32 months ago, I ended my race season with the realization (and acceptance) that I’d never become a pro cyclist. And after all the bullshit that came with 2019, I thought, good riddance. Life was really fucking hard in 2019.
I remember telling Brittney that I was happy racing was canceled. It became toxic, a thing I stopped looking forward to. The loneliness of showing up to a race by myself, racing alone, and leaving solo sucked. What it most likely was was burnout. In 2019, I raced at least 14 times with the goal of catting up to a 2 for Road racing.
I was glad to put it all behind me with new opportunities in 2020. I joined a mountain biking team, RaceCo, with the goal of becoming a better mountain biker—and then COVID hit. I started racing on Zwift more to itch that competitive scratch, but I didn’t miss IRL road racing. Instead, I focused on having fun on bike rides with the goal of getting faster to keep up with my fast friends (ahem, Marc, Michael, Kevin, Jackky, Chris, etc…).
Then in 2021, because events were still sus, I didn’t hold myself too hard to races. I ended up joining a second team, Flow Formulas, to race road with some very cool women. So, there I was, on three teams: The Bikery (formerly RaceCo), Flow Formulas, and Revolution Velo Racing (for Zwift).
At the beginning of 2021, I started feeling more off than usual. I was constantly tired. It didn’t matter how much sleep I got, how much coffee I drank, I needed a nap and more coffee and could barely make it through my workouts. I still had the headaches. I’ve had a headache from the time I wake up to the time I go to bed every day for the past 18 years. But then there was this extra dizziness that’d randomly hit me throughout the day. I’d have to hold on to my desk because it’d hit me so hard.
I went to the doctor for blood tests, sleep tests, and more doctor referrals. In April of last year, I was sitting in the back of Kelly’s car when I was hit with severe motion sickness. I didn’t barf, but I felt like I was going to. And for five days, I felt nauseous, dizzy, and headachey. I couldn’t move too much because it’d make the nausea worse.
I kept getting worse and I knew I couldn’t train for and compete in the Leadville 100. I had to drop out of the race and I remember crying over it. It was hard to accept that my body wasn’t healthy and something was wrong. Even worse, I couldn’t participate in life the way I was used to.
2021 was spent trying to get better. I’ve been to countless doctors, tried handfuls (literally) of medications and nutraceuticals, and changed my lifestyle around to get to the bottom of it. And I still haven’t. The headaches continue, the fatigue remains a constant, and the dizziness feels like it hangs around just to taunt me.
So, the 2nd place at The Bear was truly inconceivable based on how I feel every day. Regardless, here’s how I prepped for it, how the race went, and the unfortunate aftermath of overexerting myself.
Prepping for The Bear
As an athlete, you usually prepare for a race by previewing the course, watching what you eat, prioritizing sleep, and tapering. I did all that. When you’re an athlete with a chronic illness or disease, you have to do quite a bit more.
Previewing the course…twice
Pre-Snow
One week before the race, I went with Chris, Marc, and the rest of The Bikery crew to preview the Bear Racecourse. I feel more comfortable knowing what to expect on the trails and if there are any spots I need to make sure I can get over easily.
We took the first lap at a leisure pace, but the second lap felt like a race. I tried so hard to get out of my comfort zone and hold on to the guys’ wheels on the descents. Descents and technical climbs are my weakness and I didn’t want either to derail me from…I don’t know…winning?
There were a couple of iffy spots for me that I’d continue to stress about after leaving the park. One, in particular, doesn’t look like much, but I couldn’t get over it. It’s up a steep grade, probably 15%, and ¾ the way up there’s a rock and log, and a little spot to the right without that bullshit. I couldn’t make it up and over without clipping out when I went with the guys.
I was still on the fence about racing The Bear after riding with the guys. Of course, they all had faith in me. I had zero faith in myself. Sure, I could mostly keep up with them, but how would I do during the actual race?
My two biggest worries (which I told anyone who asked if I was racing) were getting stuck behind slow people or slowing people down during the descents.
Post-Snow
Then it snowed.
I wanted to see the course again and since it was close enough to our place, I was able to convince Chris to go with me for a lap to see how screwed the trails were. So, Thursday afternoon, two days before the race, we drove over to the park and rode the trails again. We double-checked the map and I was hoping we’d avoid the steep hill with the log, but Chris was sure that I’d be racing it.
So, I practiced going up that hill without having to clip out. I went up and down four times. On the fifth time, I was finally able to pedal—not even over, but—around the log along the slanted bank without getting thrown off. I would have liked to do it a couple more times to ingrain it into my muscle memory, but I know Chris was cold and ready to go.
Riding the course a number of times really helped me when I visualized it later. I realized that I don’t practice near enough on simple skills like the log spot or flowing over rocks. I’m still very rigid, which will only hurt my racing.
Reading supportive material
The Brave Athlete: Calm The F*ck Down and Rise to the Occasion
I’ve read and re-read this book so many times, I’ve lost count. I think I’ve struggled my whole life with self-confidence and racing after not racing for two-and-a-half years was no different. If anything, my self-confidence wasn’t even there. It ran off to Vegas and wasn’t coming back. Luckily, The Brave Athlete has a chapter about self-confidence.
What’s the single-most-important psychological skill for an athlete to possess? It isn’t motivation, tenacity, optimism, concentration, or attitude—it’s SELF-CONFIDENCE, the belief that you can succeed.
They write about this “Me Tree” we all have. Your self-worth is the deep roots of the tree. It’s your “deeply held feelings about your value and worth as a person.” Above the roots is the trunk of the tree, or your self-esteem. This is the “generalized emotional judgments about yourself based on what you’ve experienced in life.” Above that in the branches is your self-confidence, which are the beliefs about your general abilities. Finally, at the top are the leaves or your self-efficacy. That’s the belief you can perform a certain task at a certain level.
The easiest one to fix is self-efficacy because all you have to do is successfully complete tasks, right? The first strategy is to increase the number of times you attempt things (the log on the steep hill, ahem). The second is to set “small, incremental goals so you have a better chance of actually being successful.”
Another strategy they recommend is confronting your negative thinking. I’m the Queen of negative thinking so this was challenging. I also did some crisis planning, as in, thinking about all the bad things that could happen and how I could make sure I have a plan for all of those. For this, I used the two biggest things I was worried about: getting slowed down or being too slow. I made a plan for both, which was essentially, asking to pass and getting over if someone asks me to pass.
Thinking Body, Dancing Mind: TaoSports For Extraordinary Performance in Athletics, Business, and Life
I don’t remember how I found out about this book, but I dig it. There are chapters for just about anything that could be mentally mind-fucking you. I went through a few chapters prior to the race. The first one, Fear of Failure.
Failure to me is not winning. Chris asked me what my goals were for this race and I think he was hoping I’d say, “have fun,” but winning and doing well in a race is fun for me. Of course, I was setting the bar super high for myself and I knew I was doing that, so I tried really hard to reframe my “goals.”
Every chapter comes with a visualization exercise. For the failure chapter, I visualized myself performing as best as I could. Having ridden the trail several times, I visualized myself biking every inch of that trail successfully. I was able to take the corners at speed, get over the stupid log, and keeping up with the competition. Of course, I didn’t know how it’d actually pan out, but helping myself to see what the trail looked like and feeling like I was successful helped me show up to the race with more confidence than I had before.
Athletic performance mirrors your self-talk.
Another chapter I read was Self-Criticism. Along with negative thinking, I’m also the Queen of self-criticism. One of the exercises in this chapter has you write out all your self-negative comments. Then, take that list and rewrite it to its opposite. I haven’t been able to bring myself to fully believe in some of these rewrites, so instead, I try to make them as neutral as possible. From “I’m not good enough to race in Cat ½ Sport” to “I won’t know if I’m good enough until I try. And if anything, I’ll get faster trying to keep up with them.”
While these books definitely helped assuage some fears and self-doubts, it didn’t completely eliminate them.
Avoiding certain foods that trigger symptoms & increasing what “helps”
Last year, I tested elimination diets to see if I had food triggers and some stuck out like caffeine, gluten, and some other foods. Caffeine doesn’t make my headaches worse, but it makes me dizzy, which, as someone who also struggles with sometimes debilitating fatigue, not having coffee really sucks.
I was careful to not have too much caffeine a few days leading up to the race. I figured if I was going to have it, I’d save it for the day of the race. That way, I wouldn’t be dizzy the days prior which makes me more tired and if I was going to get dizzy, it’d be after the caffeine wore off. I’d take the chance of feeling like shit after the race, so I could perform at my best with some caffeine. And we’re talking BCAA’s with “natural” caffeine. I had three scoops which equaled about 150 mg. That’s not even two cups of coffee.
While I avoided some of the “trigger” foods leading up to the race, I added more electrolytes into my day. Two days before the race, I increased my electrolytes to two glasses, and then on Friday, I had three glasses of electrolytes.
I also made sure to watch what I ate. I drank my body weight in ounces of water. I got at least 8.5 hours of sleep per night that whole week.
I did all I could do to be prepared, physically, mentally, headache.
The Bear Race
On the morning of the race, I could barely finish my oatmeal I was so nervous. I washed three Tylenol down with Pepto Bismol to see if it’d prevent my headache from getting worse and to avoid any upset stomachs post-race.
We cleaned my bike up a bike and added some lube to the chain. I tried writing a poem for NaPoWriMo, but my brain would not settle down. God damn was I anxious. I visited the toilet several times before leaving to go to the race.
When we got there, we were lucky enough to catch Marc take off for his race. I saw a few other Bikery guys and cheered for them as well. I biked down to registration to pick up my number: 971. I didn’t dare look at how many women were signed up in my category. The last I knew was six. I didn’t want to get even more in my head so I didn’t look after I signed up. I was also under the impression that all of the women were going off at the same time. Like, the Open, Sport, and Juniors of all ages. I was actually pissed about it. I didn’t think it was going to be a very enjoyable race if we were tire-to-tire the whole time.
Luckily, I was wrong.
I warmed up for about 25 minutes (should have warmed up longer), took two puffs of my inhaler, and headed to the black flags. I saw a familiar road face and tried chatting with her. She wasn’t having it so I stopped wasting my time. I saw Ruth Winder lining up—a “retired” Olympian. I still thought we were all going off at the same time so I was even more ticked to see that I’d be starting with her, someone who is lightyears above my skills.
Then the Race Director started shouting for Open women, then Cat ½ by age, and finally, he yelled out “Cat ½ 30+ raise your hands.” We raised our hands. “Move back and create a break.” I was so relieved. We were separated and I’d be racing with the people I signed up to race against. Ruth could have her Open category and the familiar face could chase her.
I shuffled back to my crowd who seemed a lot more welcoming. The Race Director yelled, “20 seconds.” My stomach was tossing and turning. My hands were trembling and my heart was pounding against my jersey. The plan was to stay in the front and hold on to wheels as long as I could. Luckily, I’m used to hard Zwift starts, so I was ready to punch it at Go Time. We were pedaling away up the hill as I saw one woman to the left take the lead. I jumped on her wheel and stuck in her draft.
It wasn’t long until we descended onto dirt. I heard Chris yell, “STAY ON HER WHEEL” as my mother woo-girl’d for me. And there I was, already wheezing trying to keep up with this chick. We were already putting a little space between us and the rest of the group. I was on her wheel through the twists and turns and finally up the first big climb: Mt. Carbon. She said to me as we climbed, “let me know if you want to pass.” Hell, I was having a hard enough time staying on her wheel. There was no fucking way I’d try to pass her.
I told her she was doing great and I was fine where I was.
We reached the top and caught up to the group before us. She was able to pass a lot more riders than me and being so strong, she eventually slipped away. I couldn’t keep up. I continued to find wheels to hang on or pass them and ride on my own.
I found a couple of other women, one of whom I thought was in my category. So, I was definitely going to try my damndest not to get dropped again. The second lap around, we had to go up that bastard of the steep hill with the log on it. I was hoping we’d bypass it entirely, but we were forced to go up it on the second lap. I was on someone’s wheel who stopped way before the log and started walking, forcing me to get off my bike. I ran up and over the log to make it faster and the women we originally dropped caught up to us.
There were four of us riding along the twisty trails and up to the Mt. Carbon climb. One of the women and I dropped the other two racers. Again, I was told I could go around if I wanted. And again, I scoffed because I could barely hang on to their wheel. We reached the top and I could barely keep up on the descent. She dropped me fast. And then the other woman we dropped on the climb caught up to us. Those two eventually dropped me on the second climb and then I was on my own for the last few miles. I wasn’t going to let myself slow down, even though I was exhausted.
At that point, I thought I was either in third or fourth, or hell, further back. But I also realized that I really missed racing. Maybe I was just done with road, but I still had a lot of mountain bike racing in my future. I didn’t care if I wasn’t going to get on the podium. I loved how hard the race was and how much I trained and prepared to do well in this race. I told myself that I needed to be proud of myself for getting out there and trying. That my self-worth wasn’t based on my placement in the race.
As I bounced over rocks and branches, I caught up to two Juniors and we raced to the end. I crossed the line and was so stoked on adrenaline. My friends and family were there: Marc, Michael, J, my mother, and Chris. And I can’t tell you how much more awesome it feels when you have a host of people cheering you on at the finish regardless of the results.
With a raspy voice, I tried recounting the race for them all. We took pictures at the finish line and then wondered what place I came in. I assumed third or fourth. Chris took off and came back with a dopey smile. I looked at the ticket and it said second place.
“No fucking way,” I said to them all. I could have sworn at one of the two women who dropped me was in my category. It only showed one lap so I figured it had to update with the second lap, and that’s when we’d see I came in later than that. Chris printed off another race receipt and it still showed second.
We all made our way to the podium area for them to announce the results. They went through all of Cat 3 and then started going down Cat ½. They announced the third-place winner of my category. I made the mistake before thinking I was third, getting ready to walk up to the podium, and then someone else’s name was called. So, I held back. Then in second place, “Jessica McWhirt.”
I got two water bottles and a medal. The first place chick came up and we shook hands. It was awesome to stand on that step, throw my arms up in the air, and smile. The rest of the day I had a pep in my step and didn’t think about how bad I was going to feel later. How could my body let me feel like shit after how great I felt then, right?
What I did well
- I think my start was solid. All those Zwift races prepared me for a hard and fast start.
- My self-talk was not a monologue of self-hatred. I told myself I’d do just fine. I told myself that I could go fast downhill and around corners. That I belonged in the Sport category.
- I had a Honey Stinger gel 15 minutes before the race started, which I think helped with the fast start.
What I could do better
- My warm-up could have been longer. I usually try to warm up for Zwift races for about 45 minutes since it takes my body that long to be warmed up.
- I should have taken a cool-down lap to help bring everything back down before jumping off the bike. I’m wondering if that’s what made my headache and lungs so much worse than usual.
- My on-the-bike nutrition could use some work. I was slower in the second lap and couldn’t keep up with the two women. I don’t know if it was just because I was tired or because I needed another gel. Although, I was breathing so hard that I don’t know if I could have gulped down a gel. I could barely sip my Flow Formulas drink.
- My skills need serious work. I lost competitors to the descent, over the log thing, and around tight corners.
- Since I got dropped on the climbs, I need to work on hard, sustained efforts.
One Day Later: The Effects Of Racing
This is why people with chronic illness or disease stop doing some of the things they used to—the fallout. As the day went on, I gradually started getting worse and worse. I developed a nasty exercise-induced asthmatic cough and my usual 3-out-of-10 headache went to about a 7.
I went to bed on race night hoping I’d sleep it off, that my body wouldn’t make me suffer. That it’d figure its shit out while I slept. Sunday morning I woke up feeling like I was hungover, hit by a truck, like a monkey shit in my skull.
We went to breakfast and I wanted to get on the bike—I really wanted to—but I decided to respect my body and rest. I plopped myself down on the couch and started writing this blog, worked on my next month’s training plan, and wrote a poem for NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month). So, I didn’t rest-rest, but I only moved from the couch to get water and go to the toilet.
My head and cough wouldn’t let up. I drank tea. I did breathing exercises. I let my body recover. I did everything I needed to pre-and post-race to help prevent from feeling like shit, minus a cool-down ride. Nothing helped and now I know what to expect after races. I now know that I can’t have any plans the next day after a race because I won’t have the energy to do them. That I’ll feel so crappy I’ll want to lay in bed for the whole day. And that really sucks.
Not many people talk about how badly racing fucks them up—people with or without a chronic illness or disease—but maybe we should. It’s weird. I used to have tired legs the day following a race and that was about it. I didn’t get a Migraine or a nasty cough that lasted days, yes, days, after the race. I guess I’m getting older, but come on, I’m not 90.
Back to experimenting to find out how else I can prevent this so I can race and enjoy life afterward.
Overall, the race was awesome. I had a ton of fun. The after-effects suck, but I’m not going to let that stop me from doing what I enjoy doing—riding hard on the bike.
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