David Desjardins: Touching the stars
I am writing this in the middle of the "holy week" of Flemish classics; halfway between the Tour of Flanders and Paris-Roubaix, I am still reeling from the superb victories, both in the women's and men's races, on Sunday in Oudenaarde.
Pure courage. Solo breakaways after dozens and dozens of kilometers in difficult conditions, in the heart of hostile terrain with cobblestones, freezing temperatures, and rain.
Although I have never come close to reaching their level and cycling is just a hobby for me, Niki Terpstra and Anna van der Breggen are true inspirations.
Since Sunday, I have been examining their performances from different angles, rearranged by several editors, in a myriad of media and formats. Each time, it is their gaze that fascinates me.
Stubborn, fixated on a point in the void, driven by the rage to win.
Because I can relate to it. On a much smaller scale, of course. But I love the idea of attacking to win, giving it your all, leaving a piece of yourself on the track to achieve something huge, something greater...
Per ardua ad astra, as the Roman poet would say. I agree: it is through great difficulties that we reach the stars. It is these grandiose victories that capture the imagination. Not those of the raccoons and other crafty members of the peloton.
It is this same spirit that guides me in my training and allows me to dig deep within myself to draw on a strength that I sometimes didn't know I had. The challenge is not to get a pro contract or a huge scholarship. It's not even about glory. It may be a local race, a provincial championship, a challenge between friends, or simply a set of intervals prescribed by Coach Bruno, requiring a series of solo attacks on Gilmour Hill, with my only opponents being the pain and the numbers on my speedometer.
But I say this, and I know that the opponent I am trying to defeat in all these moments is the same one that torments the lone escapee in the Tour of Flanders, Paris-Roubaix, or on the way to the summits of the Col de Peyresourde and the Passo dello Stelvio.
It was him that van der Breggen and Terpstra had their eyes on Sunday.
This enemy is the voice that whispers that it's too hard, that I should stop, that my body can't take it anymore, that what I'm doing is pointless, and that I'd probably be better off drinking beer and eating chips than tearing my soul apart on a mountain or on a roller.
But there is no greatness in the banality of small pleasures. They have their qualities, but they are ordinary and do not lead to anything new or grandiose.
The effort that pushes me beyond my limits opens new doors for me. Inside myself. When I push them open, what I find there belongs only to me. It is a victory over an invisible enemy that lives within me and tries to convince me that I am weak. It is the indescribable pride of having won a battle against myself. It is my intimate way of touching the stars.