2018 was my last year racing Nationals as a U23. That meant one more year of racing “Elite Nationals” against a bunch of UCI pros. Yeah, I don’t get it either. Of the 100 starters in the U23 road race, 20 of them were UCI pros, and many had spent the first half of 2018 racing professionally across the US or Europe, not going to school in Wisconsin and spending 3 hours a day on the trainer (ahem – that’s me). Needless to say, I was cautiously optimistic about my chances in the time trial and road race – the crit, I didn’t really care about. That would be something that I would only think about after the TT and RR.
Time Trial
4:25AM – I start in 3 and a half hours. That gives me enough time to ‘lose some weight’, have breakfast, drive to the course, lose some more weight, kit up, warm up, and flood my system with caffeine right before the start.
6:55AM – I’m already kitted up, and probably burning a match or try getting to get my Velotoze on – it’s worth it. My bike is already set up on the trainer. (This is one of the 1,000+ tasks that my dad took over this weekend, so that my teammates and I never had to deal with any unnecessary stress. Thank you, Dad.)
7:15AM – Sweat drips from my nose down to my top tube. I have yet to start the “hard part” of my warm-up, but the heat and (mostly) humidity of summer in Maryland is already cooking me. The “hard part” is a 3-minute opener – three minutes at race pace, starting on the low end and finishing on the high. This is the effort that, nine times out of ten, tells me if I am on a good day or not. If 350W is easy, that’s normal; if 370W is easy, that’s good; if 400W is easy, watch out…this freight train is about to roll out of town and it ain’t stoppin’.
7:55AM – Warm-up done, I zip up my skinsuit and roll over to the start line. I check my tires once, twice, three times…okay, that should be good. I check in to the starting corral – literally; once you enter, you’re not allowed to leave – and plop down in a cheap plastic chair. My legs are shaking and my stomach starts to hurt – I’m ready.
8:05AM – I give my dad a final thumbs-up before I climb up onto the start ramp. He’s driving a ‘follow car’ for me today, with spare wheels and tools in case anything goes wrong during my ride – anything that can be quickly repaired, that is. I take three big breaths as they count me down from 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…Go!
I turn the pedals quickly and focus on my breathing, head position, and cadence. The power will come if it is there. I don’t stare at the numbers while I ride, I just focus on what lies ahead.
Ten minutes in and I feel like sh*t. My glutes are on fire, my quads are worse, and I feel like I’m going 24 mph – that’s not fast.
After 19 minutes of suffering, I finally reach the turnaround and slam on the brakes. I overcook it, taking the turn wide and riding over the rumble strips on the exit. Now I have to churn over a huge gear to get back up to speed, but still, it could’ve been worse. I tuck back in to the aero bars, and then I see something: it’s Matteo, coming down the hill towards the turnaround. He started 1 minute behind me, and he is one of the favorites to win today. But at the turnaround, he’s only 20 seconds behind me. I was expecting to catch me, early. But now he’s just behind, trying to latch on to my slipstream. I have a little extra motivation.
Cresting the hill at 8k to go, he still hasn’t caught me – maybe I’m on a good day after all. At 5k to go, I see someone in the distance. I don’t know who it is, but I’m going to do everything I can to catch them before the line. 3k to go and I am sweating out my eyeballs. 2k to go and I nearly hit a cone. My neck is torqued and my face is a picture of pain. My legs are locking up, but I push through it; there’s no backing off now. 1k to go and – I actually didn’t see the sign – my eyes fixate on the finishing banner: “USA Cycling National Championships.” This is it, everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve wanted, everything I’ve dreamed about…
***
Hunched over my bars, sweat dripping into my eyes, I ask my Dad: “Did I just get fourth?”
I already knew the answer: Yes. When I crossed the line, I heard, “Second place, Zach Nehr!!!” Immediately, I was thrilled. I was expecting a Top 10, hoping for a Top 5, and dreaming of a podium – but second place? Holy ****! But then I remembered who was behind me: Matteo and Gage.
Matteo hadn’t caught me, but he had gotten close. Regardless, he beat me, and Gage beat him. In the span of 30 seconds, I went from 2nd place to 4th. Gage was the last rider on course, and just like that, it was over. I was happy, and sad, and angry, and frustrated, and thrilled, all at the same time. Emotional chaos.
Sitting on my bike on the side of my road, my dad handed me a water bottle. Before I could take a drink, I started to cry, I think. Salt mixed with sweat and tears… I couldn’t tell if they were tears of joy or sadness.
***
4th place at U23 Nationals. This boy from Wisconsin. This college student who’s never raced in Europe. This amateur on Team California who drove 12 hours to get here, and whose dad worked on his bike last night and whose brother will be handing him bottles in the feedzone tomorrow.
At U23 Nationals, I often felt out of place, competing against 19 year-olds on UCI pro teams who just came back from doing a 6-month block of racing and training in Europe. When I saw the final results, with “Zach Nehr – Team California – Fox Point, WI” in 4th place…those were tears of joy.