A Safe Space for Speed
Following Rune Herregodts’s shocking victory at the Belgian Championships, the nation’s fast men are in crisis. We gained exclusive access to their first group therapy session.
(The following is a fictional dramatisation. It is almost certainly not how it happened, but also, it is absolutely how it happened.)
PRESENT:
- JEAN-LUC, a therapist with kind eyes and a well-thumbed copy of ‘Grieving the Grand Tour’.
- JASPER, clutching a bidon like a safety blanket. Radiating indignation.
- TIM, slumped in his chair, staring at the middle distance. Hasn’t blinked in 12 minutes.
- WOUT, thoughtfully examining the scuff marks on his limited-edition carbon-soled shoes.
- ARNAUD, the youngest, taking meticulous notes in a team-branded notebook.
JEAN-LUC: OK. Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming. I want to remind you all that this is a safe space. A circle of trust. Whatever is said here, stays here. Jasper, you have the conch. Or, the bidon. Let’s start with you. How are we feeling after Sunday?
JASPER: How are we feeling? I’ll tell you how we’re feeling, Jean-Luc. We’re feeling like we trained for a 100-metre dash and then watched a marathon runner break the tape. It’s unnatural. It’s an affront to physics. A flat course means a sprint. That’s the deal. We all sign the deal when we get our licences. It’s Article 1. He didn’t respect the deal.
JEAN-LUC: ‘He’ being Rune Herregodts?
JASPER: We don’t say the name. It gives him power. He’s The Man From The Break. Voldemort on a TT bike. My guys… my guys were perfect. We had the plan. Let the hopefuls go. Keep them at two, two-thirty. Reel them in after the final passage through Zottegem. Launch me at 200 to go. Win. Get the jersey. Post the picture. Simple. It’s been the same plan since 1982. It works.
TIM: (Without moving his head) Didn’t work Sunday.
JASPER: (Slamming the bidon on the floor) WE KNOW IT DIDN’T WORK SUNDAY, TIM. THAT’S WHY WE’RE IN A SAD ROOM WITH BAD LIGHTING, ISN’T IT?
JEAN-LUC: Jasper, let’s use our indoor voice. Tim, perhaps you could share your perspective. What do you think went wrong?
TIM: We got complacent. We saw the gap. We saw who was in there. No disrespect, but it wasn’t exactly a group of certified finishers. We did the math. The math was wrong. The wind was wrong. The road was wrong. Someone, somewhere, forgot to carry the one. And now a man whose job is to hurt himself for four hours gets a prize meant for a man whose job is to hurt himself for 12 seconds. The system is broken.
WOUT: But what is a sprinter, really? (Everyone turns to look at him). I’ve been thinking about it. We define ourselves by this one explosive act. A culmination. A release. But what if the whole race is the sprint? What if the breakaway… is the real sprint, just… longer? What if we’ve been sprinting wrong our whole lives?
(A long, uncomfortable silence.)
ARNAUD: (Raising a hand) My DS said on the radio that the gap was stable. He said, “don’t panic.” He used the chill emoji in the group chat. I have the logs.
JASPER: The chill emoji! I saw it! That emoji is a liar! You can’t ride a 220-kilometre national championship based on the relaxed disposition of a cartoon face!
JEAN-LUC: Let’s unpack that. It sounds like there’s a feeling of betrayal. Not just by the outcome, but by the process. The… emoji.
JASPER: It’s the sheer disrespect. Did you see the women’s race? Now that was a championship. Breakaway caught. Big group. Powerful lead-out. The fastest rider wins. Clean. Simple. Satisfying. It was a beautiful expression of everything we hold dear. Why couldn’t we have that? Are we not deserving of a predictable outcome?
TIM: We deserve what we get. We let a breakaway get 7 minutes. Seven. On a flat course. We practically gift-wrapped the jersey and left it on his doorstep with a note saying “Don’t spend it all at once.”
WOUT: Perhaps the flatness is a state of mind. Perhaps the course was only flat on the surface. But underneath… underneath it had climbs. Emotional climbs. And we, my friends, we failed to crest them.
JASPER: Oh, will you stop it. It was flat. I have the elevation profile. It was flatter than a crêpe. He just… kept pedalling. Who does that? Doesn’t he get tired? Doesn’t he want to sit up and wait for the glory of the bunch arrival? It’s just selfish.
ARNAUD: I read that he just attacked with 6 km to go and nobody followed. Is that… allowed?
JASPER: NO! I mean, yes, technically, within the UCI rules, but not within the rules of decency and sporting narrative! There are expectations!
JEAN-LUC: And when those expectations aren’t met, we feel… lost. It’s understandable. So, the final step. Acceptance. What can we learn from this? How do we move forward?
TIM: We learn nothing. Next year, we give the break one minute, not 7. We ride on the front from kilometre zero. We make it so mind-numbingly, brutally boring that the only possible outcome is a bunch sprint. We will crush the very soul of romance and audacity out of the race.
JASPER: Exactly. We will create a headwind with our collective will. No one will be allowed to attack. Anyone who tries will be publicly shamed. We will restore order.
WOUT: Or… we could all just enter the time trial next year. Just us. A silent, lonely battle against the clock. No teams. No wheels. No expectations. Just pure, unadulterated pain. Maybe that’s the answer.
(Another long, even more uncomfortable silence.)
JEAN-LUC: Right. It seems we’ve made some real progress today. Same time next week?
And now a man whose job is to hurt himself for four hours gets a prize meant for a man whose job is to hurt himself for 12 seconds. The system is broken.