Thinking back on the moments before my first race in a professional peloton, I remember feeling that I had never been that nervous for anything my entire life. It’s probably somewhat daunting for any cyclist, but most who have the opportunity to race as a professional have been racing in smaller scale events for many years.
When I lined up for Omloop van het Hageland last February, I had been cycling for approximately a year and a half. I could count the number of races I had ever competed in on two hands. Hageland had nearly 200 women on the start line, more than ten times the size of any race I’d been in before. To say that was intimidating would be the understatement of the year.
On top of everything I was anxious about the race itself, I realised that there was an abundance of little things in preparation for the race that I was unfamiliar with. These things were so second nature to my teammates, no one would even think to tell me. For example, team sign on, there is nothing complicated about it, but having never done it before I didn’t know how the process worked. I was in the team camper dressed to race, but it was quite chilly outside. Everyone suddenly was hurrying out the door at two minutes to our time slot and I didn’t know where I was going, what I was doing, and needed to follow them immediately. So there I am wearing shorts and a short sleeve jersey while everyone else is wrapped up in leg warmers, jackets and gloves. It’s not that this is any big deal, but I stuck out like a sore thumb, and I really didn’t want to call any extra attention to myself.
My directeur sportif was in the headset telling me to use the cars to get back to the bunch and I was thinking this is insane!
Leah Thorvilson across the Kerkstraat cobbles at the 127 km Omloop van het Hageland on February 26th 2017, starting and finishing in Tielt Winge, Belgium. (Photo by Sean Robinson/Velofocus)
Then there was the convoy, the concept of motor pacing was completely foreign. I had never been in a race with a single follow car, let alone one for each team. My directeur sportif was in the headset telling me to use the cars to get back to the bunch and I was thinking “this is insane! I don’t even know which side of them I am supposed to ride on to not get hit”. Everything was new. The race ended for me at about 80 kilometres, when the commissaire rolled up beside me and told me I was out. I remember feeling really disappointed yet a little relieved at the same time. Not relieved to be out, just that I had survived it. The first was under my belt. From here, it had to get a bit more comfortable every time, right?
As the season has progressed, it’s seemed that every race holds a new experience of some sort: first time racing on cobbles, first time racing in rain, first time in the WorldTour, first stage race, first team time trial, the learning curve has been massive. Sometimes it takes stepping away from it all to stop and realise how far I’ve come. I’ve had the chance to go home to the States a few times, and when I put myself back on familiar roads, where I don’t have to be thinking about where I am going, and I’m riding in a group of maybe 20, then I can stop and say “Wow, I’ve really gotten better”. It’s definitely a nice confidence boost. Keeping that confidence as I go back overseas and return to the pro peloton is a challenge.
I know that I need to be more aggressive and ride at the front of the peloton where my teammates are, but I worry a lot about the pieces that I’m still fine tuning. I know that crashes happen, even to the most seasoned veterans, but I don’t want to be ‘the Zwift girl who took out the lead pack because of her nervous handling’. Finally, I’ve reached a point where I have been able to work with my teammates and have an impact on the outcome of a race, and that is the best feeling. It’s not without pressure though. Knowing that I am able to be there, and counted on to be there. I still have days that I falter and that I don’t live up to my own or my team’s expectations, and that’s hard. I want them to be able to count on me consistently showing up at the front, and that’s something I strive to improve each time.
Leah Thorvilson (USA) of CANYON//SRAM Racing shows her happy face after Stage 3 of the Lotto Thuringen Ladies Tour – a 124 km road race, starting and finishing in Weimar on July 15, 2017, in Thuringen, Germany. (Photo by Balint Hamvas/Velofocus.com)
In the first five professional events I started, I was able to cross the finish line only once. I’ve now finished several races, including six stages of the Giro Rosa, Lotto Thüringen Ladies Tour, and Ladies Tour of Norway, my first real WorldTour finish. I’ve successfully been able to use a convoy to get myself back into a race. I can even ride with no hands now. Haha! Sounds silly, and it’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but to put in perspective, when I attended training camp with the team last December in Mallorca, I couldn’t take my right hand off the bike. No hands was out of the question! When I look back at those moments I was trying so hard to just not look like a rookie, compared to now:
Completing a WorldTour stage race, and plotting how to do better in my next tour to help a teammate win, it’s pretty amazing. One year ago, I was a Cat 4 newbie, racing in Arkansas. Now I’m racing with one of the best teams on the pro tour. It’s a cyclists fairytale and I’m living it.
This article first appeared in Velofocus, The Road Book 2017. Purchase your copy here.
