Going back to racing when you haven’t raced in a year is demoralizing. Racing with a category above yours is a whole other level.
Granted, I’ve set some expectations: I won’t be competitive at all. And maybe that’s defeatist, but I’m not going to get my hopes up either just to be let down. As a B racer who hasn’t been racing for a year, racing in the A’s on Zwift, it’s almost comical how not-to-my-par I’m doing.
I’m three races into the WTRL Zwift Racing League and we just raced the team time trial. I joked to Chris that I don’t like team sports and I like doing things on my own, which isn’t far from the truth, but no one wants to admit they aren’t a “team player.” Which I’m not admitting to by the way—I can work with others when duty calls, like Tuesday’s race.
I pulled when it was my turn, I listened to the instructions, and I kept myself on mute when I wasn’t talking because no one wants to hear the fan blowing air at me or my labored breaths or whatever the fuck I’m tinkering with.
As we’re warming up for the race, waiting for our time to go, Zeina, our directeur sportif, tells us to take 30-second pulls at 270 watts. Immediately—actually, even before the race—I doubt my ability to help the team. They’re all A’s and have been racing while I’ve been dealing with my health bullshit.
There was no way I’d be able to contribute significantly to the team. I almost asked in our chat how many we needed to cross the finish line together because I honestly didn’t think I’d be able to hang the entire time.
Maybe that’s why I don’t like teams—I never want to be the weak link or the reason we failed. At least, when I race alone, the only person I let down is myself. Which happens all the time. I don’t think I’m the only one who feels the pressure to perform their best when others rely on you. I’m pretty sure that’s human nature. Although, I have worked in teams and I don’t think that comes naturally to everyone.
We were going to alternate in alphabetical order. The shitty thing about drafting and pulling and racing on Zwift is that it’s even harder than a normal team time trial. You really have to surge on Zwift to get in front of everyone in your group, but you can’t surge too much or you’ll drop the group. So by the time I’d get up to the front after putting out 300-something watts, I was pretty toast. Then I had to hold 270 watts for another 30 seconds.
The trick here is to make your way toward the front when your turn is next. I’m no expert, and trying to hold the draft of one person on Zwift is difficult. I kept trying to get behind Jana’s wheel before it was my turn, but I usually found myself drifting back.
The TTT was about 15 miles on the France Douce course, so there were plenty of hills throughout. Although we set our difficulty level to 25%, I could still feel everything. We had about 1.5 miles to go when my legs were beat. I wanted to drop off from the group. Do some slow-ass riding to the finish line and let the strong ones get to it quicker without me, right?
But then Zeina asked if anyone needed to skip a pull.
I didn’t want to be the first person to need a skip. Who does, really? But I knew this pull wouldn’t really be pulling the group. I thought to myself, “What’s the group going to think if I need to skip a turn?” “Are they going to resent me for being on the team?” All these stupid questions we torture ourselves with instead of just owning where we’re at. So, I unmuted myself and told Zeina between gasps that I, Jessica, needed to skip a pull. I felt guilty for needing one when it didn’t seem like anyone else was struggling, but then another teammate spoke up, asking for a break too.
I realized after I skipped my turn that I didn’t need to be a hero. I wasn’t proving to anyone my worth by taking a lousy pull when stronger women on the team could do the work just fine, if not better than me. Being a perfectionist, Type A, blah blah blah, I never give myself credit. It’s not a thing I do. I can always do better, be better, pull better.
The fact that I’m writing a blog about skipping one turn should say it all.
But we can’t always be where we want to be, or if you’re like me, you’ll never actually meet your unrealistic expectations. It’s there where we need to accept our abilities and FTPs where they are.
You’re not a shitty person if you skip one pull on a Zwift team of As (or Bs or Cs or Ds). You’re not worth any less if your legs aren’t as strong as someone else. But it means something when you honor your body, when you listen to it, and meet it where it’s at—and that’s really the only way to do it.
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