There is no "I" in Team

The thing about racing that's ultimately so rewarding is the mental game that's played out right before your eyes. The winner is not always the strongest cyclist. The winner is the person who can read the race, choose the right wheel, go with the right break, and know which effort is the right effort to make. The winning team is the team who can control the pace, strategize, choose the right person to support.

During my first Tour de France as a cyclist, nothing surprised me more than to learn that all those people in the peloton (new vocabulary, also) weren't riding for themselves. It wasn't like a horse race, where all 100+ racers wanted to be number one. Each team had only one person who they were sworn to protect, and going through seven levels of hell for this person stood as just another day on the tour.

Domestiques, as they are called, are the workhorses of every team. They go to the team cars for water/food and then ride BACK UP into the peloton to deliver it. They turn themselves inside out on the climbs so the leader can vampire onto their rear wheel. Then there are those who lead out the sprinters, peeling off one by one and fading to the back while their teammate goes for the glory. On the flipside, the special chosen one, or GC, has the enormous pressure of making good on their teammates' efforts and actually winning the stage or race.

Yes, cycling, lo and behold, is a team sport.

Except when you're not on a team.

A few weeks ago, I, Sophie Ballo, humbly returned to the world of racing, this time in a road format rather than a criterium, even though I think I'm actually more suited to the latter.

For my first race, as I pulled up to the starting line amid a large group of women for a smallish road event, I noticed an awful lot of the same jersey. Teams. Me? Solo. The difference? I've got to try and make the whole peloton my team, since there's nobody to make sure I'm in the right place at the right time but...me.

Twice now I've attempted to race. Once I was caught with my pants down when the move was made. The second time I just couldn't stay with the pace and again was off the back.

The problem with those mistakes is that the race? The true race? Bam. THAT was the race. Right there. As soon as the blunder occurred, my race was essentially over, and all that remained was a training ride. That's where your mental power has to kick in. I've got to conjure up the willpower to absolutely kill myself in order to make sure I finish the whole race this time.

Reading a race. Knowing where to be, when to be there, and then having the legs for the follow through. Both fortunately and unfortunately, it's only something you learn through trial and error.

This time, though, I'm hoping for a little more trial and a little less error.