Never Say Never

If every race brings a learning opportunity then racing for 12 hours solo crams in a full term in the classroom in one sitting. The curriculum is expansive ranging from realising just how well you really know your bike with particular attention to your saddle, to what a minestrone soup with jellybean chaser tastes like, as well as what you are really capable of with a bit of focus and concentration. Although, probably the most important lesson of all is just how much your support crew really love you.

This year’s Moonride was my third 12 hour solo race. Racing your bike for 12 hours is a funny thing (as in odd, not ha ha). With a newly sparked interest in 12 and 24 hour racing on the dirt scene back in Blighty eight years ago, I looked on at the solo efforts from the comfort of my 4-(wo)man team tent trackside and said, “You’ll never see me doing that”. The journey to the finish of my first 12 hour solo race in 2009 remains a bit of a blur, but I sure as hell remember how I got to the start.

I had been flying the Union Jack at the World Masters Mountain Bike Championships two days earlier enjoying my last foray on European soil before an Antipodean migration. Sadly, my best efforts were cut short by a series of mechanicals and I kissed goodbye to a medal attempt. As they say, when one door closes another opens and mine swung in favour of the ultra-endurance entrance. I should really blame my devoted partner, Mel, who suggested that I could restore my wounded racer’s pride with an event that weekend on home turf. A cross-continental trip in a motorhome later, I’d broken every rule in the book of “What Not to do 48 Hours Before a Race” and found myself at the start line of the Torq in Your Sleep midday to midnight event. Sometime closer to 1am than midnight, I finished my final lap. The race taught me more than I ever thought imaginable and allowed me to smash through a personal pre-existent performance psychology glass ceiling.

You should know what you’re in for by the third time around and this year I had a more honed strategy for racing, pacing and, crucially, nutrition. I also had the advantage of guru, Lisa Morgan, in my crew. The self professed professional geek and former elite mountain bike racer turned coach brings with her a heap of knowledge, unquenchable enthusiasm for all things cycling, an eye for analytical detail and sound logic. The latter two of which, I was more than happy to delegate as they seem harder to sustain than pedalling for the entirety of the event, with feedback along the lines of “you need to drink more”, “it’s time to eat” and “you’re going faster than you think” becoming essential physical or mental pick-me-ups (or stop-me-fades) at varying stages of the day and night.

Always expect the unexpected. While I couldn’t have planned for it, the unexpected for this event was a last minute addition of another crew member out of left field, Lizzie Charleston. The irrepressible former international model suffered a head injury from a horseriding accident in 2005, which spurred her on to establish THINK! The Head Injury Network for Kiwis. Despite her Moonride attendance being to support THINK!’s cycling ambassador, Ken Feist (who just so happened to be my room-mate) she immersed herself into the pit-crew mentality for both of our benefits and retired fully conversant in all things two-wheeled rather than four-legged.  

I’ve never written an open letter but feel I must express a personal apology to all those involved in clocking up over 24,000 laps during the course of the competition as my pre-race mantra of “I go better in the wet” seemed to have a bearing on the trail conditions and Rotorua’s rather muddy stage was set. Next year, I will imagine racing better in the dry with unseasonal tropical heat for the benefit of all of us.

Opting to get a couple of laps under my belt from the gun, before settling on any definite race plans, I enjoyed establishing a pace with plenty of team riders for company. I soon decided on a “sets of five” approach to the seven-kilometre circuit for regular fast food pitstops backed up by an assortment of Clif shots and bars stowed in my jersey to eat on the move. I enjoyed the camaraderie from Endura NZ’s prominent youngster, Ryan Hunt, who led the charge for the men’s field, before finding myself back on a lone effort again. Clocks ticked down and laps clocked up. Darkness fell and the advantage of being a soloist (yes, there is one) came to fruition allowing me to consistently pluck for the best lines on the more technical sections despite reduced visibility. At one point, Lisa told me I was three minutes off lapping the men’s field. At another, she suggested I could squeeze in another lap if I lifted my pace for the last 90 minutes. I chuckled to myself about her unwavering optimism and thought that she should re-think her coaching motto from “limits begin where vision ends” to “limits begin where your coach’s vision ends”.

I crossed the finish line for the last time at the end of lap number 24 as the fastest solo 12 hour racer overall, something that I think is probably the first time ever for a woman in the history of the event.
So, I did know my saddle well after all but elected to avoid sitting on it again for at least 72 hours afterwards. A minestrone soup with jellybean chaser isn’t as unappealing as it sounds after eight hours racing but I preferred the homemade lemon and ginger cheesecake with latte combination for post-race refuelling. I continue to surprise myself about what the human body is capable of with a bit of focus and concentration, which is amusing for a physician. And, like all things in endurance sport, it’s your support crew that counts the most. I must make sure they’re all there for the fourth attempt.