One. Preview the race a day before and freak out about the sections that are dusty; that will force you out of your comfort zone, and will inevitably be your downfall. Only practice these sections twice before calling it a day. Go home and replay those sections all night: the loose dirt on the descent; the turns that force you to disconnect from your bike, especially the corner that’s tight and abrupt. Picture leaning your bike into the corner. Picture your body trying to stay centered over it. Then picture sliding out, your bike shooting away from you, falling onto the dirt, ripping the side of your bibs, and causing a five person pile up as other racers barrel around the corner and run into you.
Two. Wake up in the morning of race day to play your worst fear on repeat. Have something caffeinated to really wind up your thoughts. Keep telling yourself it’s an insignificant bike race. “It’s a midweek race, for fucks sake.” Tell your friends and coworkers you can’t decide whether or not to race. Let them decide for you.
Three. Give yourself until 12 PM to register for the race. Check the weather. Watch the radar. Hope it’ll rain, so the race will be canceled.
Four. Okay, wait until 1 PM. Register. Select “sport.“ Find the starting time. Get the address and put it in your phone.
Five. Figure out when you need to leave to arrive with enough time to get your plate, tie it onto your bike, and warm-up. It’s 4:30 PM. You need to leave by 4:30 PM.
Six. So you do. You get there at 5 PM. You scan the rows of cars for a familiar face. No one. But then again, you don’t have a lot of mountain bike friends and the ones you do have aren’t there, yet. Your husband didn’t come with you, so you talk to yourself in your head. “Go find the registration table,“ you say to yourself.
Seven. You get to registration. Tell them your name. Spell it out because what kind of last name is that? Grab too many zip ties to fasten the plate onto your bike. Pocket the rest.
Eight. Go pee.
Nine. Decide to warm up on the section that scares you the most. Still struggle to take turns as fast as you need to to keep up with the racers.
Ten. Get in line. Realize you’re in a sea of children. Ask for an adult. Never fully understand that the 14-year-olds are your competition.
Eleven. Listen for the horn. Sprint with the kids. Keep up with them until you get stuck behind a girl who descends at your speed. Get stuck behind the little boys who started before you for some reason (how 10-14-year-old boys are faster than Sport women will forever confuse you). Continue trying to race your bike, but also continue to get stuck in your position because there aren’t good places to pass. Try to pass lines of kids and beginner men (like one after the other). Never fully realize the 14-year-olds you started with are getting further and further ahead.
Twelve. Think, for a moment, you’re going to win the category because you haven’t seen anyone in your age.
Thirteen. Speed down the descent, pass the finish line into a crowd of people full of racers who stopped as soon as they cross the line, making it challenging for any racer left on the course to speed to the line and stop immediately after.
Fourteen. Try to find your results. Ride around to cool down and finally find your group of friends. They’re looking up the results too. One of them yells over, “Jessica,” and holds up four fingers. “Fourth?! I came in fourth? I thought there were only like two of us.“ Look at the results: three-ish minutes behind first place. 48 seconds behind second and third. Be angry at yourself even though it was your first time doing this race and the officials never made it really clear that everyone was competing against each other in Sport. Be mad at yourself for not winning.
Fifteen. Tell people who ask you you don’t want to talk about it but replay it in your mind over and over for the rest of the night.
It takes a couple of days until you’re finally over it. You understand that you’ve been humbled and these super short track races are a different kind of race. You compare it to crit racing. You can’t be laissez-faire. You have to be aggressive. You have to learn to lose. And you most definitely have to learn to corner faster.