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An Epic experience by Jason Van't Slot

2015-09-23

Apprehension and excitement overwhelmed me at the Prologue, my leg clipped in, bouncing with nervousness on the start chute as the clock wound down. Suddenly my dream was real as we rolled off, passing friends and family lining the barricade, team Cystic Fibrosis Cycling RSA’s Cape Epic journey was underway. It was the most surreal feeling as all my nervousness passed the moment we were off the UCT sports fields.  I truly felt like I was in the tour de France going up Dead Man’s Tree, a small climb compared to the mighty Groenlandberg or Alp de Huez, but as the road ramped up, so did the atmosphere of the crowds as they narrow in on the road. Red in the face and over enthusiastic I pushed past a group of 4 teams up the climb, I was quickly brought back to reality and caution when I began coughing once we crested the climb. Already nursing a chest infection and my first course of antibiotics during the race, the level headed Philipp reminded me that all we want is a finish, just as well, as my heart rate monitor ceased to work (as well as for the rest of the week). Going down Plumbpudding Hill single track I was forced to run down due to a backlog and subsequently strained a muscle in my knee, as it felt as if I had been shot, which would continue to hassle me throughout the Epic.

This is a story by Jason Van't Slot who completed his first Absa Cape Epic in 2015. He is the first person with Cystic Fibrosis to complete the race. 

Like all Absa Cape Epic riders, competing in the Cape Epic once started off as a dream, that dream developed into a story of triumphs and tribulations, ambitions and fears, fears warped into self-belief when contested with determination and hardship.

My Cape Epic story started a little differently that my fellow Epic compatriots. My dream of riding the Cape Epic started four years ago (16), simply because it is the EPIC, the toughest multi-stage mountain bike event on earth, but my story started 20 years ago. I was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis, or cf, at the age of eight months and told that my life expectancy was to live to 10 years.  This genetic condition affects mainly the lungs ,pancreas and digestive system. The mutated gene causes the mucous to be thick and sticker than those without the faulty gene, thus causing recurring chest infections which can cause scarring in the lungs. As well as digestive issues as the digestive enzymes cannot reach the stomach as the bile duct is blocked with mucous. I have been brought up in a positive household where we chose not to give cf power, thus providing me with the opportunity of living a normal life where I don’t see myself as a ‘cf sufferer’ as the term is coined but rather as just another cyclist with a dream.

I realized that it would not be possible to do such an extreme event without going public about my health. Something that I had to come to terms with emotionally as I have always kept my cf quite amongst my peers at school. Even to the extent that when I told my childhood friend about my ambitions for the Cape Epic, he turned to me and said that he had actually forgotten that I had cf. 

Standing in the start chute was an accomplishment for myself and my partner Philipp Sassie, a German triathlete, super domestique and close friend. Being healthy enough to be able to take part was something special itself. My training took lots of close monitoring from myself and support crew. I would monitor my heart rate morning and evening to make sure it wasn’t too high, thus indicating my immune system being low. We were faced with various cf related challenges in training and during the race, that being: I lose additional salt in my sweat, resulting in severe simultaneous cramps, in both thighs after long rides. Furthermore my platelet count is low and thus falling could be detrimental (my doctors greatest concern), I did experience haemoptysis episodes – coughing up blood – while riding. We solved the issue of the dust by sewing a surgical mask into a Buff. I would monitor my nutrition by eating every half hour and taking artificial digestive enzymes with each gel or bar.

I was physically prepared for the Epic, but mentally it challenged me immensely. The emotions and pain that one experiences are unreal. I honestly admire every rider who has gone through this event. From the cowboy gun slinging saddle sore stride, the perpetual feelings of exhaustion throughout, collapsing against the showers walls under a steaming shower each afternoon. Too fatigued to think straight, simple tasks became challenging and words minimalistic. I would ask myself several times, ‘what am I doing? Shoe on, other shoe…next?’, even eating became a task, despite my ravenous appetite of what was then usually a salad bowl of oats in the morning.

I think the stage or stretch that most riders will share anecdotes from would be the last 40km of Stage 3, from Oak Valley to Worcester, the sand stage, as it sums up just how tough the Epic is. Each riders experience is a little different, but this is how I would best describe that stint: After finally feeling good again, those feelings of euphoria were soon blown away, in every sense of the word. After the downhill sand section which left me trudging with sand pits for shoes, to lift the spirits Philipp tells me, “There is only one small hill and then it is flat for the last the 30km”, a few minutes later my damaged muscle in my knee felt like it had been shot again, and I lost all power in my right leg, leaving me to feel like sloth on cocaine, spinning at a ridiculous cadence. Then the course took a turn for the worse, directly into a strong headwind. Then after a turn, respite from the wind, only to be directed onto a road which resembled something of boulder hopping the across Brandvlei dam. Once the again we were directed into the head wind on a road of slush like pebbles. Finally, we were on a section of tar, completely drained, running on empty, I became eternally thankful for Philipp’s ever present hand on my hydration pack.  The last 5km seemed to drag on forever, leaving me to swallow my pride and for the first time ever I resorted to hold onto Philipp’s hydration pack. As I crossed the last timing mat of the day I looked up and saw my family and I thought, “I can surrender for the day, tomorrow its back to war”.

Hitting the wall, bonking or cracking became the norm during that week. As much as I wish I could, I will never forget the bonk of Stage 4 after leaving Worcester. The first four hours of that day was spent with gritted teeth waiting to escape the ‘’pain cave’’.  My knee was biting at me continuously, rendering it useless if I were to apply any power. District roads, what on paper was an easy start, proved to be excruciating. I feel sick thinking back to that day. It felt as if the rules of physics didn’t apply, I immediately couldn’t stay with the bunch despite Philipp’s continuous pushes from behind, downhills felt like challenging climbs, deflating for a climber, I felt like a I was going backwards…I wouldn’t be surprised if I was. 

Escaping the pain cave requires perseverance and vasbyt, you don’t know when you will escape, but one thing is certain… you will eventually feel stronger again.  I would use a few techniques that I learnt, or a few of my own to get through my lowest moments. I would focus on just moving forward; just get to that bush, then the next.  I would say motivational quotes to myself ‘Keep on keeping on’, ‘an object in motion stays in motion’.  At times I would use the pain as motivation, I would say to myself ‘You have gone through too much pain to stop now, you might as well get a reward, just make it to the next water point…’, I even found myself counting my own cadence!

Despite it being a full service event, your day doesn’t end once you get off your bike. It was the same routine each day, but the routine doesn’t get any easier as fatigue sets in.  Immediately once we crossed the line my dad (soigneur, masseur, and team manager) gave me my recovery drink, Philipp would hand in the tracker transponder and bikes to be washed, I would collect food from the Woolworths tent for Philipp and myself. Meet and eat, collect bags and go have a shower. Philipp would take the bikes in to the mechanics on his way to his massage. While Philipp was having his massage I would nebulise (something that I must do every day, twice a day every second month). I would have my massage and then go have my saddle sores seen to at the Mediclinic. The team would meet in the dinning marquee, race briefing, back to the tents, lay out my ziplock bags with the next day’s kit and food beside my bed, listen to the snoring in the tent next door, fall asleep.

Philipp was a phenomenal partner and I honestly couldn’t thank him enough for the gift that he has given me.  He continuously had my capabilities in mind, checking that the pace wasn’t too high, staying level headed when my youth and enthusiasm got the better of me.  Philipp guided me down single track to improve my technical skills tenfold by the end of the week, pushing me up and giving me a pocket to hold for many a hill (including Bainskloof) when I had nothing left. He verbally motivated me when I began toying with the idea of dismounting and walking. He stepped in at the right moment during an interview when I wasn’t able to form a coherent sentence. I couldn’t ask for a more, humble, level headed and self-sacrificing super domestique. I look forward to seeing Philipp one day riding the Epic at his own potential.

The Cape Epic may be a suffer fest, but it an incredible experience and a rite of passage, for all die-hard mountain bikers. The event has given me many positives and high points too. I have learned a lot about myself and just how deep I can dig. I will always cherish that medal with pride for what it represents for me. If it wasn’t socially unacceptable I would probably wear it every day.  While I was having my massage, Philipp was checking his social media on his phone and he says to us “Guys check this out, Bicycling Magazine just retweeted that we have won the #ConquerAsOne moment of today’s stage!” Quickly, we packed up and rushed through to the dinning marquee to make it in time for the race briefing. I was extremely humbled by the applause we received when Dan Nichol asked Philipp and I to stand up. I have made many new friends at the Cape Epic and enjoyed countless jokes and war stories throughout the race.  Coming down into Meerendal was incredible! Our support crew, family and friends were waiting for us on the finish line with banners, streamers and a bottle of champagne for our champagne finish. Tears of joy and relief began to flow while excitement buzzed around us.  I still think back to that day in disbelief… We actually did it, finished the Absa Cape Epic, A WORLDS FIRST FOR CYSTIC FIBROSIS, and it certainly was an Epic experience!

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