My World by Peter Sagan

Author:Peter Sagan
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781948006118
Publisher: Lightning Source Inc.
Published: 2018-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

Race time. The circuit was fun but tricky. It was also really hard to overtake someone, a bit like Formula One. Technical, narrow, with loads of obstacles that required total concentration, certainly not things that you could ignore while trying to pass another guy. It was fun because of the tricks you had to pull, and amusing stuff like sand traps in the shape of Havaianas flip-flops.

Another Formula One similarity was the starting grid, and this was my first and most serious problem. Not being a regular MTB racer, I had no form and no points to give me a good start position. If it had really been like F1, we could have turned the whole race into a week’s worth of testing and qualifying, but we’re obviously not as savvy as those crafty media manipulators in motor racing, and I had to start where my nonexistent world ranking said I should be. At the back.

When I say the back, stone-cold last would give you the most accurate picture. There were 50 guys between me and the start line. By the time I crossed it, the clock would have been ticking, wheels spinning, people cheering, and the front riders disappearing into the middle distance. Sounds bad? If it had been a World Cup race, there might have been as many as 200 guys separating me from my clear destiny as Olympic MTB champion.

The first section of the lap was inside the stadium they had built to give spectators the best view. There were some backward-and-forward sections, a bit like the line at airport security, but it was wide and fast, unlike the course proper. I knew that once the stadium was behind us, overtaking someone would be a hundred times more difficult than in that first 60 seconds of a one-and-a-half-hour race.

For one of the first occasions in my career, I had a plan. As we lined up, each guy wiggling a little bit to get the best position, but kept in line by the officials trying to keep it fair, I went the other way. I backed up about 3 meters behind the penultimate line of riders. With the other 50-odd starters wedged into a 5-meter space, I looked ridiculous. I imagined them snickering at the dickhead roadie who was scared of getting knocked off in the free-for-all. The countdown started at 10. At five, I clicked into my right pedal. At three, I set off, clicking into the other pedal and going hell-for-leather through the startled lines of those patiently waiting. I thought: It can’t be a false start. I haven’t crossed the start line, right?

After three turns of the stadium, I was in third place. The guys who started on the front of the grid were in about 20th. I don’t know much about MTB racing, it’s true, so I’m ready for somebody to explain to me some day what their strategy was.

Mine was clear. Relax. Take it easy. There were seven laps ahead of us, and the first one would be the fastest.

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