Let's talk about pain.

Lately I've been writing a lot about pain.  Indeed, to many of you, the entire trip to Switzerland may seem like it has been painful judging by my more significant entries (true to a certain extent, but the good far outweighs the bad.)  The physical pain is durable to a certain extent.  In the case of a crash, the shock that pulses through your body is enough to keep your pain-threshold high - perhaps the most painful part of carnage is the shower following, and the inevitable visit to the cycling med, where the nurse always insists on rubbing the wounds clean with a soapy, wiry brush.  In races, the pain is altogether different.  At times, it feels like your whole body is consumed by the dull pulse of the pedal-stroke, and your heart beats with a fury that seems to shake the handlebars.  The crowd, however big and small, has gone mute to your ears, and the only thing you hear is your innermost thoughts screaming against the pain and screaming all the same for you to keep pushing.  This pain is what we cyclists live for... it is a successful pain - a pain that expresses the training and preparation that went into the effort.  This kind of pain becomes addicting after a victory (whether by your own goals, or by winning).  The contrast between 2 hours of intense effort and 2 minutes of ecstasy following the race is tremendous and leaves a mark on a rider, and for me, it is the drive to win that keeps me training and racing my heart out.  

The pain I went through today was unlike any other, and was not a pain that I had hoped to experience, nor would ever hope to experience again.  It was a mixed pain - both physical and mental.  The physical pain was bearable, as it should be.  The mental pain was brain-numbing.  The nerves before the race had me eating little, forgetting vital parts of race-preparation, and paying little attention during my warmup to cars and other riders.  The concentration that I counted on so many times before was absent, replaced by an irrational nervousness that climaxed with the sound of the gun, at 14h00.  The physical pain was immediate - the start was like a slingshot of power and adrenaline - 50 or so racers from various nationalities vying for a chance to prove themselves as the new contender.  The course began steeply on a paved road, climbing up for a kilometer or so, where it then joined a double-track climb.  The second feed zone was placed at a flatter spot on this road, which continued to climb for another kilometer (the first feed was located in the Start/Finish, along with the tech zone.)  Immediately following the feed, and giving no time for extended recovery, was a 500 meter climb through the mud straight up the fall-line.  This climb, on the first lap, is where I first found myself in the grasps of fatigue.  It was evident that I was still in the latter end of the flu; feeling lethargic after 2 kilometers of racing is not normal.  The Swiss, by regulation, are required to attain a certain amount of points as an Amateur racer before they are licensed as a professional when moving from the Junior to Adult Categories.  For me, however, this was not the case with USA Cycling, who allowed a certain number of Junior X racers this season to move directly into Pro.  For this reason, I was the youngest racer on the line that day, by over a year.  Continuing on, the climb crested out onto a flat road section leading down to the final climb of the loop.  The entire climb was a mere 3 kilometers long, followed by 2 kilometers of rooty, muddy, grassy single-track.  Ride ten of those back to back, and you've got a 31-mile sufferfest to worry about.

After the first lap, after going down on an off-camber corner,  I found myself in the bottom ten, after the second, I was second to last, and after the third, I lost count of laps and I was sitting in what I thought at the time was dead-last, but ended up being third to last.  About an hour into the race, the leaders passed me (an improvement over Niederhelfinschwil, where I got lapped 40 minutes into the race), and since the race was only half-way over, I was slowly lapped by a number of riders from the rest of the field.  It's amazing how an audience can react to a race in such a way that it helps tremendously those in contention, and hurts even worse those who aren't.  Even after being lapped, it was evident that the crowd could tell that I was not a member of the group racing past me, and I wouldn't be surprised if many of them knew that I was one lap down.  The normal phenomenon occurred each lap, as I have experienced as a spectator myself - the fans don't cheer for the last rider, who suffers the most - the cheers dwindle when I come upon the crowd, as if they know that no amount of cheering will change my suffering.  

Sometimes in a long, bad race, the body shuts down.  Either it refuses to go on, and you are forced to drop out, or it shuts off the pain, and you feel numb on the bike, able to finish with an air of self-accomplishment.  The infuriating part of this race was that neither of these happened.  Indeed, the normal absence of thought that I experience in a race - to be replaced by sheer concentration - was absent, leaving behind the horrible mental workings of the mind against the body.  Over the course of the race, my mind fought to keep a grip over the body, which protested any continued effort.  Most influential in the pain was the fact that I had no idea how many laps I had done, or would have to do.  At the end of the race, I flew straight through the tape crossing the course - under the assumption that I had another lap, I didn't even notice the crowd of riders being congratulated and signing autographs, finishing a whole two laps ahead of me.  

Humiliation.  For this race, the only positive thing that came about were two proverbs - both of which I thought of after crossing the finish line.

"There's a first (and a last) for everything." 

"Someone has to be last."

However, the goal I set in the beginning of the race was successful.  I completed 8 laps out of 10, and I finished the race.  In reality, that's all I had ever hoped for, and although many of the riders back in the states have been giving me a hard time - as one writes "wtf, Kevin, two laps down?" - do they really have any idea what that race was like?  I was the only United States Citizen in Schaan for the race, so I think not.  We'll see how they fare over here when they get their chance - it's a completely different world, I assure you.

Thanks everyone for your support.  My goal of this trip - a spot on the U-23 team, and a potential start at the European World Cups this spring - still stands tall.  Unfortunately, Schaan is not what I was looking for in race results, but sickness and fatigue are part of life.  This was not a one day trial for the team, and I will continue to show Marc Gullickson and USA Cycling that if it takes more than results to make a solid racer.  I am still mentally strong enough to train and do what it takes to reach this next level.

On a lighter note, Kathrin and Matthias both had excellent results.  Kathrin was 11th in Elite Frauen, the 4th u-23 to finish, as well as the 4th Swiss rider.  Matthias was 5th in Juniorren, the second Swiss rider.  I took over 700 photos at the race; I will be updating more soon, less about pain, and more about the trip, which was a great one.

Kathrin and Michelle Hediger - Michelle got 3rd in the Junior Women.

Kathrin waming up.

Kathrin on course - by the way, she beat Sabine Spitz, not an easy thing to do.

No photos of Matthias's race, unfortunately.  It was at 9h00, and I was still waking up.