I bit the bullet and headed to the Velodrome for my first track race on Thursday, June 25. It just so happened the king of pop up and died that day, so the date will remain forever etched in my mind. I heard the news on NPR while driving over to the National Sports Center and feeling like I, myself, might also meet my maker. To sooth my nerves, I decided to dedicate the race to MJ. I recalled my 5-year-old self prancing around the house singing “I’m Bad.” Definite competitive fuel.
Riding the track brings me enough satisfaction, but being on the infield with dozens of other riders gearing up for some friendly competition felt downright awesome. I pulled out my shiny new license and brought it to the registration desk where I paid my $40 to enroll in the race and obtain my cloth racing number: 143.
I felt a little like a freshman hanging out with the varsity athletes. No longer relegated to the bleachers, I’d moved to the other side of the track. All the cyclists I’d watched for the past two years were down there warming up. A couple of female riders from another team took me under their wings and helped me through my first night.
Our lineup included a 10-lap scratch, miss and out and 30-lap scratch. Really, I couldn’t have asked for an simpler trio of races.
As the official summoned us to the rail for that first race, I picked up my bike and thought about the fun I would soon have. I prayed I wouldn’t go down when the gun went off. And I didn’t. I pedaled like hell and tried to hang onto the pack. Two disadvantages of rookie-dom: you don’t have the strategy down and you are still figuring out your gearing.
Rounding out my first lap I heard Cake’s “Going the Distance” blare over the loudspeaker. THAT song has been my anthem all summer. Every time I get nervous about riding, I blare it over my car stereo to fire myself up. Unfortunately, hearing it failed to help my performance.
I came in last three out of three races. The ugly truth is the field lapped me … twice … on the 30-lap scratch. But I saw Dustin, Karla, Chris and Nissa cheering me on from the stands, and I beamed with pride. I did it. After years of watching. I participated. And I planned to head back for more. Because, “you know I’m bad, I’m bad, you know it.”
