The final stage of Gracia-Orlova

You feel the music in your ribs before it fills your ears. Forceful, thumping, you can almost see the vibrations leaving the speakers- swirling through the air before striking you. It’s the heavy base, a glossy production voice, and the image of two hundred, kitted up, angry women that I’ll always associate with european bike racing.

So listen up, girl. Feel the beat. Racing here is hard times, learned lessons, and so many memories.

It pours rain.

I don’t look at my computer. I don’t look at my computer.

I do.

60k left. I take comfort in knowing that’s less than 60 miles and try to not figure out miles in my head

(my computer is still “stuck” on Kilometers, which I still don’t understand).

The stage race began with a result I was proud of. The next three days brought a time trial and mountain passes that the other ladies flew up but I held their wheels on will.

But now this. Off the back after a crash, slipping around on some slick Czech road, fingers too frozen to shift, straining to see the corner ahead between the rain drops.

And I realize I hate this. Hate. This.

Not the sport, not the racing, not the trials or tests of attrition.

Just this. Where I am right now. Mostly, I hate that the only thing I want right now is to quit. And that's the worst feeling there is.

I try to ball my hand into a fist to warm up, but my fingers are too frozen to move. I hit my shifter with wrist instead. Easier gear. Spin. Keep going.

Let the rain come. Let it string your forearms, keep your frozen legs numb. Let it pour over you, wash away your pride, your doubt, anything you’ve done to prepare for this moment, because the moment is happening right now. Take a deep breath, eat some food, and keep peadling. You always have to keep going.

You feel the music in your ribs before it fills your ears. forceful, thumping, you can almost see the vibrations leaving the speakers.

The finish.

The race has already been won. Probably a while ago. Spectators have already lost interest by the time our group slowly rolls in. People are taking down the barriers that line the sprint. But that music is still playing.

After I return to the states, weeks later I’ll hear this song played on the radio. It won’t be the same. It won’t be nearly as colorful. Because now, this song is perfect. The way it hits- it not only matches my mood, blending seamlessly with everything I feel and hope. It shapes us, creates us, elevating us further into what we want to be.

So listen up. Remember the beat. There’s music in these memories, no matter what it sounds like. And the melody can only get louder.

A week from today I’ll be on a plane to Paris for more of this craziness.

I can’t wait.