There are days in cycling when everything seems to click … This wasn’t one of them. In fact, after the opening race, it looked as though the day was over before it had really begun.
The Omnium is one of the most demanding events in track cycling. Four races. Four different skill sets. Very little time to recover physically or mentally. One poor race can leave you chasing the rest of the competition for the remainder of the day.
Mine almost unravelled before it had really begun.
Scratch Race
The Scratch Race was first up and, for most of it, things were going exactly to plan. I stayed active near the front, covered the dangerous moves and felt comfortable. With six laps remaining a gap appeared. It wasn’t part of some grand tactical masterplan; it was simply there.
So I went.
The bike accelerated underneath me and, for a moment, it looked as though it might stick. I opened a small gap and committed fully, hoping hesitation behind would buy me enough distance.
It didn’t.
With two laps remaining the bunch swept me back up. The effort had cost more than I realised. Instead of accepting that and salvaging what I could, frustration crept in. My positioning disappeared, my head went with it and I drifted backwards through the field.
30th out of 33
Not exactly the start I’d imagined.
The frustrating part wasn’t the attack. I’d make that decision again every time. Bike racing rewards riders who are prepared to commit. What disappointed me was everything that happened afterwards. I allowed one unsuccessful move to dictate the rest of the race.
The Omnium, though, doesn’t give you much time to feel sorry for yourself.
The next race was already waiting.
Tempo Race
After the Scratch, I knew I had to make amends. Sitting so far down the standings meant I wasn’t seen as an immediate threat, and I suspected I’d be given a little more freedom than the riders near the top of the leaderboard. I intended to use it.
After only a few laps a move went clear and I managed to bridge across. Three of us established the break, sharing the sprint points between us.
Three riders. Perfect. Big enough to work efficiently, but small enough that everyone had something to gain. We rotated smoothly, taking the sprint points before turning our attention to the bigger prize. The lap gain.
Gradually we reeled the bunch in. With four laps remaining we finally made contact, taking the lap and, with it, a huge swing in the standings. Job done. From thirtieth after the Scratch, I had climbed back to twelfth overall.
More importantly, my head was back in the game. A top ten suddenly looked realistic.
For the first time all day I could relax. Enjoy the sunshine, chat with teammates and soak up the atmosphere before the evening session began.
Elimination Race
By then the temperature had cooled slightly. The racing hadn’t.
The Elimination is one of those events where positioning is everything. Thirty-three riders started, and I’d already decided there was only one place I wanted to be. The front.
Yes, you’re riding into the wind, but you’re also away from the constant braking, surging and panic that ripples through the back of the field every couple of laps.
It proved to be the right decision.
There were nervous moments. With around twelve riders remaining I briefly found myself too far back and had to launch a big effort to get back into position. Unfortunately, that move contributed to my teammate James Ambrose-Parish being eliminated. A little later, another incident saw Matty Dobbins relegated after deviating from his line, which gave me a little more breathing room as the race continued.
Before I really had time to think about it, we were down to four riders. By then I’d already achieved what I needed to. Rather than gamble everything for one or two more places, I eased off and let the remaining three fight for the win. One of them was my team-mate Frank Longstaff. Frank took the victory. Exactly what the team deserved.
Heading into the final race I had climbed to seventh overall. Everything was still to play for.
Points Race
Frank’s job had changed by then. Sitting near the top overall, he needed to ride defensively and cover any dangerous attacks. Mine was completely different. Seventh overall meant nobody was particularly worried about me. Sometimes that’s the best place to be.
Midway through the race the pace eased ever so slightly. That was my moment.
I attacked immediately, making sure another rider came with me before Archie Fletcher bridged across. The three of us worked together brilliantly, sharing the workload and the sprint points as we steadily chipped away at the bunch.
Again, our eyes were fixed on the bigger reward. The lap gain.
Every lap we edged a little closer. Every turn on the front brought us nearer to the back of the bunch. Eventually we made contact, earning the twenty-point bonus that transforms an Omnium almost instantly. Now it became a race within a race.
There were still valuable sprint points available and every position mattered. I managed to take the final five-point sprint before diving back onto the bunch and fighting my way towards the front for the finish.
As the final laps unfolded, I knew the calculations were going to be close.
The Trinidad and Tobago rider sat just behind me on the leaderboard. If he collected enough points in the finish, he’d move ahead.
So there was only one thing left to do. Keep riding. When the results were finally confirmed, I could hardly believe them.
I’d done it.
From thirtieth after the opening Scratch Race…
…to third overall in the Omnium.
Frank had taken the overall victory. I’d fought my way onto the podium.
The Lesson
For One Life Cycle, it couldn’t have been a much better evening.
Looking back, the podium wasn’t really the biggest achievement of the day. The biggest lesson was learning how quickly fortunes can change in cycling. One race had left me sitting almost at the bottom of the standings. Four races later I was standing on the podium. It would have been easy after the Scratch to write the day off. To become frustrated. To start riding emotionally instead of tactically.
Instead, each race became an opportunity to recover a little more ground. One sprint. One attack. One lap. One decision at a time.
That’s probably why I called this blog The Comeback Kid. Not because the comeback was spectacular. But because it reminded me that resilience in cycling rarely comes from one heroic effort. More often, it’s built through a series of small decisions to keep believing, keep racing and keep committing, even when the result isn’t yet visible.
Sometimes the best victories aren’t the ones that happen in the final sprint. They’re the ones that begin after you’ve already been beaten once.
August brings another block of racing and another opportunity to keep building. There will be races that go well and races that don’t, because that’s bike racing. But for the first time this season I’m looking forward to whatever comes next. The foundations are there now. It’s time to find out just how much I can build on them.
Thank you, as always, to my family, Amelie, my coaches, my teammates at One Life Cycle, the performance support team at Loughborough University, and my sponsors, Pedal Potential and Matt’s Auto Repair Services. Your encouragement makes the difficult days easier and the good days even more rewarding.
Gilbank Racing 