[the swiss diaries:2] The lead end of the Pro Men’s field ascends the most infamous climb in the third round of the World Cup series in Houffalize, Belgium.
thoughts for several days after the race: his lack of emotion, no empathy for my suffering, impassive black eyes hidden beneath the brim of his maroon UCI cap. From there, my mind moves to darker places, the fleeting look of disappointment on Marc’s face as I confronted him in the feed zone after I had been pulled. The unsaid conversation that my mind assures me is real; maybe I was not cut out for this racing thing. Visions of failure, prominent features of a defeated, exhausted mind. Any weathered racer knows that mountain bike racing is more mental than physical. Now I am back in Switzerland, in the small village of Gränichen, where I have been living for the past two months. It is Tuesday, which means for the Family Stirnemann and me another hard training day to prepare for yet another World Cup weekend. Here in Switzerland, spring is upon us, and after living at 9,300 feet in Colorado for as long as I can remember, spring here is a wonderfully joyous and unexpected event in my temporary home. As the rainy days slowly drift away, I am greeted on my rides by splendid displays of Mother Nature’s true colors, quite literally, green. Even the abandoned brick walls lining the edges of my favorite road ride to Luzern flaunt a fresh layer of bright green lianas. With the green also comes the realization that the mountain bike season is fully under way. I imagine that, back in Colorado, I would just now be ending my base training season, when here in Europe, I am preparing for my second World Cup in two weeks. This time around, my initial excitement has left, and I am fully confronted by the anxiety of yet another race of a lifetime. 3 May 2009 World Cup Houffalize, Belgium I have to hold my brakes to keep my bike from rolling backwards. Above the array of multi-colored helmets lies the starting climb that haunted the slumbers of 250 racers last night and continues, even now, to startle me with its sheer magnitude. At more than 20 percent in grade, this kilometer-long nightmare of a start seems to hold nothing against World Cup and Olympic Champion Julien 81