Never say never...
State Champ Road Race: 62 miles

For the past couple of years now, my teammate Kirsten has always uttered the words "never say never" at me, usually after a race where I didn't think I could get X or Y or Z in the moment, and I wanted to give up; but sometimes she just likes to remind me before a race, or during training, or basically anytime we're discussing strategy.

Knowing those words, however, and internalizing them to the point you actually believe in them, are two different things. This race was the day I finally started believing them.


Before the race

I signed up rather begrudgingly. I love this race (really!). It's located in a small town near Talequah, OK, up in the northeastern corner. The terrain there is brutal - steep climbs, long descents, and exposure to some of Oklahoma's most blustery conditions. A true champion's course.

But all season, it seems, I'd been struggling mentally to find the drive to really race my bike in anything other than a du. I knew this would be pretty much another training ride... I was feeling some fatigue from the week already, and was nowhere near peak fitness yet. I didn't stand a chance this year against the other fabulous ladies. Which was a bit sad, considering this was the first year there weren't just 3 of us racing. Ordinarily, I'd be stoked by that!

Helene (a teammate) agreed to drive up with me. She even drove to give me some extra time to study (yet another exam was coming up - adding to my stress). My hope was that she could at least take the win for us. I'd do what I could, provided who was left at the back of the field with me, but the challenging climbs of Eucha are best suited to a true billy goat like her.


The course was pretty much the same as last year, from what I could remember. I was just hoping that unlike last year, there'd be more than just the two of us rolling all 62 miles together.

Didn't exactly get my wish...


The Race

Combined W 1-2-3/Men's Masters Field

Things started off pretty smoothly. The P123 women agreed to roll with the Men's Masters field. We headed out for the first small loop, roughly 10 miles to get back to the starting area, before beginning the bulk of the day's work. The small loop contains a couple of steep ascents on the return, and as far as I can tell, that's usually where the break, or at least the first break, occurs. This year proved no different.

Unfortunately, I didn't even have a chance to try and stay with the pack out of the starting loop. I had forgotten about the hairpin turns it also contained, and it seemed that a year of mostly multisport focus had made me even worse at cornering. I was at the very back of the field almost immediately.

And then they were gone.

All that was left was Esther, me, and someone I hadn't met yet named Heather.

Then Heather lost me on another corner, and I began time trialing my way to catch back up.

I pushed and pushed and pushed. Descending into the valley was first up, before the big climbs back out. And I knew that not only was she strong, and could seemingly match my current power, but that she was physically bigger, giving her an edge on the descents.

I came close. Really close to catching her. More than once.

But after a solid hour-plus of high effort, my legs or my heart just couldn't take it anymore, and she started to slowly peel away.

Those damn corners didn't help, either!

Sigh. I could hear Kirsten's words echoing in my head almost immediately, "Never say never!" So I resigned myself to continuing the chase solo (wasn't sure where poor Esther was at this point). Figured I'd at least get a really solid strong couple of efforts in today.

The new plan was to back off a bit, let the legs re-energize, and then hit it again.

I followed the route as well I could, almost missing a turn but kinda-sorta catching a glimpse of a sign and remembering the course from last year made me catch it just in time.

And then there was wind. Just as brutal as a few weeks past at Tallchief, maybe even more so. Only this time I was truly alone.

I knew I was facing 50 miles of solo griding, eventually heading down into the valley and then back out once more before I would be through. With 30 mile-an-hour gusting winds facing me head on. It was going to be a looooong day.

My body hurt. My mind was crying out. What was even the point of this?!! How is this going to help me prepare for Worlds?

Then I would think of the disappointment I would face from Mark, from Helen, from Kirsten if I gave up and took the car back home. I didn't want to face that.

And I kept hearing those words. And I reminded myself that the half-Iron distance in October would require me to TT 50 miles. This was good. I was practicing! At least, I tried to desperately believe that.

The roads were long and empty. I passed a gas station and probably the sole police officer monitoring a single intersection. I passed many, many rural homes, and was chased repeatedly my many, many more dogs.

I was also dangerously out of water.

And then I hit the oasis. The race director had implemented a neutral feed zone this year! HU-FUCKING-ZAH! I came to a full stop, grabbed a water bottle from a vounteer, and guzzled. I then grabbed two more bottles, unscrewed the lids on my racked ones, and filled them. I had no electrolytes to dump in them, but I didn't care. I was dehydrated and the water felt amazing down my throat.

Then, a volunteer I recognized began shouting at me. "Go, go, go! Hurry up! You're in second place!" Whaaaa?

She repeated those words to me again. How? I asked. Apparently, the entire mixed field of W123 and Master's Men had gone the wrong way. They hadn't come through the feed yet. Only Heather had passed by just moments before me.

No. Fucking. Way.

Alright then. I took off, my willpower renewed, and my thirst finally quenched. Heather wasn't that far in front of me. I still had a chance! At the very least, I prayed that I could hold off the main field. I was absolutely certain that would have realized their mistake and circled back to the race course, and with a strong pack like that, it wouldn't be long before they overtook me. I had 20 miles remaining. If I could get another strong effort for that last 20, I might juuuust be able to make the podium.

About 2 miles later I came across Heather on the side of the road. With a flat. I felt terrible for her. I slowed to a crawl and asked if she needed help. She asked me if the wheel vehicle was behind her (turns out it wasn't, but course cars were coming directly behind me, and I wasn't sure if it held the wheels or not). Another Wheelmen, one of the few Master's men who seemed to have found the right direction, was with her. Certain that the main pack was still on my tail, and that Heather was about to get a wheel change, I zipped back off, pedaling even harder now, hoping upon hope that I still had enough in the tank to hold her off. If she got a wheel change here, she would be gunning for that top spot.

The rest of the race of simply me vs. me.

Looking so much better than I feel

Having done this race 3 years running now, I knew the remainder of the course like the back of my hand. I slowly ticked off the miles. I kept repeating those words to myself, Never say never!, giddy now that they might possibly be coming true.

Esther drove by at some point, in a car, to scream encouragement at me. She believed I was going to make it! I was grateful, but just couldn't believe that that field wasn't going to catch me. I kept my head down and soldiered on.

I kept looking back, repeatedly, for any sign of a blue jersey that might indicate Heather.

And kept pushing.

I started feeling lightheaded. And sick to my stomach. In a way that was unrelated to racing. And it suddenly occurred that guzzling all that plain water might not have been the best thing for me.