2002 Commonwealth Games
July-August 2002
Manchester, England
More often that not, the week prior to departure for ‘the big one’ is wracked with chaos. Too many errands left to the last minute make for a draining ordeal, and I am usually seen running to the car for the airport, freaking out because of everything left undone. This time around, as I prepared to leave for England and The Commonwealth Games, the air was thick not only from the humidity, but more from the anxiety brewing within. This, minus the usual efforts to make things smoother from my loving husband Peter (he deserted me over a week prior and took to the north- not to get away from me- I hope!- but to embark on his three month long bike tour through the untamed wilderness of The Yukon Territory.) Inside I was fighting thoughts of ‘wishing’ the Games to be over, before they began, as inside I, too, wanted to be traversing that Northern landscape with the one I love. First things first, though, and before this dream would come true I had to tackle England and my second, likely my last, Commonwealth Games.
Enjoying the rare luxury of arriving at the Dorval International Airport in Montreal with time to spare, I prepared myself for the massive fees I was likely to be charged as my baggage far exceeded the usual allowance in both size and weight. The Air Canada counter greeted me with an unusually friendly check-in lady. Usually after seeing the piles of equipment the attendant immediately turns sour, as if somehow knowing the upcoming pleas so as not to be charged. She made a phone call, smiled, checked me in (with an emergency exit row allowing for extra leg room) and sent me on my way. I hesitantly retreated from the counter as it seemed too good to be true. How I managed to get three bike boxes and an over-weight suitcase on for free was a mystery I was not going to question.
Despite the four seats to myself and relative long snooze (four of six hours) I felt wasted on arrival and sleepily made my way through London Heathrow’s International Airport. I was in such a thick haze of jet lag I managed to wait in the wrong line, only to be re-directed onto a bus taking me to terminal one (the correct place for my connecting flight), mistakenly re-board another shuttle which brought me back to terminal three (after going through security and everything in terminal one!), head back to terminal three, be re-directed back to the shuttle for terminal one, then have to go through security all over again! Because I was traveling alone there was no leader to lead me and I was lost!!
With my head feeling like gravy I still managed a small grasp of reality: there I was, only five months after competing in the Winter Olympics, only twenty months after my second Summer Olympics, on my way to the Commonwealth Games as a cyclist. It was thrilling to think what lay ahead, the possibilities for me as an individual and the Canadians as a team. Inside I felt motivated. Strong. What inspired me even more were thoughts of my reward after the Games: that Northern excursion with Peter. Finally I was to view, firsthand, the beauty of Canada’s North I had heard so much of. I desperately needed a break and what better way to rest my mind than traveling with the one I love, on our bicycles, through that glorious landscape. First things first, and it was time to prepare for the battle ahead.
After passing through the different stages of accreditation and security checks I arrived in one tired piece to the athlete’s village. It was a pleasant university setting with old brick buildings set within lush green, a product of Britain’s infamous rain. For the duration of the Games teammate Lyne Bessette and I were to be sardined into a small dorm room. Luck was on our side, however, and we had our own bathroom- fully equipped with shower, sink and toilet. We were living big in the relative scheme of things. It was to be a loud two weeks with the incessant slamming of doors.
Village life almost seemed routine after my in the winter Olympic village in Salt Lake City so recently. It seemed normal to eat in a massive dining hall, shaped out of a temporary double tent structure large enough to feed a small nation. Accreditation checks and the constant barrage of people, everywhere, was something I had become accustomed to, though I cannot say I truly liked. It is in some ways strange to be around hoards of people, walking around in uniforms braded by their nation’s colors and names. I always craved ‘civilian clothes’ when forced to wear a uniform. Yet, it was nice to feel a part of the team.
BANG BANG BANG….BANG BANG BANG….this was not the soothing songs of the birds I had grown accustomed to waking up with at home in Glen Sutton. ‘Clara, are you there? Are you in there?’ It was the voice of Bruce, our mechanic, and I was not at home. Slowly I realized the commotion was for me, and I groggily pulled the ear plugs from my ears, rubbing my eyes as I stumbled sleepily to the door. Bruce was wired, spewing out directions for the random doping control I had been called for. They had been looking all over the village for me, panicking as I was no where to be found. It was well after 9am and I had been unconscious in my jet lag stupor for over 11 hours. The room was the last place they checked as they were sure I was out and about. Unfortunately I am a creature of habit and the first thing I do when waking is go to the bathroom. I did this without thinking and cursed myself all the way to the doping control that I had been stupid as to empty my bladder. It was not a good start to the day. Two hours later I left the medical with a bloated belly in a chaotic rush so as to make the training session on the track.
After a bad cup of coffee and a bite to eat, we lucked into an equipment transport van whose driver made an exception to the ‘no passengers’ rules. Warren, our team leader, and Stein, our best sprinter, were quite the gentlemen in allowing Erin and I the front. They sat in the cargo section, no windows, so seats, no lights for the 25 minute ride to the track. Our driver was hilarious in the sort of Monty Python way the Brit’s can be, and Erin and I busted a gut the entire trip. He was a gem. The last I remember was his off tune, off beat singing along with the oldies station, fully serious, as Erin and I swayed and snapped fingers along side. I had to pee so bad at that point from the excess fluid intake at doping I felt like I was going to explode! It was good fun.
I immediately noticed the different energy of these Games compared to that of the Olympics. They truly were the ‘friendly games’ and the atmosphere was a relaxed one. To see so many nations, especially the African nations, was a beautiful sight. People mixing and breaking down ethnic and religious barriers through sport seemed rare and incredible in the era of ‘terror,’ as the world wide media has coined it. To see athletes, able-bodied and those with physical challenges, was inspiring. It is easy to become so immersed in one’s own small world that perspective can become warped. Seeing people with less physical ability in terms of limbs, nerves or muscles, functioning and working with what they have, made me quite aware of what it was all about: what sport is about, life should be about- working with what one has, not feeling sorry for oneself and thinking it could be better, should be easier…it is truly about courage and excellence, in the purest senses of the words. This was clear to me each and every day I passed in the village.
Queen Elizabeth joined the athletes in the dining hall for a token meal. She seemed a little disgusted with the food. I didn’t notice but I wonder if she, too, was eating with plastic cutlery. Somehow I don’t think so…I can always say to people ‘I had lunch with the Queen’. I doubt she’ll be telling friends she dined with me!
Race day approached with lightening speed. The first cycling event arrived before I knew it: the individual time trial. Flying down the narrow bumpy descents in my aero bars was terrifying, reaching speeds of 100kph. The circuit wound through the countryside, around a dam surrounded by lush forest. Speed relied on tenacity and it was necessary to attack every inch of the 23 kilometer race. After the first of two loops I felt like my head was going to explode. I thought perhaps I had gone out too hard and was going to pay dearly. The only barrier was pain, and I knew in my head I had to overcome extreme amounts if I wanted to finish strong.
The day before the race teammate Erin Carter had a visit from her Mother and Grandmother in the village. They both wished me well and the last thing Mrs. Carter said was ‘you’ll hear me on the course!’ Well, my last recollection was seeing Mrs. Carter with two kilometers to go. Her cheers were so loud I saw her, distinctly, and actually made eye contact, thinking ‘oh, there’s Erin’s Mom on the side of the road.’ Her enthusiasm bolstered my efforts and I gave it one last kick to the line. After throwing my bike over that narrow white strip which signified the end of the torture for me, I looked to my right to see the motorcycle with the camera bike focused on me. He had shadowed me the entire race and I used him in my mind, pretending it was another racer trying to pass me on the course. I also heard the roar of the helicopter above, and it crossed my mind more than once I might have been on a good pace, with all that attention. Little did I know it was the fastest of the day, my surprise so genuine I asked in shock that they check the times to make sure that I had indeed won.
I had come to the Games prepared for the track, thinking the time trial was good preparation for the races to come. Competition was tough with Anna Millward, one of the best in the world, and teammate Lyne Bessette who I knew was on good form. These girls were two of the best the female cycling world had to offer and everyone was motivated to win the prestigious title of Commonwealth Champion. Coach Eric Van Den Eynde insisted time and again that I not sell myself short, saying ‘if you are good on the track, you’ll be good in the time trial.’ I didn’t believe him until the race was over, and realized I had raced the best time trial of my life. I had ‘good legs’, as the saying goes, and I felt like a motor bike on the technical course. It was one of those rare peak performances that happen after months, years of hard work, sacrifice, and a little bit of luck. I will never forget how I felt on that day, it was like flying. That the win came as a surprise made it all the more special.
Standing on the victory podium, golden, it occurred this was something new to me. Of all the years I had competed, all the Games (Pan-American, Commonwealth and Olympic) I had never reached that top step. Success to me is gauged by effort, and I have not been disappointed with ‘placings’ as my goal is such: to be the best I can on the day and leave it all on the road, the track, the ice. I have to admit the gold medal is a special one, to hear the national anthem of Canada flowing through the warm summer air, with the maple leaf rising high in the blue sky, is something to take one’s breath away. I felt happy, I wanted to smile. I’ll never forget that moment. Still, it always goes back to that definition of success. Most importantly for me, I gave my best.
Next up was the point’s race, contested on the velodrome famous for Chris Boardman’s hour record setting ride back in 1998. The wooden track was lightening fast as riders raced in front of the thousands of enthusiastic British fans. I spent the day thinking up crazy excuses to no-show, as the event was not my favorite. I was feeling lazy and unmotivated, afraid of the pain that lay ahead. In the end I was on the starting line at 8:30pm, with the other 12 girls, ready to rumble.
It was terrifying at times, and I found myself searching for the non-existent brakes on the fixed gear track bike. There were many close calls and I have to admit, I’m not sure if I like this event! One hundred laps later I crossed the finish line, exhausted, dehydrated, and full of pain. It was worth it as I had a bronze medal in hand, and the effort this took was far more draining than winning the gold in the time trial. Two events down, two to go. I was already beginning to doubt the logic behind racing four events in one Games, especially five months after an Olympics!
Lyne and I cracked on the same day. It had been raining incessantly for days and our spirits were down, both thinking of our spouses and homes in the Eastern Townships of Quebec. Maybe it had something to do with the stinky dorms, the slamming doors, the crowded cafeteria, the constant barrage of people…whatever it was it seemed to hit us both at the same time. The morning of the pursuit qualifiers we lay in our respective beds, reminiscing about home. Not a good mind set to be in the morning of an important race! I don’t think people realize the patience necessary to reach a peak performance, it takes a lot of lying around, occupying one’s time (not doing too much hanging out; too much walking around-yet not thinking too much about what lay ahead). There is a fine balance which is elusive at the best of times, and we were both fighting not to let the demons of homesickness kick in when the best races were let to come.
Escaping the village with Gord Fraser (left) and Michael Barry (right)
After riding a mediocre qualifier, I had to get away from the village. I was too down mentally and needed some distraction. I ventured out into the ‘real world’ with teammates Michael Barry and Gord Fraser downtown, on a public double-decker bus. The skies continued to pellet us with rain, so much we made the unanimous decision to break the bank account and buy umbrellas. The excursion was far more enjoyable under our new stylish silver canopies. Still, we didn’t last long as I was tired from the morning’s pursuit and both Gord and Michael continued to feel the effects of jet lag after their late arrival. It was time to return to the confines of the village.
Time flies when one is having fun and I have to admit it felt like an eternity since the time trial. The reality of it almost ending, ‘it’ meaning the Games, began to sink in. I began to feel more motivated for the track, feeling excited to race again. Perhaps it was the fatigue from the point’s race finally leaving my system. I don’t know, but whatever the case I felt lucky to have another shot at the pursuit. The day flew by and soon enough it was time to head to the track again.
A packed house witnessed the quarter and final races of the pursuit. I was paired with an English girl and felt neglected when the fans roared for each of her passing and were silent for me. I guess that was the home town advantage. I did my best time ever, yet it was only good enough for 6th place. I was satisfied with my ride and motivated for the next season as I saw girls go eight seconds faster than I had. I needed time to gain the speed necessary for the pursuit and with two years to go until Athens I had a lot of work to do. But that would have to wait for the following summer….
Erin, Lyne, Sue Palmer and I were up before the sun to prepare for the 9am start of the road race. I was excited for the race as it was my last competition of the cycling season, though feeling tired and a little nauseous from mild food poisoning and fatigue from all the events. To be honest I didn’t really care so much about my own result, I felt I was there more for the team as I had was already satisfied and mentally drained.
Competing in two sports at a high level, year round, has in many ways changed my motivations. Whereas I used to go into every race, no matter how small, to win; I now see some as training, and target only a few. I race a quarter of what I used to on the road, and am more motivated for the timed events- which are parallel to those I do in skating. I have done so much in cycling that I no longer feel the need to pursue every event. This is nice when it comes to the road race, as I can be there in support of the common goal: that of the team, to try and win.
On this day we had picked Sue Palmer and Lyne Bessette as our winners. Erin Carter and I were to ‘man’ the peleton for the early parts of the race, making sure no breakaways were to get up the road without us represented. I was feeling ill, the effects of too many races mixed with a touch of food poisoning. It was difficult to eat breakfast and impossible to eat on the bike, not a good thing with over 90kms to race. I knew I had at least a good 50kms in me, and it was good to have the maple leaf at the front of the pack, stating our presence, making the others wonder just who was our leader. I am sure many of the other teams thought I would be with my time trial win, but really I was content with doing the work of the domestique on that sunny cool morning.
It was an eventful race until just after the halfway point, and difficult to sit still and wait for the other teams to make their moves. Our patience paid off as first the British, then the New Zealand teams began to attack and try to force a break away. Erin and I took turns covering while Lyne and Sue sat in safety, watching the key players.
I was shocked to see Sue make an attack on the far right on one of the less difficult climbs of the course. I was surprised because Sue had always been in our early years racing on the national team together not the rider to ‘make the move’. And what a move it was! I found myself smiling through the pain of my screaming legs as she motored up the road with a few other racers. Sue was another rider on that day and what a time to race to win!
I looked around for Lyne as the race went up the road, it was a critical point and without Lyne up there as well it was to our disadvantage. I found her scrambling a bit and made one last effort to get her across the breakaway. When we reached the bottom of the climb I was completely spent and Lyne attacked hard to bridge the gap, just as her chain fell. Luckily she managed to get it back on and still make it to Sue, giving us two in the lead group of seven or so. From there I am not completely sure what happened except crashes and Sue coming across with the silver medal.
When I came across the line, well back with a small group, and heard the news of ‘Silver Sue’ I was ecstatic. It could not have happened to a nicer person, and the way that Sue raced made me feel so proud. She was another rider, one with the courage and tenacity worthy of gold. In my books she was golden on that day and I felt the deep satisfaction of helping Canada make the podium again at the Games.
After watching Sue receive her medal, glowing in the midday sun with the joy and satisfaction of such an achievement, Erin and I headed back to the village. I had to pack three bikes and two suitcases for my early morning departure the following day, and was rushing as I had craved the classic meal of fish and chips since arriving in England. Finally after all the racing I could indulge!
Erin and I decided to give Sue a special welcome and after obtaining a stack of paper gold medals and chocolate bars, as well as a roll of tape, from athlete’s services, we decorated her door with a collage worthy of a queen. With the words “YOU MAY HAVE WON SILVER, BUT YOU”RE GOLDEN TO US!” surrounded by the medals, chocolate bars and muffins we hoped to tell her just how proud we were of her racing on that day. The chocolate was a hit as Sue is known for her sweet tooth. It was fun to celebrate that afternoon and evening with Erin, Sue and Michael Barry who had also raced that day in the men’s road race.
Downtown Manchester was one huge party. It was late by the time we had finished dinner and we cruised the core of the industrial city, people watching in wonder as the entire place seemed to be drunk. Not happy drunk, but obnoxious drunk. Men pissed on the corner of buildings in full view, people vomited in those same crevices, we even saw a girl so drunk she fell out of a taxi cab, covered in her own spew. It was disgusting. Buses were full of raucous intoxication and instead of exposing ourselves to that claustrophobia we decided to walk. We walked and walked for at least two and a half hours, through Manchester, finally reaching the ‘curry mile’ just outside of the athlete’s village. The smell of Indian food wafted through the evening air and if sketchy mafia-like scene it was tempting to stop for a bite. Instead we returned to the confines of the village, enjoying some vanilla ice cream before heading to bed.
Early the next morning I was on my way home, in my head thinking of all the things I had to do in one day I had at home before heading north to Whitehorse, Yukon, where I would meet my husband Peter for our bike tour. Though I was pleased with my experience at the Games it was time to look forward and move towards my next goal: VACATION! Well, if a month long bike tour counts as a vacation, which it does in my books…I’m off to the next adventure….
