Wet, gloomy and muddy are words that accurately represent the last month. We have been treated to a handful of dry days when bikes and kit didn’t need a hose-down on returning from the trails, but in general the weather has been less than desirable for riding. Nowhere was this more evident than at the first round of the South West XC Series, in Grammarcombe, Devon.
The forecast looked iffy but as we arrived mid-morning, ready for an afternoon race, it was dry with a slight breeze – perfect conditions. Come 1:30pm and race time, though, and the heavens opened. This wasn’t just a wee shower, either, it was a downpour that didn’t let up for the rest of the afternoon – a stark contrast to the last time I was on a start line.
I have been looking forward to the season kicking off since I decided that I was going to give racing a shot, so I should’ve been super-psyched on the run up to this race. But I wasn’t! Since returning from Lanzarote my motivation has been low, not just for racing but for riding and training in general. I was going through the motions but not really present in what I was doing and, to be honest, I really wasn’t looking forward to Grammarcombe. Away from riding, my mental health had taken a nosedive and this was having a knock-on effect when I was on the bike.
Usually, mountain biking is the remedy for my low moods, but it just wasn’t having the desired effect, and I was starting to worry that training for racing was beginning to kill my love of the sport.
Poor preparation
This lack of motivation wasn’t helped when, on the evening before the race, I received some difficult news in my personal life. My race prep went from poor to downright disastrous!
I struggled to eat food. Attempting to ingest a pasta dish the night before, I meticulously adhered to the nutritional guidance provided by Ash de Lotz’s business partner and nutritionist, Alex Rhodes from Alterra Performance. The advice centred on reducing fibre intake and boosting carbohydrates, to optimise glycogen levels and alleviate gastrointestinal discomfort. Despite the practical advice, I found myself unable to stomach much of anything.
It was the same when it came to breakfast. This lack of fuel, coupled with a sleepless night, made racing – even riding – a struggle, highlighting the importance of preparation. Working for the win begins long before you line up at the start of the race.
I suppose that athletes, regardless of their level, inevitably encounter external challenges. Life's unpredictable nature often throws hurdles in our path that we simply can't control. Learning this lesson was tough, but I'm grateful for the insight it provided. It was a moment where I felt I had disappointed not only myself but also Ash. We had both put in hard work, yet external factors seemed to overshadow our efforts.
Going through the motions
After riding the practice lap with my mate Rich, we bumped into Ash. He started asking about line choices and what I thought of the A and B lines, and I had nothing. Even though I had just ridden the course, I couldn’t tell him much about it. I was there in body but not in spirit, I had ridden the track, but I hadn’t practised it.
The course was challenging, mostly because of the conditions. Thick mud and slippery roots ready to take you out at a moment’s notice. It was pretty much all single track, with a couple of technical climbs and features including a gap jump.
I was like a zombie riding that practice lap; my mind was elsewhere, tangled in a web of over-thinking and distant thoughts. Vacantly staring at Rich’s wheel, I followed his line. When we approached the gap jump, he checked in on me to see if I wanted to follow him, and I nodded and tried to match his speed. I cleared it easily, and didn’t give it another thought, so preoccupied was my mind.
A change in mindset
Perhaps this could be the silver lining. Since last year, I'd been aware of the gap jump in this race. I mulled over it extensively, convinced that tackling such a feat on an XC bike within a competitive environment was never going to happen. Yet, here I was, effortlessly clearing it in the midst of atrocious conditions, and clipped in.
I wasn’t fazed, I wasn’t thinking about the consequences of getting it wrong. My normal negative riding thoughts were quelled by negative life thoughts, which in turn made me more relaxed on the bike and a better rider.
Again, I was racing in clips, but this time the conditions were treacherous, with boggy sections, slippery roots and off-camber trails while surrounded by riders of all ages and abilities. My technical riding was on point, and that was my biggest take away from this race. It gave me confidence; I've proven to myself that I can ride and race while clipped in. I’ve been working hard to find the positive in every experience and this was it.
Complete, not compete
From the get-go I felt physically awful, and my head was not in the game. I managed to stick with leading female riders for the first lap and then I just had nothing in me. My legs felt heavy, my lungs tight, and I wanted to give up. It didn’t take long for the poor preparation to catch up with me, and it then became apparent that my goal was to complete, rather than compete in, this race.
Fuelling and overtaking were difficult on this course, so I didn’t do much of either. I passed plenty of riders, but mainly because I stayed on my bike, whereas many others succumbed to the deep ruts and off-camber roots, forcing them to dismount.
I had no attack in me, partly because I was physically drained even before I got on my bike that day but also because I had no desire to push past people. Usually, I’m competitive and take great pleasure in picking people off and trying to get faster lap times. But for this one, I just couldn’t care less.
I miscounted how many laps I had left, thinking I was on the penultimate one, whereas it was actually my last run. Coming on to the finishing straight – one of the only bits of fire road in the course – I realised that it was the end. Usually, I like to finish strong, and I love mustering up a sprint finish, even if no one’s around me. But today, even with two riders flying past me, I just didn’t have the willpower. I just wanted to finish and get the hell out of there. This was my worst performance in any sport I’ve ever partaken in, and I felt embarrassed by my lack of effort.
Bike gripes
Once again, the Orbea Oiz was a pleasure to ride. It seems that no matter what conditions are thrown its way, it performs. I find it incredibly easy to move around the bike to keep traction where I need it and, on the descents, I can get into a position that gives me confidence to tackle gnarly features. I have no complaints about the frame or how the bike rides, although I’m still not sold on the Squidlock remote.
I am becoming increasingly frustrated by the on-top dropper lever – it requires me to release my grip to actuate it, which is a mild issue when riding normally, but becomes a big deal when racing. In the heat of competition, every second counts, and the effort required to engage the post detracts from my focus and drains my energy. The situation worsens in wet conditions; my thumb often slips off the smooth lever, compounding my frustration and costing me valuable time and mental energy. On a day like this, it was the last thing I needed.
It's the one thing for me that lets the Oiz down. That said, it is a minor issue that can easily be resolved, albeit at a cost. But considering that the Oiz is designed as a race bike, this is something that I’d like to see Orbea change on an otherwise near-perfect steed.
The highs and lows of racing
For my first race of the British season, this was far from an ideal start. After the highs of January, I hit rock bottom, but there were positives to take from this experience. As my mind was elsewhere, I was more relaxed on the bike. I am much more capable than I give myself credit for, so I need to hold onto that and carry it forward.
Without a shred of doubt, this race turned out a disappointment. I failed to fuel myself adequately before, during, or even after the race. Regrettably, I neglected to apply any of the valuable lessons I had learned in Lanzarote, nor did I heed the advice or assistance generously offered by Ash. It feels like I squandered everyone's time, including my own.
However, reflecting on the experience, I handled my bike and the course well in awful conditions, plus I landed my first gap jump – not once, but six times! I’m thankful that a glimmer of light shone on a particularly dark day in my racing journey.
Home for a reset
After a tough few weeks, with my motivation at an all-time low and my mental health teetering on the edge, I knew one place that would help me reset – Scotland.
After a trip to the Tweed Valley and Dunkeld with my crew, my passion for the sport and my love for riding has returned. I stepped away from structured training and just rode for enjoyment and mental clarity. Scotland almost always mellows me out and lifts me up in a way I cannot explain. I am at ease there and that translates onto the bike.
I rode the Orbea Oiz the best I have ever ridden it. Ticking off trails like NY NY, Rake & Ruin, Angry Sheep and Repeat Offender – a mixture of black- and red-graded trails – my confidence is back, and I’m feeling re-energised for the next race, and the start of the British National Cross Country Series. Now back on track, mentally and physically, it’s unfortunate that the first round of the series at Cannock Chase has been cancelled due to the weather. However, this gives me even more time to get my head in the game.
