Air whizzed by me, curling and whooshing into the pockets of my helmet. Although it was very prominent, I did not notice the gusts, the suspense of the moment was too great. As it seemed, none of the other riders in my breakaway seemed to notice the wind trying to hold them back from their 30 mph momentum. Everyone in the small group of five was apprehensively darting their eyes around everyone else, ready to react to even the most slight push. I was no exception, I clenched the handlebars of my new road bike and pushed on my pedals in the way that was the most inconspicuous and innocent way one could push their pedals.
Everyone was ready for a lead-out, which is someone who would eventually break the silent nerves of the group by finally standing up out of their seat and throwing down wattage. Obviously someone would have to begin the hellish sprint towards the finish because the spray-painted line marking the end of the race was quickly dragging closer. In fact, the most recent sign I saw marked the 800 meter point to the finish. Now, I knew that I might be able to pull off a sprint that might put me on the podium; just maybe, if I really tried; I knew that I had the fitness to achieve a groundbreaking effort, but in reality, I was sure that everyone else in my group probably did too.
The group waited another five seconds until finally someone toward the front of the group decided that they were the infamous lead-out who would win the race. Their bike sprang forward with newfound speed and agility and rocketed away from the group. Suddenly, not one person in the cluster was waiting anymore, instead, they were all copying the lead-out both in speed and strange cyclist physique.
Knowing that it was now or never, I stood up out of my seat and began hammering at my Power ETap pedals. My speedometer seemed to jump up to around 10 more mph than I had been maintaining before, a sudden change that I had never seen. With the extra speed, I rocketed forward, almost hitting the person in front of me with force, but I quickly swerved out of the way and hammered my pedals even more than before. Within seconds, perspiration that I didn't know I was capable of perspiring flowed out of my forehead and coated my helmet with a thin cover of sweat.
I didn't notice the sweat, and I began to get tunnel vision, seeing only the finish line. My bike swung back and forth under me, almost, but not quite obliterating my knees with the force of the rocking. I let out a huff of pain and noticed in my peripheral vision that I passed someone. Enjoying the feeling of victory, at least over one person, I upheld my speed and agony and found myself whizzing past not one, not two, but three other cyclists until I found myself at the front of the group, neck and neck with the original lead-out.
We glanced at each other for a moment and realizing that neither one of us would give up, we sloped our heads down for aerodynamics and put a head-splitting effort into our poor bikes in a way that made us both grunt with fatigue. I saw the finish coming up upon me, it was perhaps only 15 meters away. Knowing that if I didn't put in the greatest piece de la resistance, I wouldn't have a chance at winning the race, I threw down one last pedal stroke before throwing my bike forward toward the line like a professional cyclist.
I hurtled past the line and grabbed the brakes on my bike. Skidding to a stop, the adrenaline of the sprint rapidly wore off and I was left in an absolute daze. My head was throbbing in a way that made me feel like I was in danger of fainting, my chest heaved up and down, making me feel like I was drowning in air. I shut my eyes, trying to escape from the pain into the comfortable darkness of my eyelids. I remained in this state of sufferance until I heard a cry. It was the cry of my coach, who was running to my side.
Instantly, I felt the slap of his hand against my back and a hearty congratulations. I asked why and he said exactly what I suspected he would say but yet I had no way of knowing; he said that I won.
