are fast and good fun… The dry environment
sucked all the moisture out of the dirt leaving us with a pea gravel surface
that threatened to be our undoing if we didn’t pay constant attention. Mum
and Dad sat in camp chairs at the top of the hill, wrapped in blankets ready to
jump up and cheer “GO MEG!”every time I rode past. My partner was back home in
NZ checking her phone every thirty seconds while she was at dinner with her
mates to see how I was doing. I felt like I was letting down everyone around
me. As an intelligent person, I knew that wasn’t true… But often emotions
override what we know to be genuinely correct.
The coolness of the evening was welcoming… I had just spent the entire
winter training in the early morning in sub zero temperatures and the heat of
the day had not treated me well at all… I’ve been living away from Australia
long enough now that I have acclimatised to New Zealand’s cooler temperatures
and the heat of the day enveloped me and sucked the energy from my body.
While I was riding I felt numb... And completely detached from the
experience... This wasn't what I was used to. I just wanted it to be over
pretty much from the end of the first lap. I wasn’t angry, nor did I gain
immense joy out of the experience. I took each moment as it came and lived in
that moment… The moment I rode past a snake… The moment Dan helped alleviate
the pressure on my feet… The moment Sarah put hot pizza in my hand… The moment
my mum would come running alongside me in the dark after midnight at the top of
that arsehole hill… The moment the sun set and the moment it rose, spreading
it’s arms like fingers through a blue sky perfectly spotted with identical
fluffy white clouds and hot air balloons. They were a series of beautiful
moments in their own right, but for some reason felt disjointed as a complete
experience when I tried to link them together. The trail was great fun and I
thought about a lot of stuff while I was riding. I wouldn’t say I had a bad
ride… But certainly not an exceptional one.
By the time I crossed the finish line, I had pretty much decided that this
was the last 24 hour solo race that I was going to do (admittedly, my view of
that has softened over time since the race). I was heartbroken. And when I
write about it now, it still brings tears to my eyes. I’m not sure what made it
so. Probably a combination of things… The fact that I had trained so hard and
being so far off the pace, the thought that I may not want to do this again and
realising that I would miss it dearly and wondering what I would fill that void
with… The fact that I felt like I had let down all those people who supported
and believed in me (although I know they would all vehemently deny that this
was the case).
I suppose when someone is disappointed with a result, the first thing people
try to do is console you by assuring you that had you enjoyed a more
trouble-free day on the bike, the result would have been vastly different.
Sure, there were things that didn’t go right… I was sick the week before, I had
massive issues with painful swelling of my feet, I had sleep monsters and food
issues… But if I am being honest with myself, there wasn’t four laps worth in
there… Maybe two at best… And that would have elevated me, best scenario, to 5
th
place. I was well off the pace… And the even more heartbreaking thing was that
I had no idea that would be the case.
I was glad that Jess Douglas won. If I couldn’t come up with the goods, then
I’m glad she did. I have a huge amount of respect for that girl and I think in
a lot of ways, we are very similar (she’s just a shitload faster than me), so I
relate to Jess as a person. After the race, she wrote something on my facebook
wall. It was a lovely gesture, and admittedly, made me cry (maybe I’m going
soft in my old age);
Megan - you are awesome.
Results of this race today do not indicate your inner strength as you would
hope. But everyone has their day in the sunshine. Yours will come with renewed
purpose...and it need not be via racing....let’s talk soon! We love who you are
and what you represent. It meant a lot coming from her.
I remember arriving home from the race and seeing my partner at the airport.
I’d imagined, up until the end of the race, that I would arrive home full of
smiles and stoked with my result but it wasn’t to be on this occasion. We’d
only been seeing each other barely a month and I was so grateful to have a hug, someone to hold my hand
and some gentle words waiting for me at the other end of my journey. I think
one of the hardest things about my result was having "that
conversation" with every single person when I came home. Explaining how I
was disappointed and then having them say "but 7th in the world is still
good!" I appreciated the sentiment, but it truly made me cringe every
time. I didn't spend six months getting up at 4am to train in the freezing cold
then spend all that money on traveling to the event to come seventh. Then
there was the awkward conversations with people who knew I would be
disappointed, but didn't know whether it was the right thing to console me or
avoid the topic.
I’ve often said to people that there are two types of people who race at a
high level… Those who work hard, and those who are naturally talented. I work
exceptionally hard, but I wouldn’t call myself a naturally talented rider by
any stretch of the imagination. I suppose where it gets really tough is when
you come up against people who are both naturally talented and work hard, and it inevitably happens.
I find it difficult to articulate how I felt about my experience last year,
and especially so because I really do love to put a positive spin on any
challenges that are thrown my way. But to be blunt about it, I was disappointed
with my result at World Champs. I returned home a broken soul. I analysed in my
head everything I could have done differently, or should have done differently.
And as time has worn on, nothing changes my disappointment. In fact, I don't
think I have ever been so disappointed by a race result. In my mind, there was
no provision for anything shy of 5th place, and I guess mentally, you have to
do that to back yourself, but you set yourself up for a very hard fall... In
reality, only one person can win... And unfortunately, someone has to come
seventh. That's the brutal reality of racing... And despite the fact that I
wasn't unhappy with how I rode, on that day, my best was only worth seventh
place. In all truthfulness though, as much as it hurts, I think I would rather
that than to not care about it at all.
I've been thinking hard about what I want to do moving forward. From a
pragmatic perspective, I know in my heart I was well off the pace, and it was
gutting for me that I was surprised by this... There were things that didn't go
right, but if I'm being honest with myself, I doubt there was four laps worth
in there. I rode 323km over the 24 hours, and a couple of years ago, that sort
of distance would have bagged me a title... But riders have gotten faster and
the competition more fierce and I feel like I have been caught unawares and
unprepared for the change in pace. It shouldn't have come as a surprise when I
remember three or four years ago, hearing my mate, Andy Fellows describe the
pace of the men's field as "a 24 hour cross country race". It was
only a matter of time until the same happened with the women's field, and I
can't begrudge the competition of that. It's great for the sport to see such a
high quality field. I just can't help but feel I am flailing behind and
wondering if I have the energy and time to work harder than I did this year to
bridge that gap. Furthermore, after 9 years of riding 24 hour races, it's
becoming cost prohibitive to travel around the world racing bikes off my own
back.
On the flip side of that, racing bikes for 24 hours is what has
defined me on so many levels for such a long period of time and I am very wary
of the gaping hole it would leave in my life if I decided not to continue. As
sad as it may sound, I feel like riding my bike for 24 hours is the only thing
that makes me an extraordinary person, and the only thing that makes me
interesting. It has played a significant role in moulding who I am as a person
today, and whilst I am sure some other adventure would come along and continue
to condition my spirit in other ways, it's nearly unfathomable for me... Not to
mention that I love doing it... I love that feeling at the end of being totally
spent. I love seeing the sunset and the sunrise on the bike in the space of one
day, I love the physical challenge, the mental challenge and the tactical side
of it. I love the people I meet and the experiences it delivers to me.
So if I was to make a sensible, intellectual decision, in a pragmatic sense,
I would stop participating in 24 hour races... But such decisions aren't so
easily pigeon-holed when there is emotion and history involved. There has been
a lot of talk recently about the next world champs in Scotland in October this
year, and I have decided that I won’t be attending… Amongst other
considerations, I simply just can’t afford it, and I know that come October, I
will be watching everyone else’s progress and feeling my own heart ache, but it
was a decision that had to be made for me to continue to enjoy living in the
moment right now. For now, I have made the decision to compete in 24 Hours of
NDuro in Rotorua in April (check it out
here... It'll be wicked!). In the meantime, I’m enjoying
hitting the trails for fun, heading out for crazy adventures, digging in the
garden and playing with my dogs. It’s a relief to write again and share my
experience so candidly with everyone who reads my blog. What I do know is that
regardless of what I do, I can count on the fact that there will always
be adventures to be had, and I can only trust that takes me to more wonderful
places for more amazing experiences, whether it involves racing bikes for 24
hours or not.
