Am I doing this for fun? My dramas on the Otway Odyssey.

If I believed in things like fate, I would definitely believe my racing career was jinxed. So far, I have done recce rides of 6 races and not actually made it to 5 of them. I looked almost certain not to make this one either. Firstly, from being heartbroken, secondly from a shopping injury. Yes, a shopping injury. I was holding the shopping trolley with one foot hooked over its bottom rails whilst I used both hands to lob a heavy bag into it. The bag hit the top of the back of the trolley, sending it for a little kick, which wrenched my hamstring. That’s it, I’m online shopping and getting home delivery the week before races in the future. I moped on the couch for a day, limped around work for a day, managed to score a physio appointment at short notice (more than a minor miracle) and left with my hamstring taped up like a football player.

Simey attempted to be reassuring by telling me the hardest part of any race is getting to the start line and I am far from alone in injuring myself at the last minute after weeks or months of preparation. He also said athletes compete with far worse injuries than this and I should toughen up and go. I may be extrapolating a little, but basically, he was being a combination of an unfamiliar comforting Simey, and familiar blunt Simey.  I spoke with a few people about it and started a running total of advice – 5 for fuck it, go race, and 2 for be sensible, go sit on a beach. The physio suggested I could ride, just to pull out if I started getting sharp pains. What was the worst that could happen? Well, I could be on the couch with a mangulated leg for months …

The voice of enthusiasm won out and I headed down for the important bit at least – free champagne. I met with some of the other women riding and walked through the transition areas. I guessed I was racing. The next morning, I am there for coffee and watch the 50k race start. The 100k start was a bit too early. There are a lot of racers, and the end of the pack are really very leisurely. I decide I am starting near the front. I sort my stuff out and I’m so nervous I feel sick. Just as I’m about to head up to the start line, I run for the side of the oval and throw up. Nervous is bad enough, so nervous I am throwing up is really the edge of tolerability! I wish the other girls a fun race and say I am getting up there because I can’t deal with waiting anymore.

We roll over the start line and up the hill. I could do with about a litre of Mylanta. I’m incredibly tense and am sure there is more stomach acid in my oesophagus than in my stomach.  But I’m making good time up the hill, then we are all funnelling into the single track. The crowd has thinned a little on the hill, but I’m suitably mediocre to be in the middle of all the other mediocre people. There’s a lot of us getting onto Red Carpet, and I’m nervously looking at all these people and not concentrating enough on riding when I clip a tree and go flying over the handlebars into the next tree. I rub my shoulder whilst people stop to see if I’m ok. Apparently it was speccy, and I went for a good fly through the air. The guy behind me suggests I walk the bike back to the marshal and get a lift out, but I am stubborn, and get back on the bike. I’m stuck behind someone very slow on the rest of Red Carpet, but at least that gave me time to calm down.

Despite that, I was feeling miserable riding back up to the footy oval. My shoulder hurt, I’d crashed where I really shouldn’t have and I’d ruined my chances of placing. I was almost ready to give up when Charles caught up with me. Charles was also the walking wounded, riding with sore knees, sore back, sore bum, but he wasn’t falling to pieces. His company kept me on the bike and we rode through the transition and onto the Yaugher trails. I get back into the swing of things and start riding fast again. The trail has slight turns in it, but you could basically ride a straight line down the middle. I remember the instructor who told me "we are on mountain bikes, we don’t need to avid a bit of leaf litter, take the straight line because it’s fastest". So I take the straight line. There’s something in the leaf littler that catches my wheel though, and I’m flying again. Someone suggested they should follow me with a go pro. I land on the already sore left shoulder and my bike’s handle bars are twisted. I sit on the side of the track and have a cry whilst Charles straightens my bike. I do really owe a lot of thanks to Charles for getting me through this race. Stubborn and stupid are my middle names though, so I get back on the bike and off we go again.

Finally, I start actually riding well. The tracks flow, I pass other riders (even going uphill!) and out onto the bit where they have fortunately cut out most of the horrible gravel road from my recce ride. Passing people hasn’t turned out to be such a stress. Lots of people just pull over because they aren’t racing, others ride to the side for you. I get less stressed about people passing me, although I do find myself saying "Go, go, go!" to encourage them to get past quickly so I can go back to concentrating on my own ride.

The race photographer is in a boring section of trail and takes a few photos that look like I’m out for a Sunday stroll. Jess Douglas rides pass me near then end of her 100k. She can’t remember my name but does remember vaguely where I came from and calls out “Hey Horsham girl, how’s it going?” I can’t say I’ve ever been called a Horsham girl before! I say I’ve been in struggle town, 2 falls and a mechanical, but I’m still on the bike. She says she’s had 2 falls as well, and her ego is struggling. Mine too! Jess has the most incredible thighs I’ve ever seen on a such a small woman and they power her up the hill and out of sight in no time.

That stupid gland is strong again, and I roll past someone at the start of the wild downhill section and catch up with the hoards pushing up the sandy hill. It’s really churned up. My shoulder tells me about pushing the bike and I favour the right arm. It turns out that it’s even possible to overtake whilst pushing the bike. I’m back on again and onto the techy climb. I pass several people already pushing low down and get over the worst of it, but when I see the line of pushers around the next bend, the fuck it wins out. It’s not like I was riding a winning time at all. I get back on near the top, pass the few final pushers (yes, Simey, it is faster to be on the bike even in granny gear) and onto the weaving descent. Someone later commented that this wasn’t even fun single track, and I can see what they meant. There’s too much negotiating of trees and grass trees close to the track, and the slow weaving and winding doesn’t compare to the fun of tracks in which you can more freely move. The course setter for the Odyssey likes his courses to be difficult though, hence keeping in the sandy hill, and the tricky to navigate descent.

Despite the dramas of the journey, my legs feel remarkably fresh as I cross the road into the final run to the footy oval. There’s a woman finishing the 50k ahead of me and we both get up in the pedals and push it through to the finish. It’s nice to be able to finish strong and we grin at each other as we pull in. Somehow I’ve still managed to come 5^th. Then I drop the bike and head for the medic tent to get the shoulder looked at. It has full range of movement, and they aren’t worried about it, but an hour later when I try and drive the van, it’s seized up and I can’t change gears with it. I head back to the physio when I get home and finish as I started – all taped up like a football player.