Graz, Austria
23 August 2009
Race Report by Jenn O'Connor
Representing your country is a special feeling, but it's a difficult thing to explain. I never lay awake as a kid dreaming about it. As an athlete, I never used to give it much thought. Getting my first set of National Uniform through the post back in 2006 gave me a glow of pride that I never knew existed.
Wearing the Silver Fern means, for a given place in time, I am New Zealand. Officials call me into the start box; "this way, New Zealand" as though it were my name. Spectators, strangers, shout "go New Zealand" and "go Kiwi" as I ride past because they are cheering for a country, not just a person. I even heard "go All Blacks" one year, which really made me smile. Being New Zealand makes me want to polish my shoes and scrub the mud out of my tyres. It makes me self-consciously polite. It makes me push the pedals that little bit harder, chase down that extra place. For five tough hours I can be something bigger than just me. In every other respect, a World Championship is just another race.
This year the Marathon World Championship race was held in Graz, Austria, which was perfect for me as my brother Rodney and sister-in-law Jessie live in Austria (or did - they moved back to NZ last week). Not only did I have a great family get-together, I had full complement of feed zone supporters. The women's course was 84 km with 3061 metres of climbing and steep rocky descending. It was a real mountain biker's course and I was looking forward to riding it.
My preparation this year had been less than ideal - Andy and I had planned to use the Intermontane Challenge in Canada as a week-long overload session at the beginning of the month, but unfortunately that race turned out to be a scam, and we left after just three days of somewhat patchy racing*. I've been stringing together some big training rides on the weekends since then, in an effort to get the big miles and high intensity needed for marathon racing into my legs. I arrived in Graz in pretty good shape nonetheless, happy to be with my family, wearing my national kit, and being part of the action.
Family photo - me with my brother Rod, sister-in-law Jess and my beloved Cannodale Scalpel.
Arriving with just one day to spare before the race, I was only able to pre-ride the first big road climb, a 28% lung buster. I met up briefly with Sally Bigham of Great Britain, who had been there a few days earlier, and had been able to pre-ride some of the descents. Sal seemed pretty daunted by some of the steep, rocky sections, but I wasn't too worried - not because I'm a brilliant technical rider, but because I know I can handle most terrain well enough, and being so small I can keep my balance on steep sections pretty well. In fact, I was hoping for rain to raise the challenge a bit!
I got my wish - it rained solidly all of Saturday afternoon and into Saturday night. I decided to leave the semi-slick Panaracer Razer XC on the back to keep things rolling on the long tarmac and fire road sections, but swapped to a Panaracer MACH SK up front, for a bit more bite around the edges.
Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny. Rod and Jess were up early, along with their German friend Marcus, who was racing in one of the support races early in the day. They left our apartment about 8am, leaving Andy and I to have a leisurely breakfast before I rode up to the venue on my bike, while Andy drove straight to the first feed zone.
There are always three main races at the Marathon Worlds - the men, the women and the feed zone race. Supporters have to drive at crazy speed through winding back roads to get to the next feed zone before the riders come through, battling for parking spaces and toting wheels and bottles up hill and down dale. Andy is an elite competitor at this discipline, and he skipped the chaos at the startline to get head start on the other team cars.
In the start box, waiting to be called up to the start grid.
I had bib number 40, which put me pretty much at the back of the grid, but I was not at all concerned about that. The first road climb would take a good 20 minutes and I knew that an honest pecking order would quickly be established before there would be any need to fight over the singletrack. The gun went, and the start up the 2km flat section was a gentle warm-up before the climb. I worked my way steadily up through the pack as the road wound uphill, and found my rhythm, not wanted to tear my legs up when I knew the really big climbs were still to come.
The first descent went from muddy and rooty to fast forest track, and I made up a few more places. We then had to negotiate a fairly flat section through country roads and villages, and it was on a long road section that my friend Mel Spath, riding for Germany, came blasting past. "Go on Mel" I shouted. "Come on then Jenn" she shouted back, and I accelerated onto her wheel. We worked together and picked up the pace.
Feed Zone 1 was chaos. Riding up, it looked like a big unruly mob, arms waving and bottles flying, with no obvious route through, other than simply plunging into the middle of it all. Luckily I had Andy, standing 6'4" with the longest arms in NATO, and I spotted him easily and grabbed my bottle and Powergel.
We soon started climbing again, gently up the tarmac at first, then on to steep mud and slipperly roots. I felt good and climbed well, picking my front wheel easily over the roots. I even felt like I was floating, which was nice, but I realised it probably wasn't a good thing and had another gel. I then got my first taste of the proper descents, a very steep, slippery and rocky section, that was partly washed away down the bank. I picked through it pretty quickly and popped back out onto the road, not too far from Feed Zone 3 (FZ2 was on a men-only section). FZ3 was much more civilised, as the men's race was still out on the extra loop and those support crews were still out at FZ2. Rodney was there with my bottle and gel, and I grabbed some extra water as well. It was hot, and I was starting to rue my decision to use small, 500ml bottles.
I'd pulled away from Mel up the steep climbs, but she appeared behind me again as I rode up the rolling tarmac section out of FZ3. It was as though she had attached a rubber band to my saddle, she just kept bouncing back. I turned in the saddle and accused her of as much. She smiled and said; "you're my target. There's a bullseye on your back!" I replied that I was glad of the company, and I was. Marathon racing is much easier, both physically and mentally, if you can stick with a group.
More fire road climbing, steadier this time, up and up to FZ4. The men finally caught us just before FZ4, and we were once more plunged into chaos as we rode up what I knew to be a tarmac path, although I couldn't see anything but a sea of people. The crowd was at least 50 metres long, and most the people were looking over my head for the approaching men - they simply didn't see me, and I had to shout myself hoarse to get through. An excited teenager ran straight into me, and I had to jam on the brakes to keep from knocking him down.
I finally got through FZ4, feeling slightly battered, and the trail went suddenly quiet again. This was the big climb up to the Schöckl Bergstation at 1438 metres, and I was feeling good for it. The track was steep and rocky, and technical enough to distract from the magnitude of the climb. I was enjoying it, and now starting to make up much more time, catching riders I hadn't seen since the start line. Up, up and more up, it must have been at least 40 minutes of solid climbing. Finally I got to the top, and the trail turned sharply down, the kind of descent where hesitating isn't an option, it was just hang back over the rear wheel, look up and hold on. I knew the race was far from over, but I just needed to get to FZ5. It was hot, I was thirsty and I'd long since drained my bottle. Luckily the top section had a cool breeze, and I sucked in the fresh mountain air in lieu of water.
Click image to view the the course profile.
FZ5 was at the top of a gondola, and it was neutral service only. Luckily the event was sponsored by Powerbar, so I was able to grab the same gels and drinks from the neutral feed service that I would have had anyway. I overtook three more riders on the next rocky section. I was on a roll.
"The final descent" doesn't really describe this next section. We were on top of the world, and the way down was a rocky riverbed. Trying to walk down would have taken forever, and wouldn't have been any safer, so there was no choice but to dive in and go for it. I crashed twice, once battering myself on the rocks and again dropping my chain. I stopped to put my chain back on, and had to fend off well-meaning spectators, who obviously didn't realise their help would get me disqualified. I lost a couple of the places I'd gained on the climb, and I was cursing myself; come on Jenn, pull yourself together!
I mostly rode and partly tumbled down the riverbed, kilometre after kilometre, to FZ6 to see Andy with my last bottle of the day. Straight after the feed zone, the last climb was a long hike-a-bike scramble up a muddy bank - a dirty trick by the course designers. As we reached the top I could see two riders in front of me, Åsa Erlandsson of Sweden whom I'd been chasing for the whole race, and Arielle Van Meurs of Holland, whom I'd overtaken on the climb, but who had passed me again as I was putting my chain back on. I felt inexplicably good, so I necked another gel and started my final chase. I caught Arielle quickly on the next climb. Åsa glanced behind and saw me, and put up a good fight, but she was clearly tired and I was determined. We exchanged brief friendly greetings as I passed her (we met at the last World Champs) and I powered on for the finish. I knew I had one last, steep, rooty singletrack descent and threw myself down it with absolute abandon. It was the best I'd ridden all day. I crossed the line alone, and very happy to be finished, in a very respectable 17th place.
Mel crossed the line a few minutes and nine places later. She'd lost a lot of time trying to find her bottle in the melee at FZ4 where she'd lost sight of me, and had not caught back up. Meanwhile Sally Bigham had clearly overcome any inhibitions about the descents, as she had finished almost 10 minutes ahead of me in 10th place. Sally has had a magic season this year, and I'd expected her to do well on such a climby course. Our race was won by German rider Sabine Spitz, adding the Marathon world title to her collection, which includes an XC World Championship title, numerous World Cup wins and Olympic Gold. Swiss riders Esther Suss and Petra Henzi took the Silver and Bronze medals. Full results can be found here.
I had one final mission - to find the 2008 World Champ Gunn Rita Dahle Flesjaa and ask her to autograph my Powerbar team cap. Gunn Rita is a multi World Champ in both XC and marathon, and had a baby just five months ago. She is still breastfeeding and getting up in the night, however she defended her title, and finished 13th, a few minutes ahead of me. As those in the trade will know, Gunn Rita is a mountain biking hero. She was nowhere to be seen however, so we headed back to our apartment.
Then we found her - or at least Andy did. She was out on a recovery ride on the same road, and Andy managed to pull her over, and explained that I had been looking for her and wanted her autograph. She very graciously obliged, and even spent a few minutes chatting to Andy about the race, and about being a Mum. I didn't get to meet her, but I did get her autograph. Thank you Gunn Rita!
*We're still trying to get our money back from the defunct Intermontane Challenge, but the organiser seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth, surprise surprise.
Representing your country is a special feeling, but it's a difficult thing to explain. I never lay awake as a kid dreaming about it. As an athlete, I never used to give it much thought. Getting my first set of National Uniform through the post back in 2006 gave me a glow of pride that I never knew existed. 
