STORY #14

every pedal stroke

The bike did more than give me endurance, grit, and strong quads. It gave me my voice.

I would like to think that I was pretty cool until about the 5th grade. Up until to that point, I had been the trendsetter (yeah, I made Sambas and Umbros pretty cool), I was the star in the school play, Stacey from the Babysitter’s Club, and the leader on the playground. I’m not sure what happened next. I became extremely shy and self-conscious. During all the awkward middle school dances, I remember not being able to ask the ONE boy that I liked if he wanted to dance. It would be too obvious, I remember thinking. I also remember my parents waiting for me with the dog, and his poop bag INSIDE (!!!) the gym when the lights came on at 10pm indicating that the dance was over. 

High school was sort of a disaster. I apologize for my inability to speak at any school dances or events. There was one homecoming where four of us were driving to the dance, and I believe the only thing that was said had to do with gas mileage. (Sorry, Connor).

Then came my first year at the University of Virginia. I was determined to learn how to speak. So, I signed up for Public Speaking. On the first day of class, all we had to do was introduce ourselves and say where we were from. I remember being the last one in the circle to share my information. I also remember having heart palpitations about having to say my name...out loud. Needless to say, I dropped the class as soon as that first class ended. 

And then came the big one. My first year in law school at UVA. For first years, professors like to use the Socratic Method, whereby they call on a student, and that student is then “on call” for the remainder of the class. My nightmare. I would have rather shown up to school having forgotten my clothes. I lucked out in Contracts and Criminal Law, but the day finally came in Civil Procedure. Ms. Dvorak. Oh my goodness, it’s finally happening. Ms. Dvorak. Well, it did not go so well. When I heard my name, my brain decided to take a short vacation. At one point, the professor asked me who elects the president. I don’t know. My friend, next to me, shook his head in disbelief.

I did manage to graduate and pass the Bar Exam (no speaking required). But, then came my toughest test. I joined the Colavita Professional Cycling Team, and on day 3 of team camp, I was sent away to tape a segment with two of my teammates for a local news station. Don’t ask me anything I told the reporter. I was very ready to just stand awkwardly on the side and smile and not be sure what to do with my hands. The reporter kept up his end of the bargain until the very end, when he directed a question AT ME! What would you like to say to your fans? He asked me. The question was met with some awkward silence before I managed to mumble, have fun. Have fun with what?!?!

I always say that I finally grew up on the bike. It gave me my voice. It gave me the confidence in myself that I never knew I had. 

This is why I am so passionate about supporting the next generation of cyclists, through programs such as NICA (National Interscholastic Cycling Association), USA Cycling, and the Miller School of Albemarle Endurance Team. I see kids doing wheelies and tricks, clearing challenging terrain, being disciplined, being racers, being teammates and friends. The bike has given these kids a voice, an identity, and a confidence to stand tall. 

Uphill, downhill, through a rock garden...it doesn’t matter. Every pedal stroke delivers a bit more self confidence, fitness, and a greater love and appreciation of the outdoors. 

#STORY 13

what remains after one has forgotten

It’s springtime - a time of May flowers, longer days, beautiful weather...and graduation season. Sadly, this past spring has brought with it new and uncharted territory for everyone. We all feel for the students, of all ages, who were looking forward to celebrating their years in middle school, high school, undergraduate, graduate school and more.

I was lucky to celebrate 4 graduations during my academic years.  My first big graduation was from the 8th grade. I had attended a private school in Northern Virginia from nursery to the 8th grade. I was what they called a “lifer.” This graduation was a big deal. There were a lot of practice sessions, readings, poems, thanking teachers, etc. And, we had to dress up - guys in suits and girls in white dresses. Alright, think back to those middle school years- those were some difficult times. What to wear? What to pack for lunch? Will the boy/girl you like notice? Will my parents embarrass me? My parents signed up for the field trip?!! Noooo!!!! Is that my dog in the gym during our school dance? Can I ask him to dance?? Sigh. A I right?!

Not only did graduation involve buying a fancy white dress, for me, it also meant my first visit to my mom’s hair salon to get my hair done all fancy. The hairdresser decided that I would look magnificent in curls. (Umm, okay). She left the hair curlers in my hair forever! When she took them out, I had a ton of ringlets. (Okay, I can handle this). But then….(insert scream here), she reached for a comb and teased my ringlets out into a giant mass of craziness. I am surprised I did not cry in the salon, especially given the fact that I cried in law school, many years later, to my professor when my computer broke the night before my Corporations exam. But, I managed to make it home where I screamed bloody murder. I had to be at school for my graduation at 6pm. At 5:45, I was putting my hair under the sink. Hmm. Needless to say, I do not remember anything else from that day.

My second graduation was from the Thomas Jefferson High School for Science and Technology - can you say that all in one breath? What made this a big deal was that our graduation speaker was Vice President Al Gore. He had been roommates with one of my friend’s dads. There had been three of them in their Harvard suite - the dad, Al Gore, and the actor, Tommy Lee Jones. The only thing I remember from this graduation is Al Gore’s opening line - “I bet you all wish you had gotten Tommy Lee Jones instead”.....well….kind of.

The next two graduations were both from UVA - undergrad and law school. My undergrad graduation was again memorable for one thing. It poured rain. I remember wearing a garbage bag under my gown, and army boots pretty much, all the while giggling at the poor girls whose stilettos were getting stuck in the mud as they walked the lawn. I also remember sitting behind someone with an umbrella, so I had a lovely stream of water going into my lap the entire time. Who spoke? I don’t remember. 

My last graduation was from law school. I remember that it was very sunny and very hot. Again, I do not remember what was said and who said it. I only remember one thing. And, one thing only - I had made a very poor fashion choice that day (what else is new?) I vividly remember wearing cycling Rudy Project sports glasses with my cap and gown. Uff. Oh well. 

The rest is history. 

But seriously, looking back at all those school years, what really stands out are all the small, inconsequential, day-to-day things that happened. Remember those, those are what helped you graduate, what made you laugh, cry, cringe and smile, and those will not be forgotten. 

And if you want a quote from someone way more famous than I will ever be, here is a good one that you might remember one day…

“Education is what remains after one has forgotten what one has learned in school.” - Albert Einstein

STORY #12

COME FLY WITH ME

It is common to hear people say that they remember exactly what they were doing, where they were, what they were wearing during memorable and life-changing events. 9/11 and the death of Princess Diana are two examples that come to mind that occurred during my young and impressionable years.  Sadly, the events that leave an imprint on our mind are usually unfortunate in nature.  But for me, I was fortunate to grow up during a time when one person gave me these imprintable memories over and over again. That person was Michael Jordan.

Watching The Last Dance on ESPN over the last few weeks has opened the floodgate of happy memories.  I remember exactly where I was watching and what I was wearing during all of Michael Jordan’s moments - the shrug, the flu game, “look at the hangtime, look at the flying motion”, the foul line slam dunk contest, “superman is back in the building!” This list can go on and on. 

Growing up, my brother and I would fight over the sports section in the Washington Post every morning to read about Michael Jordan and to check the box score. It finally got to the point that my dad had to subscribe to a second newspaper so that there would be two sports sections to share. For Christmas, I asked for his shoes, the Wings Poster, his cologne, jerseys, shirts, his videos, anything and everything.  And then finally, it happened. My mom got our family tickets for a Chicago Bulls game against the Washington Bullets in DC.  It was such a big game, that President Bill Clinton and his wife, Hillary, showed up. The President was announced as he entered the stadium to take his seat, with limited reaction from the crowd; I think there was even some booing. A few minutes later, the person the entire crowd had been waiting for, ran onto the court to start his warm up. When Michael Jordan came onto the court, I started crying. For a long time. It was really happening. I was seeing His Airness in real life.  

For many years after, Michael Jordan would show up in interview answers - “If you could meet anyone, who would it be? - for colleges and magazines. I always had the same answer, the only answer - Michael Jordan.  

Beyond his aerial ability, his good looks, his charming persona, and his dominating style of play, Michael Jordan was the hero I grew up admiring for his dominance, persistence, dedication, hard work, and competitiveness. As has been highlighted in The Last Dance, Jordan never rested on his laurels. He worked to become the best basketball player in the World, and when he achieved that greatness, he wanted more.  His ability to transform a generation both athletically and culturally, in my opinion, has not happened since. Today, you say NIKE, and everyone knows the shoe brand. That’s thanks to Michael Jordan.  

The opening Chicago Bulls theme song continues to send shivers down my spine.  Frommmm North Carolina...at guard...6’6"...Michael Jordan! I am so thankful that Michael Jordan happened during my lifetime, and I am beyond thrilled that The Last Dance has allowed me to relive these unforgettable moments. I might regret my choice of clothing watching these games, but I can still feel the excitement and fire that Michael Jordan lit in me, both as a fan and later on, as a professional athlete and person.  

STORY #11

racing…

I’m kinda addicted...fun to get brutally dropped.

I learned today that if you join an event with 3 minutes to go you get put in 160th place. In a road race, normally not a crisis, but in Zwift that means trusting everyone ahead will mind the gaps. Nope.

600 watts and dropped. That’s Zwift racing…

I had heard the talk, I had seen the posts, I had read the comments, I had analyzed the data...I knew that Zwift racing was going to be “hard”, but “hard” how?
I set an alarm. For a Saturday. In this time of self-isolation, when there are almost no activities that you need to be on time for…
The night before - pre “race”.  When I was racing professionally, the night before races were some of the most stressful times for me.  Questioning and re-questioning everything. For mountain bike races - tire choice, tire pressure, camelbak or not, lines choices, competition, individual goals. For road races - competition, pain, training, pressure, team goals, expectations.  Teammates and friends wanted a 24-hour pre-race rule with me - don’t get near us :) So yes, even Zwift racing gave me some butterflies. 

Outside of World Championships and World Cups, lining up for road races was a first-come, first-serve affair.  In Europe, given the narrowness of the roads, the wind conditions, and other road furniture, this was sometimes very important.  In 2015, our USA National team director, Ina Tutenburg, herself an accomplished, decorated, and bad-ass racer, urged our team to line up an hour before the start at one of the stages of the Holland Ladies Tour.  Apparently, 500m after start and a roundabout, the race would turn left and we would be met with 30+mph crosswinds (i.e. race explosion material). Our USA team waited there for an hour - in the hot sun, taking turns to escape to a cafe for a bathroom break. There were no trainers; there was no spinning or warm up for the legs, just one hour of nerves.  (PS: On that day, sure enough, after all the jerseys had been called up and the race started, and we made the fateful left turn. I found myself 8th wheel, and already in the second group of racers, with over ten groups behind me. 8 seconds after the start, the race for the win was over and done).  

So for Zwift, I had no plans to stand in my basement next to my Wahoo Kickr for an hour before the start.  I had my requisite cup of coffee and then started spinning on a Watopia course about ten minutes before the official start. I did “join” my race, two minutes before start and I was blown away to find: 1. 250 people ahead of me, and 2. Trainers for everyone!! What? Trainers on the start line? This felt like a mountain bike XC race.
I had heard that Zwift race starts were fast. I was thinking it would be similar to a crit, where you race hard for the first few laps, drop as many riders as possible, and then settle down for the actual race.

There was no horn, no race gun, no Dave Towle announcing the start, we just went when the clock said to go.  And yes, it was fast and crowded - 400 people trying to vie for “spots” - whatever that means on Zwift.  

So, after completing my first Zwift Race, I learned:

1. All riders get trainers at the start line! La-di-da!

2. If I don’t line up near the front, especially in an A race, I’ll never see it...like, NEVER.

3. Downhills are hard as s#*t. I had several groups pass me like I was literally standing still.  250 watts didn’t cut it to make the group. 250 watts in an A race is child’s play. 

4. The Zwift races, and especially the starts, favor XC mountain bike racers.  These races start full gas and get fuller. As a roadie, I found myself wondering what happened to neutral starts and pee breaks.

5. Course knowledge is just as important in Zwift racing as it is in all other racing. Running out of power and energy on the final 3-mile climb to the finish is a horrible feeling as you watch 50+ avatars zoom by you. Outside, you can always tell yourself, “I’m probably still top ten-ish…” On Zwift, you see the numbers tick by, immediately.  

Alright, I am now at least a Cat3 in the Zwift race arena...not a newbie.  Fortunately, my avatar doesn’t show my Cat5 marks anymore! 
Ready for the next one!

STORY #10

LESSONS

Back to my year of firsts - first year racing “pro,” first time being introduced to bib shorts instead of just shorts, first time sleeping on the coach, first time using chamois cream, and most importantly, first time racing for the USA National Team in Europe.  

One of my previous stories followed my journey to Spain where I landed in Bilboa for a series of races with the US National Team before racing the Womens’ Giro d’Italia with Team Colavita - no big deal.

My first race was on a Tuesday, after having arrived in Spain just the day before.  Our national team director for the trip was Jim Miller, head honcho at USA Cycling who has gone on to coach multiple olympians and world champions, including Kristin Armstrong and Kate Courtney.  

I remember the night before the race, during our team meeting, Jim had noted that we might be feeling a bit jet-lagged and off during the race, and that we could pull the plug at any time. 

So in my first ever European race, I learned 3 important lessons:

1. When you are climbing, suffering, and getting dropped, and you hear ‘DAI, DAI, DAI’ next to you, as appropriate as it would be to be hearing, ‘DIE, DIE, DIE’, you are actually hearing ‘COME ON!’ in Italian. Noted.

2. Racing in Europe is game-on pretty much the entire time.  There is no chit chat about Friday night plans, or what was eaten for breakfast.

3. When your team director gives everyone on the team the option to pull out of a race, don’t be THAT GUY. (Yes, I pulled out...which is a pro way of saying, I got dropped, hard.)  Lesson learned. 

The next race was the 6-stage Emakumeen Bira, held in the Basque Region of Spain.  This stage race was eye-opening for many reasons:

1. All the stages started after 4pm.  I learned quickly that the ‘pro’ way to pass the time was to sleep until nearly noon, get up, eat, and race.  Dotsie Bausch and Tina Pic had their room closed off with “do not disturb” until noon daily.

2. It was the first time I raced against and learned the name Marianne Vos.  I think she was 19 or 20 that year. She won two stages and was already a wizard in the peloton. I remember going through a roundabout at one point, and Marianne had a flat. Her mechanic had radioed to her that he was on the side of the road with a spare bike. It was the most amazing flying dismount, bike change that I’ve ever seen.

3. The race started with an UPHILL TEAM TIME TRIAL. I capitalize it because it was the only uphill team time trial I ever did in my ten years of racing.  Did I also mention that it was uphill? It was 4.3k in length, and took the winning team 11:15. There were six of us racing and only three had to finish.  The team plan had been for three of us, myself included, to do sacrificial lead outs on the flat leading into the climb. I was third in line. First up was leadout extraordinaire, Kat Carrol.  She got us up to speed and pulled off. Next up was sprinter queen, Tina Pic. She got us to the base of the climb. Then it was me! My job was to keep the pace high on the early parts of the climb. Just as I was nearing explosion, I heard Jim Miller in my ear - Dre, you gotta stay on, you’re number 3. Uff. I was left with amazing climbers, Dotsie Bausch and Chrissy Ruiter.  (Insert tears here). That was the most painful, the ugliest, most pathetic team trial from that point out. I was getting dropped constantly. At one point, Jim yelled into the radio, “Dre, get out of the saddle…” (I get out of the saddle)...this was quickly followed by, “ugh, no, no, no. Sit down, sit down.” Worst. Climb. Ever.

So lots of first in just one week of racing in Europe.  You would think that I would have taken this knowledge and used it to my benefit, but no. I had lots more ‘firsts’ in store.

STORY #9

the crying game

I’ve always been a racer who got nervous - whether that meant putting my cycling kit on over an hour before our team departure, to non-stop fretting about tire pressure, weather, wind, and the inevitable crashes.  

On the road side of things, I did not think it was possible to have a more chaotic start than the one at the Tour of Flanders.  During my professional career, I was lucky to have raced Flanders three times. Of all the road races that I have done, Flanders is still the one that I would do again.  The race is like a roller coaster - wild, jarring, and unpredictable. Every moment is important, every position matters, every cobble sector carries consequences. 

With that said, unsurprisingly, the start to Flanders was intense.  And, to add to that stress, the start was NEUTRAL.  For anyone who has ever raced, the word ‘neutral’ in Europe is a misnomer; there is nothing neutral about a neutral start, especially at Flanders. 

In 2012, we lined up for the Tour of Flanders with a stellar team - Kristin Armstrong, Carmen Small, Kristin McGrath, and Tayler Wiles.  It was an Olympic year, so the stakes were high; a podium meant an automatic trip to the Olympic Games.  

The neutral was anything but that - teammate Kristin McGrath got shoved out in the very first turn of the race, two seconds in.  Wait, wait, wait. Let me set the scene. 180 women at the start line. Narrow, Dutch roads. Tons of road furniture (snazzy way of saying obstacles in the road), and thousands of fans.  Okay, so back to Kristin and the first turn. With 180 women trying to fit into a 6-ft wide turn, Kristin got pushed out and into a race motorcycle. The motorcycle tipped over and diesel spilled everywhere.  All that in the first 17 seconds of “racing”, I mean “neutral.”

Fast forward to Snowshoe, West Virginia and the final UCI Mountain Bike World Cup of the 2019 season.  Instead of cobbles there were narrow sections of rooty and rocky singletrack. But like cobbles, the battle was for position - the farther up and with fewer riders ahead of you, the better off you were.  

The start of the mountain bike World Cup in Snowshoe could not have been any more different than the Flanders start in Oudenaarde.  Instead of the Oudenaarde Town Hall, the backdrop was the Appalachian mountains. Instead of soigneurs collecting arm warmers and vests, there were mechanics and staff holding umbrellas over girls on rollers.  Instead of a stem sheet of important climbs and cobble sectors, there was just a blind hope for the best. No stem sheet would remind me which roots and rocks to avoid and which ones to hit.  

As opposed to a road start where the order is generally first-come, first-serve (besides for world and national jersey wearers), the mountain bike start puts every last rider into her starting spot.  Mine was second to last - lots of lovely Appalachian air blowing behind me. Also, road starts, for the most part, are not full-gas, chaotic-yes, but not a full-on sprint (exception would be a very windy, echelon day).  On the road, I had a teammate that would consume a sardine sandwich at the start line, and literally take her last bite when the start sounded. Not the case with the mountain bike start. Everyone was hunched over their bikes listening for the start.  And when it did sound, it was full gas. Sprint, sprint, sprint. Stop. Dismount. Oh yes, when you start a mountain bike race at the very back, do not expect to actually stay on your bike and ride. The minute one girl puts her foot down, it’s a domino effect and everyone stops and is off their bike.  The first 5 minutes of the race were crazy - sprint, stop, back on, slow down, sprint, walk over a flyover, run into girls walking, walk, back on the bike… Once the dust settled, I could only imagine what was happening at the front of the race. I heard it was a good one. Someone named Pauline Ferrand-Prevot won.  And to bring it back full circle, we raced Flanders together several times, and in 2015 her soigneur hit me in the face with a water bottle he was trying to throw to Pauline. Good times. 

STORY #8

BLADES OF STEEL

Tomorrow, January 31, 2020, will mark 5 weeks since I had surgery on my collarbone.  During my road racing career, I had been very lucky not to have broken any bones during the season.  On a side note, and to add even more fuel to the klutziness fire that I have established throughout the years, I did once fall off a mountain bike trail and tore my MCL. The takeaway lessons from this particular episode were: 1. If you are scared of heights, do not ride on a mountain bike trail with a giant drop-off to one side; 2) The mountains are big and scary in Durango, Colorado, and 3. Riding up the face of the mountain to avoid going near the drop off is never a good idea.  I fell about 20 feet before a tree caught my bike and ripped my MCL to shreds. Fortunately, that injury occurred at the start of the off-season, forcing me to take time completely off. It opened my eyes to the notion that rest is actually a very good thing.

Over the years, though if I had the option of riding outside or staying indoors and riding the trainer, I would always ride outside.  My fellow teammates and friends can attest to the fact that I would ride outside in cold temperatures, rain, snow, wind, and anything else nature had to throw at me.  I hated the trainer. I hated being stuck indoors. If I tried to watch a movie, at some point I would realize that I had stopped pedaling and was just chilling on a bike saddle watching Zoolander.

Welcome to 2020 and my first broken collarbone.  The last trainer I had ridden was some years ago. There was nothing fancy about it and nothing to plug in.  It was one of those trainers where you had to keep tightening the rear to make sure your wheel did not slip. It was also one that destroyed your tire after 8 revolutions.  On that thing, time stopped the minute you started. I remember always looking down at my watch, thinking I had been riding for hours, when in fact I had only been on for 38 seconds. Sigh.  

And then Zwift came along.  Wow - that is my first impression. I have a Wahoo Kickr, which is also great.  So, now I have a Wahoo trainer that needs to get plugged in, my Di2 bike which needs to be charged, my Garmin which needs to be charged, my computer which needs to be charged, my fan which needs to be plugged in, and my phone which needs to be nearby and charged for music and everything else. Phew.  Riding a bike has never been so easy.  

So after two weeks, here is my (amateur) Zwift commentary.  Now, please understand that these are just my observations. I can’t say enough good things about Zwift and how it has made my recovery and riding indoors enjoyable.

1. You are an avatar.  As you progress, you get to unlock more things - jerseys, bikes, helmets, glasses and socks.  You can also pick your head shape, your hair color and a few hairdo options. This is fun, but I am a bit disappointed that there is no long braid option.  There are many of us that take pride in our long braids - myself, Alison Tetrick and Kate Courtney, just to name a few. Let our locks fly! In regards to clothing, I am a huge fan of being able to adjust my sock height. It seems that Zwift has recognized that sock design and height say a lot about you.  

2. Other riders fighting to sit on your wheel and not pulling through is just as annoying on Zwift as it is outdoors.  You speed up to gap them, but they keep coming back. There is a moment on Zwift where you are almost shoulder-to-shoulder with another rider and there is a bit of back-and-forth that goes on between bodies.  Right at this moment, we should have a boxing break, as the hockey players had in Nintendo’s Blade of Steel. Remember that? Every time the players got kind of pushy with each other, the scene would change, gloves would come off, and the fight would start.  Can that be on option on Zwift, please?

3. There are no excuses on Zwift, unless someone types something about how he/she is feeling, which rarely happens. In contrast, the last two times that I raced in the Shenandoah Mountain Bike 100, I found myself in groups with anywhere from 4-8 males.  On one, 9-mile paved section leading into some singletrack, I was the only one pulling. When I asked for help, the responses I got were: “I’m eating my lunch right now” and “my contact is being weird.” At another point in this same race, on pavement as well, I heard, “my wife just had a baby,” “I got my appendix taken out a few weeks ago,” and “I haven’t been training as much for this as I would have liked.”  Excuses, excuses. Nothing like that on Zwift. Drop it like it’s hot. 

4. It is hard not to be competitive, at least for me.  Even if I go into a ride tired and thinking I’m due for an easy spin, the moment I cross a QOM or Sprint point and there is a jersey on the line, game over.  I’m all in. Can Zwift add a solo-I-really-need-to-go-easy option? Some of us over-trainers could really use that.

However, all in all, Zwift has been amazing for me as I recover from my broken collarbone and look toward a season filled with gravel and mountain bike racing adventures. 

STORY #7

welcome to the big Leagues

As a racer, or any kind of competitor, what is the one thing you are NOT supposed to do before a big event or race?

…

That’s right, try something new.  You are never supposed to do something that your body has not experienced before. Whoops.

So back to my year of firsts...how was I supposed to know this? Just like not wearing underwear under your chamois/bike shorts, no one actually tells you this!!

After a successful spring campaign with Colavita Sutter Home, I got the call up to join the USA National Team in Europe for a few races and then was selected to be part of the Colavita Giro d’Italia team later that summer.

Quick recap, my largest race to that point had been the Redlands Cycling Classic that same year.  Prior to joining Colavita, I had been fortunate to have raced a bit with Team Snow Valley, at the time, led by former Olympic medallist, Brian Walton.  There have been several people that have taken me under their wing and given me amazing opportunities - I have mentioned Jim Jetson already, Brian was another.  At the time, Team Snow Valley was one of the best amateur teams in the nation. Brian had invited me to join the team after I had won the Cat 4 Fitchburg Longsjo Classic in Massachusetes.  A few short weeks after joining Snow Valley, the team and I were huddled in a hotel lobby in downtown New York City for a downtown Pro criterium on Wall Street. My team role was to navigate the leadout train in the closing laps.  Let’s just say that getting bounced around on cobbles to the point of snapping one of my helmet straps, so that my helmet was jangling along for the ride, and being scared of the skyscrapers and racers did not lend itself to even being present at the end of the race.  Despite that, Brian continued to believe in me and introduced me to what it meant to be a cohesive team on and off the bike.  

Back to that fateful spring.  Dotsie Bausch, Tina Pic and myself found ourselves on a flight to Europe after the Liberty Classic, the women’s race of the Philadelphia International Cycling Classic.  Ok hold on, this race deserves a quick mention. Here’s part of the wikipedia entry that describes the magnitude of that race:

It was described as "America's top international cycling classic, and one of the richest and most prestigious one day races outside of Europe." It was one of the longest single-day races in the U.S. at 199.6 kilometres (124.0 mi) - FOR MEN. The men's event was ranked 1.1, which made it one of the highest ranked single-day races in the Western Hemisphere.

The race course wound its way through downtown Philly, rolling along Kelly Drive and then up the infamous Manayunk Wall - a 17% grade climb up several streets through the town of Manayunk.  What made this section so memorable, other than its steepness, was that you were racing through a frat party. Even with a 9AM start, it was 5 o-clock somewhere for the thousands of fans lining the course.  It was a party. An unforgettable party, and one that I was extremely sad to see end in 2017 after 31 years.  

So, back to heading overseas with two of my Colavita teammates - Tina and Dotsie; we were joined at the airport by Kat Carroll and Chrissy Ruiter, and the five of us boarded the plane to Spain for a one-day race, Durango-Durango, and the Emakumeen Bira Stage Race, a four-day, five-stage race in the Basque region of Spain.   

I was extremely nervous about everything - the daily schedule, the racing, the caliber of my teammates, the terrain, the directors - everything and everyone was so good, so professional, so dialed.  

There are several huge differences to racing in the US and racing in Europe.  Bike racing in Europe is a loved-spectacle; as opposed to the US, where spectators/passerbyers get angry about their lanes of traffic being momentarily closed. In Europe, there are thousands of supporting and cheering fans. And, there are fans for both men AND women.  There are even superfans that show up at the team meetings with pictures from your high school prom, found on the internet, asking for your signature. You are a superstar. Well, not quite Michael Jordan level, but you know what I mean. (YES! I finally was able to mention Michael Jordan, my favorite athlete of all time).

So, to set the scene for my first ever race in Europe…

We finished the Liberty Classic bike race in Philadelphia on Sunday.  We flew out Sunday evening and arrived at Bilbao airport in Spain on Monday morning, local time.  (As a side note, remember I am a terrified flyer, and on this rating, Bilbao airport is listed as #5 of the top 10 most dangerous airports for landing: https://myfunkytravel.com/topten-dangerous-airport-landings.html)

And for anyone that has flown east to Europe knows, the first few days are pretty horribly tiring; it takes everything in your power not to fall asleep.  But, surprise, my first European race was on Tuesday, the day after landing in Spain.  

Welcome to the big leagues...

STORY #6

A year of Firsts…

Which door would you choose? 

Remember, you are fresh off passing the Virginia State Bar Exam...

Door A: A six-figure salary living in a big city working for a big law firm.  Looking good, dressing snappy, living well, and driving a nice car.  

Door B: A $0 salary.  Traveling six months out of the year and racing your bike in places like Italy, Spain and Jamaica.  Guaranteed to crash and suffer road rash, and to spend lots of money on high-end bandages, like Tegaderm.

Well, I chose Door B.  And 2007 was a wild, eye-opening, coming-of-age year.

Everything that year was big, flashy, and new--new bikes, new kits (and lots of them), new friends, new teammates, new countries, new races.  Training camps, race radios, race tactics, race travels, the list goes on and on...

The year started out with a team training camp in Napa Valley, California.  That year, Colavita-Sutter Home sponsored both a men’s and women’s cycling team.  So all the riders and staff were flown out (for free!) to St. Helena, California for ten days of riding, photos, interviews, and team presentations.  What an unbelievable experience! So, I was not being paid in cash, but instead received amazing monthly shipments of olive oil, pastas, dressings, and wine.  I felt like royalty. I also felt like mafia...well, sort of. At the time, the owner of Colavita was a man named Joe Profaci, an amazing and super supportive fan and sponsor of cycling.  His grandfather was Marlon Brando’s character in The Godfather.  That’s right, don’t mess with olive oil.  Unfortunately, other teams didn’t care and I was still getting chopped in corners in bike races…

Speaking of bike races, the 2007 Redlands Classic in Redlands, California, was my first big race of that season (and probably my life, to that point).

The players: Tina Pic, Alison Powers, Dotsie Bausch, Mackenzie Dickey (Jellum), Alex Wrubleski

The race: Mountaintop finish on Oak Glen, Stage 1

Number of months as a “pro”: Three months

Number of months after passing the Virginia Bar Exam: Five months

The Theme: I’ve passed up a law career to do what?!?

 The women’s field was stacked with an impressive array of riders and teams, over 100 racers (olympians, world champions and more). I was very nervous to prove myself to director, Jim Williams, who had taken a chance by signing me the previous fall after a good showing at the Green Mountain Stage Race and to my teammates. The plan was to get Dotsie Bausch fresh to the base of the Oak Glen climb; the plan was aggressive, and a lot of us were used up throughout various parts of the race. 

My “turn” came before the climb up Oak Glen.  I don’t really remember much except going from “all-out” to “oh my goodness, I can’t feel my legs.”

Long story short, I found myself off the bike with 3km to go, trying to stretch out my completely cramped body.  The team soigneur pulled up beside me in the team van right at that moment. Despite my pleas, she did not let me quit and get in the van. As she drove off, she yelled back to me, “this is so much better than some law office!” Yes, yes it was; and yes, it has been.

story #5

ginger ale & crackers

I am sure most of us have been “patients” and, conversely, “caregivers” of some kind at one point or another.  But, as with most things, I don’t think we are truly able to put ourselves into someone else’s shoes until we actually put the shoes on as well.

There is always a difference between what the ‘patient’ wants, and what the ‘caregiver’ wants to give. Over the years, prior to the spring of 2012, whenever I had friends or teammates pick up stomach viruses that left them throwing up, I’d always insist that they drink ginger ale or nibble on crackers - is that even real? Whereas, on one hand you have these old wives’ tales about how to care for the sick, on the other hand, you now have WebMD which lists death with nearly every ailment.

Anyways, during the spring of 2012, an Olympic year, there were several of us chasing points so that the Americans would be able to send the maximum number of riders to the Olympic Games. We started the year off in Izegem, Belgium, in February.  At that time, the US National Team had a base/compound/barracks/dorms in Izegem. Normally, only the boys would stay there, and the girls were fortunate to stay down the street at the lovely Park Hotel. That year, however, things were different. We were sent to Izegem. I’ll never forget waking up on a February morning and heaving the iron “curtains” up to see snow. I may or may not have gotten something into my eye, and a tear may or may not have rolled down my cheek. Later that afternoon, several of us were squeegeeing the standing water out of the bathroom into what looked like a sinkhole in the middle of the floor. There are also rumors that we had horse lasagna for dinner that night, but that is for another time.    

Back to racing that spring. After a string of successful races, we ended up in London to preview the Olympic course for the 2012 Olympic Road Race. After one afternoon spent playing tourist, I’ll never forget the feeling I got later that night - like a switch. I went from feeling good, to feeling like death. I will spare everyone the details, but I had contracted the Norovirus. For those of you not familiar with what it is, it’s disgusting, in so many ways - both in how you contract it, and what it does to you.  

Long story short, as I lay curled up on the bathroom floor that night between bouts of all kinds of nastiness, I vowed to never force anyone to ever eat or drink if they were sick ever again. Ever.

Over the years, I had many teammates, friends, and competitors break their collarbones. Three stories stand out for me. The first is the legendary story of Ben King. At the time, Ben was not yet World Tour, had not yet won stages of a Grand Tour, and did not yet own nearly 100% of all Virginia strava KOMs.  After suffering a broken collarbone, legend has it that Ben did hill repeats up Wintergreen Mountain Resort - a 20-40 minute climb depending on where you start. His mom followed him in the car and drove him down after each one. Ben left his superstar marks on that road that day.  

The next story is of Swedish cyclist, Emma Johansson. Emma suffered several broken collarbones during her career. But the one that stands out is her break in 2015.  Emma broke her collarbone, had surgery, and then raced the Tour of Flanders three weeks later. Un-be-lie-vable. Really.

The last story is about Kristin Armstrong. In 2012, during the 5K prologue of the Exergy Tour in Boise, Idaho, Kristin Armstrong crashed around turn, broke her collarbone, rolled down the street, got back on her bike, finished, and still got 10th place! I did not crash, I had a healthy collarbone, I did not roll anywhere, yet Kristin was faster than me, by a lot. Kristin went on to have surgery, spent 6 hours in the wind tunnel in the aero bars one week after surgery, and went on to win the second of her three Olympic gold medals in the time trial one month later.

I bring this all up because I broke my collarbone for the very first time just last week.  And maybe even twice, the first resulting in a hairline fracture and the second, just riding, resulting in the actual displacement.  Oh my goodness. I have never experienced so much physical pain in my life. While the X-Ray technician was asking me to turn right, I responded with a yell for a barf bag.  

And it was not until I actually puked from the pain and had to actually do stuff with just one functioning hand that I finally put those broken collarbone shoes on - making me that much more in awe of the riders, both recreational and professional, that have pushed through this injury with fervor, positivity, and resilience.  Kudos to you all. I’m speechless, with the barf bag nearby.  

Epilogue: A huge thanks to Charlottesville-Doctor, Matt Panzarella, for fixing my collarbone so well and so quickly.  The steel plate will add some extra weight, but I’ll just have to go harder :)

story #4

who’s boss

Ragnar is my little French toy poodle born in Omaha, Nebraska.  He flew into Dulles Airport not in first class, not in coach, not in the overhead bin, but down below where there were no snack offerings, movie showings or bathroom goings.

I found out that I was getting a puppy only about 24 hours before I actually saw him for the first time.  So there was no time to buy any dog food, dog toys, dog beds, dog anything. There was only time to buy myself something, and what I bought was Cesar’s Way, a book by Cesar Millan, also known as the Dog Whisperer.  

The main points that Cesar made in his book were:

1. The dog is a dog and wants to be treated as such.  You are not his mom.

2. You are the alpha, do you understand? You run the show.

3. Ignore the dog when you first see him. Let him know who’s boss.

4. When you arrive home, take him for a walk outside so he can get to know his surroundings.

5. Walk, walk, walk! Physical exertion is a good thing.

6. Give him cues to associate certain behaviors with words.  

When I first laid eyes on Ragnar, it was at Thanksgiving.  The house was crowded and there were three tiny, 3-lbs toy poodles scurrying around.  When I entered the room where Ragnar was playing, I made the point to ignore him. Ragnar didn’t give a shit as there were eight other people all over him petting him and rubbing his belly. I’m not sure that Ragnar even took note of my presence.  

Fine. When I got home with Ragnar, it was pitch dark, close to midnight.  But, Cesar had said to walk him around his new place. So I dragged the little 3 pounder in the dark to fall in love with his new home. First fail. 

That night was rough.  Cesar had said that Ragnar was a dog and wanted to be treated as such; to me that meant Ragnar did not want to touch the human bed.  So with no dog bed or anything like that, Ragnar spent that first night in a Tupperware™ bin into which I had stuffed a Rudy Project duffel bag from my Colavita years of racing.  No one slept as Ragnar kept everyone awake singing songs of love and happiness. Second fail. 

The next morning started with cues.  I took Ragnar outside and started saying “do it” to him like Ben Stiller does in Starsky and Hutch; in pretty much the exact voice and tone that Stiller uses.  If you do not get this reference, google Starsky and Hutch and “do it.” Would you pee if I stood over you saying, “do it, do it” over and over again. Third fail.

Alright, next up was physical exertion.  I totally got that. At the time I was a professional cyclist; being fit was my life.  So I took Ragnar on these hikes - steep two miles up, steep two miles down. At 3 lbs, Ragnar had some issues with some of the pebbles on course, but he had to man up.  It was a dog eat dog world out there. A few weeks later at the Vet office, my vet gently told me that 4 miles a day was way too much for this little guy. Years later the same vet, also an avid cyclist, and I had a conversation about Ragnar and what kind of ‘rider’ he was.  Endurance? Climber? Sprinter? No, he told me; Ragnar is maybe a spectator. Ouch. Fourth fail.  

When I went to the gym in the mornings, I baby-gated Ragnar into a corner and turned on soothing music for him to listen to during his growing, formative years.  I’m sure he formed some great memories and life habits listening to “Big Pimpin’” and “99 Problems.”     

In the end, Ragnar runs the show.  He sleeps in the bed and dictates when it’s time to get up, when it’s time to go out, when it’s time for him to eat, play, be petted, be chased and everything else.  He also picks the TV shows and movies - no dogs or animals allowed on screen. He gets a treat for sitting, for rolling over, eating his meals, for being cute, and pretty much everything else.  

But despite all that, his mom is so proud of him.  

story #3

shifting gears…in more ways than one

I got my first bike ever on a Friday night.  I mean my first real bike - one that did not include Mom or Dad running along side of me in place of my training wheels.  

It was a Mongoose and it was silver.  That’s pretty much all that I remember about it.  It was a used bike that my parents had bought for me.  We picked it up on Friday, and I had my first ever race against the clock on Sunday.  

Alright, so I will admit, the race was not a true time-trial, but it was my first time ever racing on a bike, by myself, going full-gas.  And yes, it was part of a triathlon.

It was the summer between my second and third years at the University of Virginia.  During my second year at UVA, I had walked onto the cross-country team in the fall, and came out with a stress fracture in the shaft of my femur in one leg, and two stress areas in my other.  Life sucked for a while after that. I lived on the elliptical machine at the UVA gym and was most definitely considered one of those gym weirdos who is way too thin and works out way too much.

That summer, I returned to swimming, having swum in high school, and my friends started encouraging me to do a triathlon.  So that’s how I found myself signed up for the Riverwatch Sprint Triathlon- .75 mile swim, 16 mile bike, and a 3 mile run - only two days after getting my first bike.  

The bike did not come with an instruction manual and I knew absolutely nothing about bikes other than they had two wheels.  So I raced the bike “as is” - however it came into my possession is how I raced it. I have to admit that when I look back at the events that happened that weekend, I have to wonder how a 21-year old college student lacked some basic know-how.  Again, book smarts was my forte; street smarts, not so much. Now may be a good time to let you know that I spent my summers at places like Typing Camp. While my friends were at awesome, overnight outdoor adventure camps, I was busy with... ‘a’, ‘a’, ‘as’, ‘as’, ‘asd’. That could explain a few things. 

I also did not own any bike shoes, clipless pedals, anything at all aerodynamic, and definitely nothing that might have been considered “cool” or “pro” in triathlon.  I also had no idea what the phrases “clipping in”, “spinning”, and “shifting” meant.  

As with most triathlons, it was a super early start on that fateful Sunday morning.  For you triathletes out there, it was also the first time I ever saw a bunch of grown men and women just awkwardly semi-squatting and hanging out in the water by the shore start.  For the rest of you, you can figure out what was happening. Hint: the water at the start was warm, at least. 

I had been a swimmer my entire life to that point, so that part of the race was easy.  I came out of the water 10th out of 182 women and first in my age group. Then came the bike leg.  I was in sneakers, and had put on tight shorts and a loose t-shirt on for this leg, you know, aerodynamics.  I left the transition and started riding. Alright, alright, not bad. It was going. I was moving. Then we made a right turn and the course started going gently uphill.  As I was climbing, it started to get really hard, and I started going slower and slower. I could see the top of the climb, there was a volunteer sitting on the side of the road, but I knew I would not make it to her.  My cadence started dropping and dropping and I could feel that the end was near. And then it happened, I stopped moving. I got off my bike and started pushing it up the hill. I got to the volunteer and with wide-eyes, I asked her if anyone had cleared the climb? Was anyone riding this insanity? She just smiled as I got back on my bike and started down the hill.

It was only later that someone pointed out the silver levers hanging down off the handlebars.  Shifters he called them. Ohh, that’s what those are for...

story #2

Planes, people movers, and national champs

“You can either leave with me now, or leave with the police officer in handcuffs…”

Hmm. Any guesses as to who the recipient of this statement was? How about a recent law school graduate, a Virginia-bar admitted lawyer, and a national-level professional cyclist? Were you close? 

My first year as a “professional” cyclist was in some ways more challenging than anything I had done prior to that. I mean, I had gone to the nation’s best high school, graduated at the top of my class at UVA, attended UVA law, read lots of books, blah blah blah. I guess that pretty much meant that I had some serious book smarts. Perhaps the street smart aspect might of my education might have been slightly lacking. I mean, the University of Virginia has a huge list of “street smart” things each student should do before he or she graduates. Studying in the library didn’t seem to make the cut.   

So that brings me to the end of my first real year of learning. Learning how to actually speak out loud, give interviews, be on TV, talk to sponsors, represent a brand, and race my bike.  Phew. It was a long and tough year. So, you can imagine how cracked I was at the end of August of that year after having spent the last six months on the road, sleeping on couches or the floor, racing bikes, drinking weak coffee, so on and so on.  

I should probably add to this story that I was, and still somewhat continue to be, a very anxious flyer.  Anxious about everything - safety, layover time, turbulence, arriving to the airport super early, checking in early, lining up early - the passenger you do not want to be flying with. Ever.  Ask any one of my teammates.  

With all that said, it brings us to that fateful day. We had just finished the USA Cycling Criterium Nationals in Chicago. We had a Monday morning flight. I was flying from Chicago, through Washington DC Dulles, and then onto Charlottesville, Virginia. I already knew that my connection in Dulles was tight, about 50 minutes or so.  And of course, what happens with a tight connection? You get a delay, and then another. I approached the counter at Chicago and asked to be rebooked in DC for a later flight to Charlottesville. “You’ll be fine” they assured me. “You’ll have 15 minutes to make your flight.” Hmm.  

A bit later we were touching down in Washington, D.C., with, sure enough, 15 minutes until my next flight.  We barely touched down, and I quickly became that person who stands up, pushes ahead, trying to get through when there was absolutely nowhere to go, and absolutely no movement. After a bit of pushing, I finally deplaned and ran to the Dulles “people-mover” to drive over to Terminal A.  The countdown read 1:58, 1:57… Please! I begged. Please!! I have a flight to catch. The driver gave me a silent, disapproving look, and nodded towards the clock. 2 minutes, and no new passengers later, we very slowly took off towards Terminal A.  

When we finally stopped, I sprinted with everything I had to my gate.  And it was with such happiness and relief that I saw my plane on the tarmac!  With the doors still open!! I had made it!! Phew! I was going to make it home!  

Wait, what? Sorry what? The flight is closed? Excuse me? The door to the plane is open, it’s right there! Like I see it, it’s right there!! Please!! I want to get home! (Was I crying?) I’ve been on the road for pretty much the entire year!! I beg you.Please, No, meaning yes? Please, please, please!!!  

And then it happened. I turned to walk away. And, I did indeed turn. And then I turned back and ran. I just juked the flight agent. I faked her out as if I was Emmit Smith running in for a touchdown. I ran right past the woman at the gate. I ran past the security door. I ran onto the tarmac. I ran towards the plane. Complete with backpack and helmet bouncing back and forth.  Back and forth. Breathe in, breathe out. Pace yourself. Let’s go.  

I ran up onto the plane and put my bag into the overhead bin, sat down, and buckled my seatbelt. I’m here. Let’s go. I’m going home!! Is that a small child crying? Does the stewardess look scared?  

Awkward moments. What? You’ve never seen anyone run onto a plane before. Where have you been?

Ma’am. What?! The flight agent and a burly policeman were standing in front of me on the plane. You can either leave with me now, or leave with the police officer in handcuffs…

Whoops. And then it hit me. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry...

Additional screening for life.

story #1

a little to the left

Just a little more to the left.  Maybe a little more. Tad more. Okay, just get out of the picture.

It was my second year.  I was a veteran; a seasoned-professional.  A second-year pro. I knew the ins and the outs.  I knew the racing, how to manage the travel, how to handle the host-houses.  But, most importantly, I knew how to handle the team photo shoot. I got my haircut and my hair highlighted right before camp.  None of the disastrous events from my first year when I listened to the photographer and did a 1987-head toss and ended up with a head shot that I hope the internet swallows forever.

This year the stakes were higher.  Cooking Light Magazine, one of our team sponsors, had emailed us a few weeks before camp, alerting us that the women’s team was going to be used as models for a four-season photo shoot to be used in its magazine.  That meant that nearly 2 million people were going to see us. And, more importantly, my hair. My 400-hundred-dollar hair.  

We were separated into two groups.  My group was assigned the fall and summer spread.  The fall photo shoot consisted of a tailgate party featuring various Colavita and Sutter Home products, two more sponsors of the team.  

This was going to be my moment.  My moment to break out of my shell, to stop being nervous, to show off my hair.  Unfortunately for me, my group consisted of a former model, a beautiful Jamaican, and another attractive blond and brunette.  These were my cycling teammates, not just random people 100X more photogenic than me. Side note: I have had teammates look at my photographs, gasp, and say something like, ‘that’s not what you really look like…’  Thanks. 

So, the fall tailgate photo shoot.  The photographers had brought in all kinds of props - a grill, a car with an open hatchback, a small table.  Also, they brought all kinds of clothing. It was like second-grade dressup all over again! Okay, there went the really nice jacket.  Oh, and she got the cool pants. Okay, she gets the sweet top. And me? I got the brand called no-more-clothes-left. Awkward. The photographer took off her sweater and gave it to me.  It was three times too big, so she pinned it in the back.  

Okay.  I stayed positive.  It’s alright.  

Next came places.  Ok, she’s grilling.  She’s laughing holding a glass of wine.  Those two are chatting by the table. And me?  Andrea, go sit, or more like squat, awkwardly in the back of the car and kind of pop your head out.  Because everyone does that at tailgates.  

Places, places, everyone!  Okay, I’m in the car. My hair looks good.  Smiling. Great. Oh, I think the photographer is saying something to me...

Just a little more to the left.  Maybe a little more. Tad more. Okay, just get out of the picture.