3 Days Until Race Start
My travel from Phoenix, Arizona to Lausanne, Switzerland consisted of 3 airlines, over 24 hours of travel, multiple Starbucks drinks, and Taylor Swift’s Lover album on repeat. Arriving in Geneva on Thursday evening, my mom and stepdad picked me up from the airport in their rented Volkswagon, and we drove an hour north to the quaint town of Evian, France. My stepdad, the traveler he is, had the brilliant idea of renting out an Air BnB in Evian (which sits on Lake Geneva) and is only one ferry ride from Lausanne, Switzerland where my race would take place. The ferry traveled across the lake every 2 hours or so, which allowed us to trade the Lausanne traffic and busyness in for a more quiet and serene escape. |
Losing a day, I thankfully adjusted to the time change immediately. I refused to sleep on the 9-hour overnight flight to Europe, leaving me fairly sleep deprived when I arrived at our stylish, yet minimalist, little BnB apartment overlooking the lake. After taking in the distant, glittering lights of Lausanne from our balcony, I crawled into bed and slept straight through.
1 Day Until Race Start
The ferry ride the next morning to Lausanne was blissful—Swiss and French mountains surrounding us as mid-morning daylight flooded the ferry’s deck.
Race expos are always filled with a mixture of excitement and anxiousness. Between the multitude of people sporting triathlon uniforms from all over the world, the colorful array of vendors displaying swim/bike/run equipment, and the food trucks selling homemade pesto pasta and pizza, it was difficult to find a starting point. Making it to the registration tent, I gathered up my race packet, which contained my race numbers, race shirt, and my orange swim cap signifying age group f25-29.
Coming back out of registration, I wanted to examine my bike one final time before hauling it into the transition area, where it would remain until race day tomorrow.
“Uh oh,” I said while feeling part of the bike’s front tire with my fingers. There was a bulge the size of a golf ball that had appeared on part of the tire. Every time I spun the wheel, it would hit against the bike frame.
[Quick Backstory: This bike isn’t mine. What??? Why would I travel to Europe to compete on equipment that wasn’t mine?? you ask? Because, to put it nicely, I am still fairly uneducated when it comes to World Triathlon rules and regulations. Two weeks ago, I received an email with five bold words that made me cringe: This is a draft-legal race. The bike I typically use to compete with is a triathlon bike with aero bars. Draft-legal is a type of road racing where you can draft off your competitors – coming within inches of their back tires at very fast paces. Therefore, riding in aero position makes drafting very unsafe in the event you cannot break quick enough. Long story short, I couldn’t use my bike. So I borrowed a draft-legal road bike from my friend and fellow coach back in Phoenix named Arrick. Having only a week or so to practice on it, it was going to have to work. With his permission, I dismantled it, packed it up and shipped it off to Switzerland.]
So now, I was standing here with a bike that wasn’t mine, a tire bulge, and less than 24 hours before race start. I tightened and released my fists, digging my nails into my palms as I felt the anxiety begin to bubble up in my body. Deep breath. I quickly walked my bike over to the bike mechanics that were on site. In French accents, they told me I was in need of a new tire, which they did not supply, and advised I take my bike to the closest bike shop, which was about two miles inland towards the heart of Lausanne.
Okay, I can do this, I said to myself as I gave my parents my backpack and programmed the bike shop address into my phone. Then I was off, biking down narrow streets, around colorful parks, and through cobblestone alleyways.
As I biked further into this new city, my adventurous spirit started to melt my anxiety away. This is cool! I thought as I biked up a particularly steep path that led to a bridge. From the bridge, I turned and lost my breath—a picturesque scene of Lake Geneva backed by mountains and speckled with sailboats flooded my view. I sat back on the bike and took in the scene, taking a mental picture of the post-card worthy view.
Race expos are always filled with a mixture of excitement and anxiousness. Between the multitude of people sporting triathlon uniforms from all over the world, the colorful array of vendors displaying swim/bike/run equipment, and the food trucks selling homemade pesto pasta and pizza, it was difficult to find a starting point. Making it to the registration tent, I gathered up my race packet, which contained my race numbers, race shirt, and my orange swim cap signifying age group f25-29.
Coming back out of registration, I wanted to examine my bike one final time before hauling it into the transition area, where it would remain until race day tomorrow.
“Uh oh,” I said while feeling part of the bike’s front tire with my fingers. There was a bulge the size of a golf ball that had appeared on part of the tire. Every time I spun the wheel, it would hit against the bike frame.
[Quick Backstory: This bike isn’t mine. What??? Why would I travel to Europe to compete on equipment that wasn’t mine?? you ask? Because, to put it nicely, I am still fairly uneducated when it comes to World Triathlon rules and regulations. Two weeks ago, I received an email with five bold words that made me cringe: This is a draft-legal race. The bike I typically use to compete with is a triathlon bike with aero bars. Draft-legal is a type of road racing where you can draft off your competitors – coming within inches of their back tires at very fast paces. Therefore, riding in aero position makes drafting very unsafe in the event you cannot break quick enough. Long story short, I couldn’t use my bike. So I borrowed a draft-legal road bike from my friend and fellow coach back in Phoenix named Arrick. Having only a week or so to practice on it, it was going to have to work. With his permission, I dismantled it, packed it up and shipped it off to Switzerland.]
So now, I was standing here with a bike that wasn’t mine, a tire bulge, and less than 24 hours before race start. I tightened and released my fists, digging my nails into my palms as I felt the anxiety begin to bubble up in my body. Deep breath. I quickly walked my bike over to the bike mechanics that were on site. In French accents, they told me I was in need of a new tire, which they did not supply, and advised I take my bike to the closest bike shop, which was about two miles inland towards the heart of Lausanne.
Okay, I can do this, I said to myself as I gave my parents my backpack and programmed the bike shop address into my phone. Then I was off, biking down narrow streets, around colorful parks, and through cobblestone alleyways.
As I biked further into this new city, my adventurous spirit started to melt my anxiety away. This is cool! I thought as I biked up a particularly steep path that led to a bridge. From the bridge, I turned and lost my breath—a picturesque scene of Lake Geneva backed by mountains and speckled with sailboats flooded my view. I sat back on the bike and took in the scene, taking a mental picture of the post-card worthy view.
Within twenty minutes, I had made it to the bike shop where a—what looked like teenage—kid with a thick French accent replaced both the tire and tube, filled it with air, and waved me off. Remembering the course back, I put my phone on my waistband and rode back down the mountain to the expo. After getting the bike securely in transition, I went for a 20-minute shakeout jog and then made my way down to the Lake with my parents for a practice swim. I put on my wetsuit and dove into the clear bluish-green water. The water was cool, but not too cold; it felt refreshing as I let it flow through my hair, over my back, and into my wetsuit. Lifting my head out of the water, I basked in the 75-degree sun and the surreal fact that I was floating in the largest body of water in Switzerland. |
Back in Evian that evening, my parents and I grabbed an early dinner consisting of salad, fried fish heads, and a potato-y cheese-like stew. By 7:30pm, I was in bed, texted my girlfriend goodnight (who by the way ended up staying up all night to live stream my race, bless her soul), and then closed my eyes, visualizing tomorrow’s race from start to finish. Before drifting off, I sent up a prayer to God mixed with gratitude for a smooth journey, praise at being in a new place, and supplication for a smooth, safe and successful race.
Race Morning - Age Group Triathlon World Championship
8.31.19 — Sprint Distance — f25-29
There was a calming sense of peace that enveloped me when I woke up race morning. After eating my staple pre-race breakfast of toast, peanut butter and banana, I made sure my race equipment was packed, my team USA jacket was zipped, and my helmet was clipped to the strap on my backpack.
We had the earliest ferry ticket (5:40am) along with other athletes who had the same lodging idea as my parents. I watched as a tall, tan, lean man from Brazil stretched out his quads before taking a seat. Two middle-aged women sporting colors of a country I was unfamiliar with chatted quietly in another language. An older gentleman wearing USA wished me luck as he passed by my row. I smiled at the diverse community that triathlon embodies: people from all age groups (16 through 85+!) and people of different sizes, genders, and from all around the world. The triathlon community reminds me that athleticism can be achieved regardless age, race, ethnicity, religion, or sexual orientation. If you want it, you can achieve it.
The race site was buzzing with energy. As I walked to my bike racked in the transition area, I realized that we were categorized by age group. I looked around and saw five or six other girls wearing Team USA gear.
“Hi! What’s your name? I don’t recognize you from the facebook group!” A girl named Stephany said to me. I smiled as she beckoned me over to the group photo they were about to take. I introduced myself to other team USA-ers but then quickly got back to positioning my gear perfectly to the side of my racked bike. I spun the tires one last time to check for traction, headed out of transition, and started the half-mile walk to the swim start with my parents. It was 7am and I still had two hours until my race start. I spent that time shuffling the songs on my “RUN” Spotify playlist, keeping my muscles loose, and of course, staying hydrated.
We had the earliest ferry ticket (5:40am) along with other athletes who had the same lodging idea as my parents. I watched as a tall, tan, lean man from Brazil stretched out his quads before taking a seat. Two middle-aged women sporting colors of a country I was unfamiliar with chatted quietly in another language. An older gentleman wearing USA wished me luck as he passed by my row. I smiled at the diverse community that triathlon embodies: people from all age groups (16 through 85+!) and people of different sizes, genders, and from all around the world. The triathlon community reminds me that athleticism can be achieved regardless age, race, ethnicity, religion, or sexual orientation. If you want it, you can achieve it.
The race site was buzzing with energy. As I walked to my bike racked in the transition area, I realized that we were categorized by age group. I looked around and saw five or six other girls wearing Team USA gear.
“Hi! What’s your name? I don’t recognize you from the facebook group!” A girl named Stephany said to me. I smiled as she beckoned me over to the group photo they were about to take. I introduced myself to other team USA-ers but then quickly got back to positioning my gear perfectly to the side of my racked bike. I spun the tires one last time to check for traction, headed out of transition, and started the half-mile walk to the swim start with my parents. It was 7am and I still had two hours until my race start. I spent that time shuffling the songs on my “RUN” Spotify playlist, keeping my muscles loose, and of course, staying hydrated.
As the minutes ticked down, I stripped down to my USA bathing suit (the race was deemed wetsuit illegal earlier this morning) and gave one final hug to my mom. I squeezed her extra hard, hoping to soak in some of her strength and bravery. I walked down to the swim warm-up area and dove in – the water feeling just as it did yesterday. Fifteen minutes later, I was lined up with the other orange-capped tri girls, weaving my way to a group of Americans I saw huddled together. After some more quick introductions, pre-race jumps, and final hand-squeezes, we were motioned to get into the water, high fiving the race starter as we passed him.
The sound of a deep metronome thundered through the speakers and a quiet hushed over the crowd. One whistle, and the orange caps were off onto the 750m swim course.
My goal for the swim was to start off as aggressively as possible. My times in practice over the past couple of months have been faster than they ever have been, but I was not seeing equivalent results in races.
Trying my best to avoid the unintentional kicks and slaps from other competitors as we swam in a formless mob to the first buoy, I stayed closer to the outside of the pack. While it helped the claustrophobic anxiety that often gripped me during the swim portion, it added some extra, unnecessary yard-age to my swim distance. As we rounded the first buoy, we began to swim directly into the sun, which blinded me from the next marker. I did my best to swim with the crowd, but as I rounded the last buoy I knew that I had swum much more than I was supposed to.
The sound of a deep metronome thundered through the speakers and a quiet hushed over the crowd. One whistle, and the orange caps were off onto the 750m swim course.
My goal for the swim was to start off as aggressively as possible. My times in practice over the past couple of months have been faster than they ever have been, but I was not seeing equivalent results in races.
Trying my best to avoid the unintentional kicks and slaps from other competitors as we swam in a formless mob to the first buoy, I stayed closer to the outside of the pack. While it helped the claustrophobic anxiety that often gripped me during the swim portion, it added some extra, unnecessary yard-age to my swim distance. As we rounded the first buoy, we began to swim directly into the sun, which blinded me from the next marker. I did my best to swim with the crowd, but as I rounded the last buoy I knew that I had swum much more than I was supposed to.
Just as my my right hand hit the sand, I stood up and sprinted out of the water. I steadied myself from the dizziness I often felt going from a horizontal to vertical position, and I grabbed the goggles and cap off my head. I could tell I was about the middle of the pack as I ran into transition and towards my racked bike. Thankfully, I found it fairly quickly, Velcro-ed on my bike shoes, clipped on my bib number, and ran off towards the “bike out” chute. As I left transition, I heard an all-too-familiar voice yell, “GOOOO IZZZZZ!!!!” I looked up and saw my dad—wait… MY DAD???—filming me from the sidelines. “What are you doing here???” I laughed as I swung my leg over the bike seat. He responded with a fist pump to the air. What a crazy person. (Says the one swimming, biking, and running in Switzerland…) A year ago, there were plans for my dad’s side of the family to make the trip out to watch me compete at Worlds, but those seemed to fizzle out back in the spring when the trip seemed to be too costly. I thought he had sent the supportive texts last night from Pennsylvania, not from Switzerland! |
As I clipped into my bike, I took off full speed down the tree-lined road, which was the start of the two-loop, 20K bike course. The roads were all blocked off from vehicles and pedestrians by bright orange cones and race officials. I was determined to make up some time from the swim. But just as I was getting comfortable in my borrowed bike, I took a fast left turn, and came face-to-face with a hill that looked like a 20% incline grade and half a mile long.
Shit, I whispered to myself as I tried to keep my cool and my positive mindset.
My heart rate spiked as I tried to get my bike into the best gear that would get me up this thing as quickly as possible. At the top, I picked up speed and caught up with the pack in front of me. We draft-raced through twists and turns of the city with rolling hills and packs of cheering fans scattered along the sidelines.
Suddenly, a woman from Belgium who was riding next to me yelled, “Come-on USA! Let’s catch your teammates!” And beckoned me to follow her as she sped out of the pack, her sights on one of my USA teammates ahead. Encouraged by her bold words, we took turns drafting off each other until we caught up. The bike path then started to get narrower as we entered a park. With all turns and constant hills, I was still trying to adjust to my bike gears. The shifting was extremely clanky and rough as I tried to balance keeping my eyes on Belgium’s wheels, the competitors around me, and my bike chain.
Essler, the last name of the American that we caught up to, yelled something of encouragement to me. The two of us bolted out of the pack as we rounded a turn, bringing us back to the start of the bike loop. One more loop to go.
By this point, I started losing some major steam. The energy I was expending by constantly shifting the bike gears as well as trying to draft without crashing was slowly debilitating my ability to actually compete . Essler could tell I was fading as she took the lead again, allowing me to draft off of her.
As we tackled the giant hill for the second time, I could feel my leg muscles burning. I shouted out in pain as I stood on my bike, pressing my feet deeply into the pedals with each revolution. A woman in green and a woman in red both sped past me. I tried to keep my breathing calm as my pulse seemed to jump straight through the watch on my wrist. After another two miles, we made a sharp turn and climbed back up another hill that was littered with spectators. It was hard to tell where I stood place-wise, but I thought I was probably around the top third of the group.
You’re almost there, just get through the bike, I thought. And just as those words entered my mind, I shifted and heard an ugly clanging noise come from below my right foot. Looking down in horror, I saw my bike chain hanging from the front gear.
A lot of not-so-nice words left my lips in a whisper as I coasted to a stop on the side of the road. Thankfully, it only took me about 30 seconds to glide the chain back over the gear, thrust myself back over the bike, and begin to accelerate again. But within those 30 seconds, a pack of about 10 to 15 girls wooshed past me.
My heart dropped. That was it, right there. Any chance at placing top 20 was gone, I thought. At this point in the race, I started to lose my mental edge. With about four to five more miles of the bike course left, a USA-er, Sam Downey, sped past yelling at me to keep going. Spinning my feet faster, I took the opportunity and caught up to her to draft. We took turns for the remainder of the ride, but as my confidence began to shut down, so did my legs. Thankful for the help, with a half-mile remaining, I let Downey go.
Slowing the bike back into transition, I ran to my spot, threw my bike onto the rack, slipped on my racing flats and ran towards the “Run Out” chute. Normally, at this point in the race, something changes inside of me. Being a veteran runner with previous Division-I experience, running holds a special place in my heart. It’s when I run that I feel full and truly alive.
But it was like trying to light a gassed-out lighter. For some reason, the spark wouldn’t ignite. My legs were shot from the bike course, my mind was shot from the mental endurance to get me through the bike course, and my spirit had sunk very low. As I passed my dad, I slapped his hand, turned the corner and told myself to suck it up and to start MOVING. The last thing I wanted was to travel 6,000 miles across the world to NOT give it my all and my best in this race. Getting back into my groove, I started to pick girls off one-by-one.
Running across the black pavement, I used the cheers and the Go USA!’s from fans as ignition to keep fighting this fight, and I began to chant the bible verse I had memorized from Hebrews.
The 5K run course was just a brutal as the bike. There were three inclines where, if you stuck out your hand in front of you, you would touch pavement. Some girls began to walk, but I forced myself forward, quickening my cadence to short mini-steps up the hills. Within two miles, I had caught nearly 15 girls, 4 who were American. I tried encouraging them as I passed, spitting out words like “Let’s Go!” between gasps of breath.
I refused to look at my watch because I knew the pace was slow, so instead, I focused on the beautiful scenery around me—taking in the blossoming summer trees, the tall mountains, the quaint Swiss buildings and churches. As we ran across blue ITU mats, Lake Geneva gleamed to my left and I smiled.
I passed a competitor with the last name Martinez wearing a Mexico uniform. She went with me, so I pushed the pace faster, passing another American. I stepped quicker, fueled by this competitor on my hip. We rounded a final turn before hitting the final 400-meter mark.
This is it, I thought, your favorite part.
I shoved aside the pain that was creeping up behind my throat, turned on the gas, and shook Martinez, sprinting past a gate lined with fans. As I started to see the blue finish line arch before me, I caught the eye of a man on the sidelines holding small American flags. He smiled as he held one out for me. I grabbed it, and with one last push to the finish, I heard my name on the loud speaker and fell across the line, hands hitting my knees. I felt the soft texture of a finishing metal placed around my neck.
I looked behind me as Martinez finished. We embraced and then laughed.
“Thank you!” She said in her Spanish accent, “Thank you for pushing me!”
“Thank you!” I yelled back above the yells and screams from the stands.
As I continued my walk down the walkway and to a small courtyard, feeling started to creep back into my legs. As more Americans finished, we gathered together—some were laughing, others looked like they were on the verge of tears. We scrunched together for a team photo and let out shouts of joy.
“Hey guys…. Our vacation now BEGINS!” Yelled an American Caitlin Harty, and we all laughed.
Shit, I whispered to myself as I tried to keep my cool and my positive mindset.
My heart rate spiked as I tried to get my bike into the best gear that would get me up this thing as quickly as possible. At the top, I picked up speed and caught up with the pack in front of me. We draft-raced through twists and turns of the city with rolling hills and packs of cheering fans scattered along the sidelines.
Suddenly, a woman from Belgium who was riding next to me yelled, “Come-on USA! Let’s catch your teammates!” And beckoned me to follow her as she sped out of the pack, her sights on one of my USA teammates ahead. Encouraged by her bold words, we took turns drafting off each other until we caught up. The bike path then started to get narrower as we entered a park. With all turns and constant hills, I was still trying to adjust to my bike gears. The shifting was extremely clanky and rough as I tried to balance keeping my eyes on Belgium’s wheels, the competitors around me, and my bike chain.
Essler, the last name of the American that we caught up to, yelled something of encouragement to me. The two of us bolted out of the pack as we rounded a turn, bringing us back to the start of the bike loop. One more loop to go.
By this point, I started losing some major steam. The energy I was expending by constantly shifting the bike gears as well as trying to draft without crashing was slowly debilitating my ability to actually compete . Essler could tell I was fading as she took the lead again, allowing me to draft off of her.
As we tackled the giant hill for the second time, I could feel my leg muscles burning. I shouted out in pain as I stood on my bike, pressing my feet deeply into the pedals with each revolution. A woman in green and a woman in red both sped past me. I tried to keep my breathing calm as my pulse seemed to jump straight through the watch on my wrist. After another two miles, we made a sharp turn and climbed back up another hill that was littered with spectators. It was hard to tell where I stood place-wise, but I thought I was probably around the top third of the group.
You’re almost there, just get through the bike, I thought. And just as those words entered my mind, I shifted and heard an ugly clanging noise come from below my right foot. Looking down in horror, I saw my bike chain hanging from the front gear.
A lot of not-so-nice words left my lips in a whisper as I coasted to a stop on the side of the road. Thankfully, it only took me about 30 seconds to glide the chain back over the gear, thrust myself back over the bike, and begin to accelerate again. But within those 30 seconds, a pack of about 10 to 15 girls wooshed past me.
My heart dropped. That was it, right there. Any chance at placing top 20 was gone, I thought. At this point in the race, I started to lose my mental edge. With about four to five more miles of the bike course left, a USA-er, Sam Downey, sped past yelling at me to keep going. Spinning my feet faster, I took the opportunity and caught up to her to draft. We took turns for the remainder of the ride, but as my confidence began to shut down, so did my legs. Thankful for the help, with a half-mile remaining, I let Downey go.
Slowing the bike back into transition, I ran to my spot, threw my bike onto the rack, slipped on my racing flats and ran towards the “Run Out” chute. Normally, at this point in the race, something changes inside of me. Being a veteran runner with previous Division-I experience, running holds a special place in my heart. It’s when I run that I feel full and truly alive.
But it was like trying to light a gassed-out lighter. For some reason, the spark wouldn’t ignite. My legs were shot from the bike course, my mind was shot from the mental endurance to get me through the bike course, and my spirit had sunk very low. As I passed my dad, I slapped his hand, turned the corner and told myself to suck it up and to start MOVING. The last thing I wanted was to travel 6,000 miles across the world to NOT give it my all and my best in this race. Getting back into my groove, I started to pick girls off one-by-one.
Running across the black pavement, I used the cheers and the Go USA!’s from fans as ignition to keep fighting this fight, and I began to chant the bible verse I had memorized from Hebrews.
The 5K run course was just a brutal as the bike. There were three inclines where, if you stuck out your hand in front of you, you would touch pavement. Some girls began to walk, but I forced myself forward, quickening my cadence to short mini-steps up the hills. Within two miles, I had caught nearly 15 girls, 4 who were American. I tried encouraging them as I passed, spitting out words like “Let’s Go!” between gasps of breath.
I refused to look at my watch because I knew the pace was slow, so instead, I focused on the beautiful scenery around me—taking in the blossoming summer trees, the tall mountains, the quaint Swiss buildings and churches. As we ran across blue ITU mats, Lake Geneva gleamed to my left and I smiled.
I passed a competitor with the last name Martinez wearing a Mexico uniform. She went with me, so I pushed the pace faster, passing another American. I stepped quicker, fueled by this competitor on my hip. We rounded a final turn before hitting the final 400-meter mark.
This is it, I thought, your favorite part.
I shoved aside the pain that was creeping up behind my throat, turned on the gas, and shook Martinez, sprinting past a gate lined with fans. As I started to see the blue finish line arch before me, I caught the eye of a man on the sidelines holding small American flags. He smiled as he held one out for me. I grabbed it, and with one last push to the finish, I heard my name on the loud speaker and fell across the line, hands hitting my knees. I felt the soft texture of a finishing metal placed around my neck.
I looked behind me as Martinez finished. We embraced and then laughed.
“Thank you!” She said in her Spanish accent, “Thank you for pushing me!”
“Thank you!” I yelled back above the yells and screams from the stands.
As I continued my walk down the walkway and to a small courtyard, feeling started to creep back into my legs. As more Americans finished, we gathered together—some were laughing, others looked like they were on the verge of tears. We scrunched together for a team photo and let out shouts of joy.
“Hey guys…. Our vacation now BEGINS!” Yelled an American Caitlin Harty, and we all laughed.
I gave a thank-you hug to Downey and Essler for their encouragement on the bike and then began my walk back to transition where I was greeted by both sets of parents—my mom, my dad, my stepmom, and my stepdad. (I thought that the first time I would see all four of them together would be at my wedding… Major turn of events there!)
I had a mixture of emotions for the remainder of that day. I felt disappointed—disappointed that I placed 31st overall/ 5th American when my goal was 20th/3rd. I felt frustrated—frustrated at myself for not knowing about the draft-legal bike rule and for not preparing myself properly on the loaner-bike. And I felt relief—relief that the race was over and that I finished. But I also felt proud. A year and a half ago, I would have never thought I would qualify for the Age Group Worlds team. But with God’s grace, I did. And with help from my family, I came, I competed to the best of my ability with the situations given to me, and I finished.
Later that afternoon, my mom, stepdad and I visited the Olympic Museum in Lausanne. We walked through historic rooms displaying the Olympic torches, signed Olympic uniforms, videos of past Olympic events and inspirational quotes and sayings from Olympians themselves.
On one of the last walls in the museum, I saw the following passage:
“Olympism focuses on three key values: excellence, solidarity and respect. Excellence means constantly making progress and improving, in all circumstances. Solidarity means accepting differences and adapting to diversity, whatever the challenges. Respect means taking an ethical approach to your own body, the rules and the environment. The Games come and go, as do their champions, but the Olympic spirit endures—so let’s embrace it together.”
A smile moved across my face as I stepped back out into the bright sunlight of Lausanne. This is not the end… This is just the beginning of progress, improvement, and gains. Thank you, Lausanne. What I took away, experienced, and learned from you, this cannot be undone. And it only ignites the fire that I know will keep burning—to make progress and to improve… in ALL circumstances.
I had a mixture of emotions for the remainder of that day. I felt disappointed—disappointed that I placed 31st overall/ 5th American when my goal was 20th/3rd. I felt frustrated—frustrated at myself for not knowing about the draft-legal bike rule and for not preparing myself properly on the loaner-bike. And I felt relief—relief that the race was over and that I finished. But I also felt proud. A year and a half ago, I would have never thought I would qualify for the Age Group Worlds team. But with God’s grace, I did. And with help from my family, I came, I competed to the best of my ability with the situations given to me, and I finished.
Later that afternoon, my mom, stepdad and I visited the Olympic Museum in Lausanne. We walked through historic rooms displaying the Olympic torches, signed Olympic uniforms, videos of past Olympic events and inspirational quotes and sayings from Olympians themselves.
On one of the last walls in the museum, I saw the following passage:
“Olympism focuses on three key values: excellence, solidarity and respect. Excellence means constantly making progress and improving, in all circumstances. Solidarity means accepting differences and adapting to diversity, whatever the challenges. Respect means taking an ethical approach to your own body, the rules and the environment. The Games come and go, as do their champions, but the Olympic spirit endures—so let’s embrace it together.”
A smile moved across my face as I stepped back out into the bright sunlight of Lausanne. This is not the end… This is just the beginning of progress, improvement, and gains. Thank you, Lausanne. What I took away, experienced, and learned from you, this cannot be undone. And it only ignites the fire that I know will keep burning—to make progress and to improve… in ALL circumstances.