Ambition vs. Curiosity
and other false choices
If type 1 fun is enjoyable in the moment, and type 2 fun is great after the fact, gravel racing is somewhere in between, 1.5 fun. Slamming on the brakes and giggling at the same time. Gleeful grinding up the hill. That’s how I spent my first gravel bike race in Hastings, Michigan: terrified, with a big smile on my face. The largest gravel race in the world, 4,000+ people across three distances kicked up dust clouds, wobbled through sand pits, and pedaled to the call of bagpipes. I’d been seeking the thrill of a group event, and I got one.
I told my dad my only goal was to beat him up the hill dubbed “the Wall,” but he was long gone by the climb. So I focused on goal two: don’t crash. Which meant pushing the bike through sandy pits while other contestants went down left and right. Still, from the back of the pack, I found my legs churning almost with a mind of their own, locked onto passing the next person. Most would catch me on the downhill while I clutched my brakes.
It wasn’t until the pizza had been ordered that I checked the race results. I wasn’t in a rush to see where I placed. Towards the middle would be good. I was still basking in the adrenaline of sprinting across a finish line cheered by strangers in costumes and with cowbells. No need to complicate the joy with numbers.
But, when my dad pulled out his phone to find his placement, I followed.
Status: Finished.
Yup.
Overall: 1037/1772
Well, I didn’t crash.
Category: 2/14
What? What!
… Do I get a prize?
“I think I got second?” I giggled in disbelief, and handed my phone over for scrutiny. I finished in a crowd way behind the leaders. But only one of them was a woman 29 or under. This happens constantly on bike rides–I’ll be trailing the men I’m out with, and I’ll be the one setting top 10 times on Strava segments. My dad finished 10 minutes before me, Jeremy slowed down to pedal alongside me, and I got the medal.
The afternoon was a swirl of excitement and confusion about whether the excitement was valid. I don’t know how to navigate that when there are very few women in cycling it might be beneficial to me, as a competitor. Three men cut me off in the line for prizes, like I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I still got one? The men who don’t wave back or refuse to let me pass on any given day don’t have a shot at the podium, because they’re so numerous. I didn’t really train for this race. It was the event that encouraged me to get outside on cold winter days, so I wouldn’t embarrass myself, not so I could win.
In fact, I had only thought about finishing the race, preferably without a skinned knee. Whatever post-PCT ambition had fueled my event sign ups in the fall had long since dissipated. When I bought my gravel bike, I chose one that could race, but prioritized its ability to haul bike packing bags over speed. And I wrote about my intention not to make decisions in service of my ego:
I still want the challenge of doing something difficult, surrounded by other sweaty people. I want to figure out what it was about marathoners that made me want to cry. That’s where the Michigan Gravel Race series comes in.
…I remember coming in second-to-last. I know I’m not willing to train hard enough to win anything. I want the gravel bike to be a conduit to more adventure, and exploration. Cycling at the speed of curiosity, stopping for food, setting up camp whenever we get there. That mentality isn’t always intuitive, but it’s the one I want to nurture, so it’s the one that will inform my decisions.
And yet, ambition is there. I quickly started trying to calculate if it all was a fluke and if I’d be able to place again. Given the close spread of the top 5, maybe. The secret hope that I could win, even in a small-potatoes way, has been lit.
Should I listen to it?
Alongside the ambition is curiosity, the kind that wants to know if maybe, I could. And what might happen if I try?
My dad, reviewing the Michigan gravel schedule, joked “we’ve created a monster.” The competitive hope is hungry–do I feed her?
In November, I’d concluded no. At least that’s what I wrote. I am not interested in ruining cycling for myself. I want to focus on joy. But what if there is joy in racing? What if I can, in fact, manage my expectations and enjoy the ride?
What if I didn’t pretend I knew how everything would go?
Perhaps this is an opportunity to test my rigidity, and my need for neat conclusions. I’m glad for the bike packing capabilities of my bike, but my wariness of racing doesn’t need to mean writing it off entirely. I don’t want to assume I have all the answers about whether I’ll be obnoxious, insufferable, or just…slow. There’s only one way to find out.
