I Lost a Bike Race and I Liked It

Last week I lost a bike race. It was great.

I am, by any measure, a slap-happy rookie to bike racing. I race in Category 4/5 (re: the lowest category). I’m not a sprinter or a climber or a roleur. I just follow the wheel in front of me and mash the pedals. Perhaps my naiveté is why I enjoyed losing so much, but I loved everything from the preparation to the moment I limped across the finish line.

My lofty dreams were of getting in a breakaway or eking out a top 10 finish, but I had no plans of actually winning. Never mind that countless others simply had better fitness, but teams were there with protected riders, I saw guys with wheels which cost more than my entire bike, and my understanding of race tactics are barbaric at best.

Two things motivated me to register: 1) It was the last road race of the season, and 2) I’d watched Peter Sagan’s 2015 World Championship win in Richmond about a dozen times since last fall. Watching Sagan, Greg van Avermaet, Zdenek Štybar, and John Degenkolb turn themselves inside out was oddly inspiring, and I wanted to feel what that’s like.

For the majority of the race, I sat in the middle of the peloton avoiding the wind, taking turns carefully, and trying to not wreck or do anything to reveal my identity as a true rookie. When the last lap came, the idea of “dying a thousand deaths” crossed my mind.

Endurance sports have taught me that you need to be willing to suffer for a long time in order to learn your limits. My entire consciousness was telling my body to stop pedaling, but my goal wasn’t to win, it was to suffer. So suffer I did. I emptied myself, playing Anthony McCrossan’s commentary from Sagan’s win in my head.

“THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING LEFT IN THAT BODY. THE LACTIC ACID IS BURNING, THE EYES ARE FILLED WITH PAIN.” Slight difference being that Sagan was soloing to a World Championship. I was hanging on for dear life in a Cat 5 race, but whatever, I enjoyed it. In the end, I finished 21st of 47.

There will always be someone faster. I’ll lose considerably more races before I even sniff the podium. I never thought I’d enjoy willfully subjecting myself to such throes. But I’m happy to keep on losing until I finally get a chance to use my much-practiced victory salute.