National Championships 2013, Omagh.

As the 2013 season's end draws ever nearer, I'm squeezing in nearly every race I can, making up for lost time while I got my exams out of the way. Speaking of exams, I was the opposite of most, I was more frustrated after receiving my results than I was beforehand. While others made their way to schools around the country, clammy handed, I was as cool as a frozen cucumber. I saw no need for fretting as at this stage it was beyond my control, there was nothing I could do to change the outcome (at least not with my limited funds anyway.) The white seal of the envelope was broken away to reveal results that gave me 55 more CAO points than I needed. That's 55 points worth of extra, pointless time spent studying. 55 points worth of time spent with my head in my Biology book, time which could have been put to great use on the bike. That's not a very efficient use of time. Those ass-kickings I was getting might not have been as bad were it not for that wasted "55 points window" of time. Oh well. 

This weekend's travels was the most of the year, pushing The Lacey Cup in second place. The venue was Omagh, and the promoting club, Omagh Wheelers Cycling Club. We lodged ourselves 30 miles away in Monaghan town with relatives, which meant food was aplenty. They even obliged me a double bed, and unlimited access to their dog, who was like a big teddy bear. We arrived Thursday evening, and got up early Friday morning to recce the TT course, whilst Mam stayed at the house to ensure I'd have plenty to fuel up with for the following day's exertions. Is fíor gur iarracht chlainne é, tríd is tríd. (See lads, the phrases you learn for your Irish Oral Exam do come in future situations!) The TT course was very fast on the way out, a tailwind aiding us along and then on the return leg, a block headwind. It was like riding through a fruitcake. I was only taking it handy on the recce but even so, it wasn't easy. The surface was excellent in most places, but rough in some. We then made the return 30-mile journey, which weirdly took us 50 minutes. Even now I don't understand why. If you've ever been in a car with my father you'll know that 60mph is a stately pace. We weren't hanging around at all but even so 50 minutes was a good time to make it in. Maybe the miles are longer up North. They certainly felt it on Saturday. 

I woke early on Saturday, and got up in time to eat breakfast at 8 o'clock. We loaded the car, and hit the road, and reached our destination 90 mins before the off. By 12:09 I was off the turbo and by 12:11 I was at the start-house, waiting to pound the pedals and get aero. I tried as best I could to keep a lid on it on the outward leg, but even by the 6km mark Eddie had taken 40 seconds out of me. I had to ignore the voices in my head at this point and just concentrate on the heart-rate. By the 15km mark his gap had extended to 1:10. I hadn't started to push on just yet, so I hoped against hope that he might die into the wind on the return leg. But Eddie doesn't die, he's like a smaller Terminator. In the end he won by a margin of 25 seconds over Mark Downey, and 2:07 on me. I was completely oblivious to coming 3rd, I thought I was on a crap day. The wind on the return leg really messed with my head, in the last 5-6km the wind had gotten the better of me. My heart-rate was bang on, but my speed was so low, there were times when I was only just keeping it above 20mph. The 'whoosh' of the disc spurred me on so I decided to ignore the speed and just keep the cadence and heart-rate up. Which was easier said than done. Crossing the line I wasn't happy at all, the wind had really infected my brain. The key to a good time-trial is keeping the head, and I didn't keep the head. I let the wind get to me. I didn't have the cojones that I normally would have to go extremely deep, I felt I was out of the medals, I was angry. Instead of using that anger to fuel the fire, all it was doing was wasting my energy and costing me time. 3rd was a big surprise, as my mentality had let me down big time. Even if I did go as deep as possible I doubt I'd have made the jump into 2nd, the gap was quite big. But still to not have given it my best shot still plagues my mind. I'd have only made up maybe another 15-20 seconds. My uncle was in the car following me and seemed to enjoy it thoroughly. He saw it as a real 'man's sport' compared to football, which is high praise from a man with three footballing sons and who is heavily involved himself, even going as far to say "it's not like you can pass it off and get a break, you've gotta do it all yourself!" But then again, I am his favourite nephew. 

Pacing myself, already 40 seconds down.

Back at the house, I wanted an ice-bath. But I didn't feel as though I deserved one. Ice-baths are for those who finish the job, not let the job finish them. So I stuck on Charlie's Angels and put the feet up. Cameron Diaz was a welcome sight after 55 minutes on the road. I fueled up for the following day and headed up to bed early. 

4km to go.

We arrived and parked up, if only it really were that easy. The car park/field was already lined with cars and eager looking cyclists. But no, this wasn't good enough for us Hahessys. Or one Hahessy in particular should I digress. But all was resolved 15 minutes later. On behalf of the good name of Hahessy and as a representative for Iverk Produce Carrick Wheelers I'd like to apologise. You can't take him anywhere. The queue for Sign-On was much longer for the road-race, as the junior ranks alone had a field of 50 riders. The organisers were very generous with where they placed the 500m and 200m signs, the gap to the line seemed much bigger than indicated. Dylan Foley and Eddie Dunbar were like conjoined twins for the day, stuck to one another. Each good move was cancelled out by one of the favourites who wanted to be in the move. Such was the routine for the day. Until such a break went away containing no clear cut favourites, but no slouches either. They worked hard at it, they weren't getting the time checks we were. They pulled out 2 minutes on us in 10 miles. Race over. Let the winter training spin commence. People say that racing is supposed to be fun. And although were were laughing and smiling back in the bunch (or grupetto at this stage) the smiles were to mask our frustration. It is my personal opinion that the course wasn't hard enough to take tactics out of the equation and let the legs do the talking. 

Chatting with Craig Arrigan about poetry, we're big softies really.

We left as soon as I had changed into warm clothing, stopped off in Monaghan to collect bags, and then hit the road again, Carrick-bound. We were jammed in traffic for quite a while after the Clare Limerick match, but one of life's greatest little pleasures is to be found in match day traffic, especially if you're lucky enough to be stuck near one of JJ Kavanagh's buses, equipped with free WiFi. Upon discovering this I may have even done "The Carlton" in the backseat of the car. (If you haven't come across the phenomenon that is "The Carlton", I urge you to watch/practice/flail and swing your socks off - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zS1cLOIxsQ8) We arrived home before 10 o'clock, and I don't think I saw 10:30. 

"Y'know like, I'd have won like, but my tyres were inflated too much like..."

Next stop is the Junior Tour of Wales, where I'll be representing the heavyweights along with Stephen Shanahan, Dylan O'Brien and Eddie Dunbar. Wales is very much like Ireland, windy, wet, indecipherable accents and plenty of sheep. So I should feel right at home.

Happy trails,

Seán.

Yes, I am still taller.