It’s Just One Race

So much and so little can ride on one event

In October, I signed up for my first race in two years. The race was on a Sunday. The registration deadline was just before midnight on the previous Wednesday. At about 11:30 p.m., I had the online form open and only partially filled out. Did I really want to race? If so, why? Well, for the same old reasons. Like all of you, I like to challenge myself. Sometimes the challenge is simply getting up early on a weekend morning to ride in the cold and dark. Other times, it’s to see how hard I can drive my body and my technical skills on a cyclocross course. The last time I did that, it was a gong show. At the 2019 Ontario provincial championships, I lost control. I thought I was going to head right into a pond. “Luckily,” I went down hard on a slab. With maybe 300 m to go to the finish, my drivetrain was so caked in mud that I couldn’t turn the pedals. I ran, and then scootered down the final paved stretch to finish – fun, very much of the Type 2 order.

This past fall, I wasn’t sure I was even ready to race. I don’t mean my form, but in a pandemic sense. I knew the outdoor event was low-risk, but as a naturally cautious guy, I was, well, cautious. But here was a race, put on by a very active Toronto club. I was so happy that they were doing it. I wanted to support the event. I felt almost dutybound to go. At about 11:40 p.m. on that Wednesday, I was all reg’d up. Then, the post-reg dread set in.

During the following days, my dread actually dissipated. I gave myself the same advice I give my daughter when she’s nervous about something she’s unsure about: it will be fine; you’ll do your best; ultimately, whatever happens is OK; just be safe. I was in the midst of an inner monologue that resembled a viral video from the past year in which a little girl helps her father return to work, as if she’s taking the middle-age man back

“Then, the post-reg dread set in.”

to kindergarten. Instead of, “C’mon, you’ll see your friends again. Ah look. It’s Steve from accounting,” the bit was more, “C’mon, your heart rate will go through the roof and you’ll slip and slide in the mud, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get heckled.”

When the race began, it seemed I completely forgot how to start. I didn’t forget how to lean on another rider. I spent at least 20 m practically sitting on someone else’s handlebars. (Again, sorry about that!) We came out of that before the first corner. And the race went on. It was a sunny fall day. The rain from the day before had made part of the cyclocross course slick. One of my “favourite” hecklers got me good: “Jeez Matt. Your field must really be falling apart if you’re doing this well.” I didn’t crash, and in the end, I did better than I expected. I’d call that a success.

What if it didn’t go as well as it did? Well, that would have made for a different tale, but the same conclusion: I’m glad I did it. One humble race.

Matthew Pioro Editor