A Village Conquers the World by Eneas Freyre
Tuesday, October 11, 2011 at 05:58PM I entered T2 in the race lead after an all out assault of the bike course in the pouring rain, but in big trouble. I knew I had broken one of the metatarsals in my right foot. I could barely get my foot out of my cycling shoe and into my running shoe as it had swelled up so much. The smart thing would have been to have called it a day and withdrawn, but with my family watching and countless others counting on me I had too much pride to wave the white flag so I limped out of transition and hit the last 5k of the 2009 Duathlon Worlds with a grimace on my face. It wasn’t long before I was passed and relegated to 2nd, then 3rd where I held on for a podium finish in my age group and nowhere near challenging for the overall.
I vowed to return the following year healthy and ready to challenge for the win only to find myself sidelined yet again a week before Worlds, this time with a hip stress fracture and double hip labral tears. Fractures heal but cartilage damage does not. I was told by specialists to stop running. I was told that my body was not meant to run and to pick up another sport. If you ever spend time with a toddler you will know that negative reinforcement only breeds further contempt. No, I was not going to stop running, nor was I going to pass on a desire to be a World Champion in the Duathlon.
I took my first running strides January 1, 2011 after taking over 3 months off recovering from injuries. The human body was “Born to Run” and I was going to come back one way or another to challenge for the 2011 Duathlon World Championships. It was a fresh start and new year that cold winter night, and I set my eyes on returning to my birthplace, Spain, to compete in this year’s Duathlon Worlds. I needed to overcome many obstacles first: months of training, race qualifications, equipment testing to name just a few. I did my research, even built a special wheel just for Worlds.
As I descended the long mountain road out of thick fog to the sea below to the host city of the 2011 Duathlon World Championships in Gijon, Spain on the Catabrian Sea, I had a chance to reflect on how lucky I was to have made it this far. With my wife, Nancy, as copilot, I knew that this journey was not made alone. I had received boundless amounts of help from family, friends and others. It takes a village to raise a boy and I was no exception. I was healthy, prepared, and ready to take on this year’s World Championship.
Leaving nothing to chance I previewed the cycling and run courses the days before the race. Fortunate to have my countryman and fellow TT’er Roger Harper to keep me company, we set out into downtown Gijon on what was a spectacular afternoon. Things don’t happen in Spain during the mornings.
The bike course was fantastic. It went right through the heart of the city, climbed a 5k hill and then dropped back down to the sea and looped back through the city. It was surprisingly fast but if the wind were to come calling on race day, it would surely blow the field apart. I must have climbed the 5k hill ten times, testing gearing, pacing, and position on the climb and memorizing the decent. Leave nothing to chance.
The run course was flat and fairly straight forward. Times were going to be fast.
The entire race was centered on a downtown stadium where they had transition set up in the infield. A great venue for spectators and athletes alike.
2011 Duathlon Worlds was about to start and I noticed my wife on the sidelines, waving good luck. We were off. It only took a few miles for the field to split as I found my stride in the leading group with only one runner in front of us trying to push the first 10k run pace. We were on course to complete 4 laps of a 2.5k course and as the laps went by my legs kept stride one step after another, putting behind me years of disappointment. Entering T1 I was in perfect position thinking about the 40k bike leg to come. Only one problem, where is my bike? I had completely zoned out and passed my bike and couldn’t find it. Seconds felt like minutes as I searched franticly for that P3. Conceding a minute to the lead group, I found my bike and hit the bike course determined to set things right.
We had full road closures for the bike leg and I took advantage of the perfect conditions to pick off one cyclist after another. With my wife on the sidelines giving me splits on the bike circuit, I knew things were falling into place. Keep things measured on the bike and save some energy for that final 5k run leg.
I hit T2 in the race lead with the announcer searching for my name in the registration list. There is something surreal about entering transition alone with not a single person or bike in the infield. Bike racked, running shoes on, I was off. As the miles went by I knew I had the race in hand but refused to coast in. This year I wanted to not only win my age group, but the overall amateur title as well. I entered the stadium for the finale push to the finish line, Nancy waiting for my arrival, leaving behind me two years of disappointment with a little help from my village.
It was a rebirth at my birthplace.
