First Blood (again, not the film)

It wasn't planned, it just kind of happened. I had a gap this weekend and thought i'd go on the club run but then I saw on the British Cycling website that there was a race at Hillingdon.
I stood in front of the mirror looking at myself, fighting to decide what to do. No real preparation, no second bike and no idea how racing works. The choice was obvious.... let's race.
I got up and had my usual porridge for breakfast, the race started at 1.45pm so I thought that I would skip lunch and took a flap jack to eat on my journey to the circuit.
I nervously packed the car, double checking everything that went in. I didn't want to get all the way there to find I'd only had one shoe.
Even though I used to work near Hillingdon, I used the sat nav to get me there which cost me an extra 30 minutes. These things are created to help us and yet it took me up through London on a Saturday. I came back my own route and it was definitely faster, I won't be making that mistake again.
I arrived at the circuit at 1pm which gave me good time to sign on and get ready.
The track is adjacent to a Goals football centre so I parked in their car park, carefully leaving everything out of view as I've heard stories of break-ins.
I had butterflies in my stomach as I gave over my race licence to the lady at the desk and paid my £12 fee.
I'd entered the 4th cat only race which was 30 minutes plus 5 laps, so around 45 minutes for the full race.
I explained that it was my first ever race and the lady explained where the 2 race numbers were to be pinned on my Addiscombe jersey, even offering to do it for me. I was number 22. The race commissaire was there too and I explained that it was my first ever race.
He said that if I went off to get changed and get my bike, the junior race would have finished and i'll be able to do some practice laps.
I got out on the circuit to warm my legs and it became quickly apparent, just how bland a circuit is. It is literally a mile of tarmac in a field. No grandstand, no dancing girls, just a folding table selling teas.
The track looked like it had a hill up to the finish line but riding it felt better as it was only a slight incline. From the start line, the track rolls down and into a left bend, followed by a hairpin and then up a short sharp climb into a sweeping left hander and then down the back straight. Ah, the back straight - my soon to become nemesis. Words can't describe the wind as it hits you on the back straight. My speed dropped by 4mph instantly, it was horrific and you can see why very few lone breaks survive here.
I did another 2-3 laps and was surprised at how smooth the surface was. I guess you can't have potholes here! The corners were a little gravelly and I had to back off slightly for the tight hairpin.
I rolled up to the start line and looked around to see a handful of riders with me. Not much of a turnout I thought and then the back started to fill up.
The butterflies were really floating about now. The commissaire told us a few rules. Basically, don't be stupid and don't cut anyone up. He then asked who was a race virgin. Up went my hand. I didn't see any others go up. Gulp.
Baptism of fire then.
I expected lights, a flag possibly an air horn but all we got was, "right, off you go lads." Wow, the glamour of bike racing.
From the off, nerves got to me and I struggled to clip into my pedals. I looked up and my second row starting position had now changed to back row. I eased into the pace and backed off slightly as we went into the hairpin. I got out of the saddle for the rise and then drifted with the pack down the back straight, sheltering from the wind.
A couple of laps passed and somebody attacked as we went over the rise after the hairpin. My nerves meant that I was at the back of the pack anyway and the sudden rise in pace caught me out. I should have sprinted to stay on but this boat has set sail and as I hit the back straight, the wind hit me. I was 10 metres off the bunch but could do nothing to get back on and slowly watched them drift away.
I was working so hard but knew it was futile. Every lap they seemed further away and my legs were tiring. I wanted to quit but then what would I tell people? My legs hurt and every time I hit the back straight, my thighs started to burn. It was embarrassing going past the people gathered at the finish line on my own. I told myself that they might not notice, I told myself that I was on a lone break in the Tour, anything just to keep me going.
On the rise after the hairpin, there was a young girl taking pictures and she was the thing that kept me going. Every lap, she'd shout encouragement to me. She reminded me of my daughter and so I pushed as hard as I could, still sprinting out of the saddle to get over the rise.
Inevitably, 20 minutes into the race, the pack came back around. I'd done a good 7 laps on my own and I made sure that I wasn't going to do any more.
I jumped back on and the difference was amazing. I'd spent 15-20 minutes time trialling on my own, pedalling the whole circuit and now I was in the middle of the pack being sucked along at 25mph. I've ridden club runs before but riding in a group that big is something i've never experienced, it was effortless and at times I was freewheeling.
I got into the rhythm with the rest of the pack and learnt the routine points where the pace went up. I was flying and cursing myself for not staying on in the first place. This was easier than the last 15 minutes i'd been doing on my own.
There were the odd attacks at the front but the wind was too strong for them to stay away.
The 5 lap board went up and the pace increased. With 3 laps to go, one of the front guys attacked on the finish straight, I saw it go and immediately sprinted as I knew the pace was going to crank up a notch. I passed some riders and worked my way up the pack. I was getting more confident riding in the bunch and my handling skills were good enough to be smooth with my movements. I told myself that I had a right to be wherever I wanted to be in the pack and if people wanted my position, they had to push me out of it.
Things were starting to hot up now and as we came off the back straight, the pack was still together and there was some jostling going on. I looked to my right and saw one rider bumping across the grass as he got edged off the track. His nerves were shot to pieces and he drifted to the back of the pack.
The final bell went and the pace went ballistic, as we hit the back straight, we were strung out and it was a real effort. I eased as we approached the finishing straight as I knew I was a lap down and didn't want to get involved in the finish, the leaders were too fast anyway for that to happen but I didn't want to upset anyone on my first outing.
I finished ahead of a couple of riders but a lap down, meaning I was officially last. If my tactics were better, I'm confident I would have finished in the pack so i'm a little disappointed but still buzzing from being in the race.
It was a fantastic experience and one I will definitely be repeating. For the stat lovers out there, I did 17 miles at an average of 22mph with a top speed of 28mph, burning over 1200 calories.
A year ago, I would have laughed if someone had suggested I would race. A year ago, the furthest i'd ridden was 45 miles and now a year on, i'm riding at a competitive level - of sorts.
Now that's something to be proud of. Lanterne rouge, but with a massive smile on my face.