Sunday, February 6, 2011

On Turtles and A Pair of Wings: Chronicle Fumikense of the 2nd 43.190 Km. Time Trial Competition on the Route of the Cenotes, Quintana Roo (January 30, 2011)

When I was a kid, my dad always used to criticize me for being indecisive. I couldn't make a decision without taking a good 10 or 15 minutes. He yelled at me all the time for taking so much time at everything.

He used to call me "turtle" for being so slow. Always.
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Saturday night, 10 hours before the 2nd 43 Km Time Trial, I've just arrived from Playa del Carmen with a bit of uncertainty of how to arrive to the competition and whether I was going to do it or not. I was already feeling a little put out: I can't find a ride there, I haven't trained, I haven't slept much.

9:50 p.m.: my cell phone starts ringing.

9:51 p.m.: a text has just chimed in.

9:52 p.m.: my cell phone is ringing again.

9:53 p.m.: another text chimes in.

I checked my cell phone: all of the above was from Genaro.

9:56 p.m.: I called Mr. Tortero (aka Genaro) who answered with a pleasant word or two (why the fuck aren't you picking up your phone?).

By 10 p.m., I had a ride.

But I was still plagued by uncertainty. I thought that if I didn't get up in time, I wouldn't go. That's it. Destiny, however, had a different plan in mind and at 3:45 a.m., I woke to someone singing "La Historia Entre Tus Dedos" (The Story Between Your Fingers) by Gianluca Grignani. Around the corner, the neighbors decided to have a concert at full blast and the party had woken me up.

The meeting time was at 5:00 a.m. at the Oxxo Convenience Store and while we waited for Erica, we watched people leaving a party. There was even a couple with a man (who got out of the car to buy some beer) scarcely dressed in some precariously clinging jeans and a pair of flip flops, who had clearly come (quite literally) from a party of sorts with the driver of the car. By 5:30 a.m., I had my bike taken apart and loaded in Erica's truck, on the road to the competition. 

Getting out of the car at the Route of the Cenotes, however, felt like a very bad idea. The cold air wrapped windy arms around us, leaving us to hate the unprotective lycra that we all wore.


Tents were put together. Bikes were adjusted. Competitors were checking each other out with a critical eye.

One by one, the competitors started off. According to the list, I was going to start first in my category.

At 7:30, I was called. The six women in my category lined up, one after the other, waiting the five minutes between our category and the men’s road tire-mountain bike category.

On the minute, Memo kept announcing the time left for my start. The countdown was making me nervous. I promised Martha and the others that I would try my best not to crap a purple Twinkie in the road.

‘I am so lying,’ I thought. ‘I’m going to leave a cake THIS BIG, I am so frickin’ nervous.’

“You’ve got 30 seconds,” Memo said. I took a sip of water. My throat became dry all of a sudden.

And then, his voice again:

“Ten.” Concentrate.

“Nine.” This is just a bike ride.

“Eight.” Clipped in.

“Seven.” Clipped foot up for more force.

“Six.” Where are you?

“Five.” Here.

“Four.” What time is it?

“Three.” Now.

“Two.” What are you?

“One.” This moment.

With a rebel cry, I was out the gate. 

The first half, I’ll do at a comfortable pace. The third fourth, I’m going to kick it up a notch. The last bit, I’m going to give it all I’ve got.

Let’s see if I can last.

I heard Marilupe’s voice in my head:

“Don’t get frustrated,” sang her voice in her Pueblan accent, “but when I did this ride in the car, it seemed to take forever.”

Today, forever is 43.190 kilometers long.

A few clicks from Leona Vicario, I saw the first mountain bikers returning. I saw how they fought against the wind and I mentally prepared myself to not tire myself out too soon. I have to distribute my energy intelligently.

I was passing a massive hole dug out of the ground, the perfect place to find a dead body in full state of decomposition, when I went past the curve. Up ahead, I saw the bridge into Leona.

I observed the bridge and saw how it rose above the green of the jungle and I could only think of four-letter words, in particular, one that started with “f” and ended horizontally. I rode up and arrived to Leona, the people doing a very good job of indicating where we should go.

Time to head back.

On top of the bridge again, a tremendously beautiful panoramic view opened up before me and the road curved like in those landscapes where a long road disappears between hills, going towards some unknown destination. Call it home, the finish line or the place where you want to be and towards which each action of every day takes you one step closer.

I have a destination and there isn’t a force strong enough to throw me off.

It begins now.
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Martha was the second to leave behind me and I didn’t want to turn around to see if she was coming. I have to focus on me and continue. I felt my legs push me forward.

Some five kilometers from the finish line, I felt the wind push back, especially in the curves before the finish. I hit the first curve, thinking that I was close.

No. There is a straight leg and another curve. I got to the end of the leg and turned, thinking this has to be the one.

That wasn’t it either. Shit. Where is the finish line?

After the fourth curve, I saw the tent and the finish line.

My chain clicked into gear as I gunned it.

Time to bring it home.
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And even when Alberto, who never took his eyes off his laptop, smiled when he announced that I, the poster girl of the competition, was now the winner of her category, something even more profound happened minutes later.

Someone tapped my shoulder: it was local pro triathlete Alejandra Gutierrez, the overall winner of the competition, first place in women’s tri bikes.

She hugged me and congratulated me. 

We’ve never been introduced. I don’t really know her but I confess that I have been following her progress for a long time. I’ve seen her in the triathlons I’ve done and I’ve always admired her speed. And I had always wanted to congratulate her for the fantastic job she’s done and for setting an example for the rest of us.

And I’d have to say that her congratulation was nicest part of winning.

First place in my category. Second place overall.

This turtle can fly.

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