In the last four years of my career it was difficult to see beyond the rolling series of misfortunes, in some of which my own decisions were the main factor, others chance events, and finally there was that group generated by the inequalities within the sport. There were bright spots that I can now see and am proud of: the belief that I could make a difference with a young team, the determination to persist in the face of opposition from the administration of the sport, and the ability to rise to the occasion of the World Championships. I lamented the results at the time, like those two fourth places in World Championships. The winner in me was never satisfied with anything but the best.
As I began the 2012 season, I wanted to do it one more time, with the London Olympics beckoning. The course couldn’t exactly be described as tough and was certainly no spring classic course of successive steep climbs. Nevertheless, it did include two ascents of Box Hill in Surrey, so it did offer possibilities. I wanted to be at my best, so decided to go out to Australia for the winter. I spent four months in Perth, self-funded, staying with Cathie and Mick Beckingham, friends of Craig who I had met two years earlier and who kindly put me up in their spare room. Emma Pooley was also in Perth and also self-funded. I trained with Craig, doing huge rides, believing that sheer hard work would turn me into a winning machine. What was I doing? I should have spent a month with the bike locked in the garage, resting the legs and clearing my mind. Then, once I started to crave the lung-bursting sprints and that exhausted feeling after training rides, I would be ready to begin again.
Instead, I was jaded before I began, carrying over the mental and physical fatigue. With Simon Cope gone and no women’s coach in place, the situation was such that Shane Sutton was de facto the only person that mattered with respect to performance issues and London. Shane was in Perth with the track squad on their annual warm-weather trip. After numerous calls and texts producing little communication, eventually I went to the track and met him there. When we spoke, he told me that Lizzie Armitstead would have the ability to select the team for the Olympics. The best possible motive someone could possibly interpret from Shane’s actions was that perhaps there was misguided good intent, hoping to fire me up to be my old self. I contacted Dave Brailsford and he reassured me that only the selection board had the power to select. However, all of this had an immediate negative impact on my motivation.
The Cipollini-Giordana sponsor and management had separated at the end of 2011 and I decided to stick with team manager Walter Ricci and his new team. I returned to Europe for the start of the season but didn’t exactly create a good first impression with my new directeur sportif, Fortunato Lacquaniti, Too late, I realised that in my determination to get fit in Australia I had fallen into my old trap of overtraining. My poor form was highlighted by a woeful performance in the first few events of the season, particularly in the Ronde van Drenthe World Cup, where I struggled to keep up with the main bunch let alone play an active part in the finish.
In the second stage of the Energiewacht Tour of Holland in April, I fared even worse, finishing almost ten minutes behind the leaders and finishing mid-field in other stages. On the last day, I was determined to do something to prove to myself I was not finished. If I couldn’t do anything, I needed to give up the London dream. I had to show there was something of the old me left. I was actively looking for an early breakaway, and in the very first move of the day, a group of nine riders formed. We worked well and instead of becoming the ‘rabbit’ to be caught in the last 5km, we built up enough of a lead to put the peloton off the chase. Achieving a successful lone breakaway on a straight and dead-flat final 4km was something I treasure. There were no corners or hills to use as launch pads, and within the break there were teams with two riders, who could then mark me out. Finishing 20m ahead of a speeding break proved to me I had not lost my guile and sense of timing.
The win gave our team its first victory of the season, but it did not hide my problems, which Fortunato was rightly concerned about. I had promised that I would train hard in the off-season and return to lead the team in the spring classics and win races. But other than my surprise win in Holland, I hadn’t even been close to a podium.
I went to Canada in mid-May feeling more content in my form. In the GP Gatineau, I made a number of attacks and led out Rochelle in the sprint. However, it now looked as if the team was having financial problems because, despite promises, there was no mechanic in Gatineau and then no spare bike when, a week later in the last stage of the Exergy Tour in Idaho, I got tangled up in an early crash, breaking my frame, and was forced to retire from the race.
I returned to Lugano and was informed that the Olympic selection had been extended to include races in Spain as well as the Giro del Trentino. In the first Spanish race, Durango, the spokes in my rear wheel broke on the decisive climb and I had to get a wheel from neutral service as my team had no spare wheels. The ‘repaired’ rear wheel then broke another spoke in the last stage of Emakumeen Bira, and I just scraped a top 20 finish. In Trentino, I finished top 20 on both days, but breakaway groups were up the road fighting it out for the win and I was out of the real racing.
When the call came from the newly appointed, part-time British women’s manager, Chris Newton, that I was on the GB Olympic team with Lizzie Armitstead, Emma Pooley and Lucy Martin, Chris recognised the tone of my voice.
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I am,’ was all I could muster.
But the euphoria and sense of security of knowing I was going to compete in a home Olympics did not have time to take hold and motivate. Next up was the British Championships. I could find excuses, but the truth was I wasn’t good enough, missing the early break of five riders including Lizzie, Emma and Sharon Laws. Sharon had not been selected for the Olympic team, the fourth slot being given to her team-mate Lucy Martin. Sharon escaped from her two trade team-mates in the closing miles of the race to win alone.
I hoped things would improve in the Giro d’Italia the following week, but the overtraining had taken hold and I suffered like a dog. I desperately needed a rest rather than a ten-day Tour, but in a team that was clearly struggling financially and whose managers were taking their frustrations out in a variety of ways, there was no option.
There was a clause within the contracts to fine riders. Normally it was rarely enforced, but here it was for often bizarre reasons. Fortunato went even further, refusing to allow us to have massages between stages, which seemed counterproductive given that we were tired and needed to recover. These issues just compounded the problems, particularly as most of us were owed wages. I had been paid once in six months, but the managers argued it away, insisting that ‘Italy was in an economic crisis’ and therefore they couldn’t pay.
For the Olympic race, I accepted that Lizzie was the team leader with the best chance of winning, because it was clear that no matter what I had hoped to achieve, my form was not good enough. I wanted this one chance to perform well in front of my home crowd, but knew that I was not the rider on whom the team could rely for the gold medal.
In Copenhagen, we had failed because we never developed and practised a plan. This time would be different. The final ascent of Box Hill was so far from the finish that it could never be more than a springboard for an attack, but Emma could be key to deciding how that final ascent would be run off. Emma would put pressure on the ascents of Box Hill, with a view to forcing the field to splinter. Lizzie would be just behind to exploit any moves or counter moves that would follow. I was free to go in an early break. Come the finish, we were all to support placing Lizzie on the front with 200m to go. On the afternoon before the race, we visited the finish and Lizzie spent time discussing with her trade team-mate Lucy how she could be led out. If Lucy wasn’t there, I would do the same job.
My feelings were mixed on race day. I still had the heart-thumping desire to give absolutely everything I had and race for the win, but knew I didn’t have the physical condition to take the race on and would have to ride carefully rather than aggressively. I desperately wanted the team to perform and to do well in front of the watching nation.
We were met with thunder and lightning as the gun sounded to start the race, a reminder of Beijing. As the race left London at a fairly easy pace, it was fantastic to see and hear the vast cheering crowds despite the rain. In Athens and Beijing, there were sections of road with no spectators at all, but Great Britain was putting on one of the best Olympics of all time and the course was lined with spectators for its whole length. My last four years in the sport featured many painful moments, moments that even now bring great sadness, but just being part of that experience that day was worth staying in the sport for those four years. I could only admire how my country, the country whose jersey I had worn so many times and had tried so hard to do my best for, was all out supporting us. Thank you London, thank you Great Britain. I never had the chance to ride in front of you when I was at my peak, but I always knew you were with me.
As we headed towards Box Hill for the first time, there were a number of crashes due to the wet and narrow roads and the nervousness of the riders in such an event. I knew that I should have been at the front, but lack of strength to overcome delays due to a series of trivial incidents thwarted my intentions. I didn’t want to expend too much energy competing on Box Hill, as I needed to preserve my strength for the right moment on the run in to London, or for leading out Lizzie alongside Marianne Vos or Giorgia Bronzini.
Emma Pooley set a fierce pace the first time up Box Hill to reduce the number of riders in the bunch. I slipped back and then regained the leading group as economically as I could, preserving my energy but trying to place myself, ready for the second ascent. Lucy lost contact the first time up Box Hill, so we were now a team of three.
On the second ascent, Russian Olga Zabelinskaya attacked, getting away by herself. Then coming off the hill, Marianne attacked followed by Lizzie and American Shelley Olds. Lizzie had spotted the right move and followed Marianne, and was now faced with the question of how hard to contribute to working in the break once they had caught Olga. Four riders would mean that one would miss out on a medal. Marianne might not be keen to be sprinting against Shelley Olds, as she had been beaten by Shelley in a sprint finish at the Giro d’Italia a few weeks before, so she might prefer that this group would be caught and then try again to obtain a different combination.
I think a number of key rivals around me thought that the break wouldn’t be too cohesive and so there was no strong chase. Lizzie was there, so I switched into defending mode, keeping an eye on the chasers leading the bunch and marking Marianne’s team-mate, in case the break was caught and the counter attacks started. A few kilometres later, the situation changed when Shelley punctured. With a significant time gap to the remains of the peloton, there were now three riders who all had the greatest incentive to work together to share the medals. All three were experienced and would have a very clear understanding of their relative sprinting abilities, ensuring no surprises at the finish on The Mall.
For all three, there could be no better race situation. The gap increased, the rain bucketed down and it became obvious that my race was now reduced to one of policing the chase and stopping it becoming too effective, not that I was needed in this regard. I was happy to see that in the rain and poor visibility, several key teams did not spot Shelley waiting at the side of the road and so did not understand what a game-changer had occurred. Even when she appeared in their midst and was ‘encouraging’ her team-mates to start a chase, it was disjointed. There seemed to be mixed motives in the German team and the Italians were not organised, so there was no serious chase that I needed to disrupt.
I was very happy for Lizzie, who got the silver medal behind Marianne. She had put herself in the right place at the right time, and often in a cycle race that is very hard to do. She had learnt from her previous mistakes and rode a very smart race.
I had some lovely times during the Games in London. I felt my capital and the people I had spent so much of my life representing around the world were just brilliant. I was so proud of you all, the games-makers in the public places, the girls and guys behind the counters in the food-hall, so many cheery smiles. All of my great rivals from cycling told me how impressed they were with Britain and the way we put on the Games. My event was early and so I could go and see events and travel around the city. On the underground, people were excited and talking non-stop about it! They certainly spoke to me and so many warmed me with their recollections of my win at Beijing. I had to hold back the tears so many times when people said, ‘Yours was the best, it was the one that started it all off.’ I don’t think it was quite that simple, but certainly each minute in London 2012 was worth all the four years of pain since Beijing. I could now leave my racing bike to gather dust in the garage. To London, and the people who travelled there from all over the country, thank you all for giving me that.
My decision to retire came at a natural checkpoint, first plotted as a teenager when I mapped out what I hoped my future would bring. In the days after winning in Beijing and Varese, I committed myself to the next major challenge. I had given it my best shot in 2012 and now I was ready to confirm that the ride was over.
You have my retirement statement and you now have my autobiography. It has at times been an uncomfortable write, and I’m sure it has often made for an uncomfortable read. I hope I have filled in most of the blanks. Did I have a great time? – heck, yes. Would I have done it differently? – yes. But I wonder if I had done it differently, whether I would cherish the good bits quite like I do. I enjoyed the highs and hated the lows. I’m not rich in terms of money, but I certainly have a bountiful supply of good experiences. I’m not the first woman to battle against a male establishment and come out of it with plenty of scars, cuts and bruises. The men in power don’t like it.
Within the picture section you will find a photo of what every mum and dad would want to see for their daughters and sons: the two winners of the Tour de France standing side by side in the Champs Elysées. That was 1984, but now there isn’t even a women’s Tour – so what went wrong? So much has been lost of the vibrant international scene I so looked forward to joining as a new professional.
The most popular sport on the planet is soccer. During the First World War, with so many men away, a lot of sports opened their doors to women, and football was no different. Women’s football took off. By 1917, the best team of the day, Dick Kerr’s ladies football team, regularly drew crowds of over 10,000 to watch them play. In 1920, they achieved a sell-out for a match at Goodison Park, home to the Everton men’s team, of 53,000, with, reputedly, a further 14,000 turned away. Two weeks later at Old Trafford, home of Manchester United, 36,000 turned out to watch them. The future of women’s football was looking bright, but that was all to change.
By December 1921, the men in charge at the FA stated that any club affiliated to their organisation was expressly forbidden from allowing their grounds to be used for women’s matches. So the British women set off for America and Canada in 1922 to tour there. However, as the Washington Post reported on 23 September 1922: ‘Dick Kerr’s team of English women soccer football players arrived today on the steamship Montclare en route to the United States where they will play a series of games. The girls will not be allowed to play Canadian soccer teams, under order from the Dominion Football Association which objects to women football players.’ The tour in the USA, where they were allowed to play, was a great success, with the team playing against male sides in front of crowds of up to 10,000. One of them met her future husband and returned to live there.
In 1947, the men at the heart of the British sporting establishment showed they had lost none of the meanness of spirit of their predecessors, when the Kent County Football Association suspended a referee because he was working as a manager/trainer with Kent Ladies Football Club. It justified its decision with the comment that ‘women’s football brings the game into disrepute’. Women’s soccer died then and, with it, the aspirations of so many girls.
The misguided men who take these bad decisions will often dress it up with all sorts of pseudo justifications, but it only ever appears that they are clinging to power. I would have been dumb thinking it was going to work any other way throughout my career. The reaction of the men in charge to what I brought to cycling in Britain is most keenly shown by the facts relating to British Cycling’s entries at the Junior World Championships. There were always plenty of girls after me they could develop and send to those championships, but for years the management sent nobody. Could it be that the last thing on the planet they needed were more Nicole Cookes? Because of our differences of opinion on so many things, there was never any way they could reliably claim my success as their own. Later, as my star faded, they opened the gates a little to support the new girls following my path, and took the reflection of their success as somehow made by themselves.
In the 2002 Commonwealth Games, out of all the home countries combined, Britain came away with only two cycling gold medals, Chris Hoy’s and mine. Dad and I, along with a little band of others, put an immense amount of pressure on British Cycling to change its practices for the better. BC were reluctant to listen, director of the WCPP Peter Keen didn’t want to listen; UK Sport were reluctant to take responsibility, but eventually they announced his resignation on the day after a letter posted from Wick arrived at their offices. I feel sure that this change in leadership was the start of a process that has put British cycling at the top of the world, and so see my role in this as one of my greatest achievements.
Women’s cycling will not be fixed until those in charge at the UCI and British Cycling treat female competitors and women’s race organisers in exactly the same way as they do on the men’s side. If, instead of allowing the women’s versions of the great classics to be abandoned, the UCI had insisted that its World Cup organisers needed both a men’s and a women’s event, then the whole cycling scene would be completely different. This lever remains available today, but for that to happen we need leaders with vision. Certainly, a minimum wage is a necessary step before a ‘satisfactory’ can be contemplated for the report card.
Close to home, the executive management of British Cycling needs to take a very serious look at itself. The fundamental question is why, in 2008 and 2009, post-Beijing, as they drafted the plans for the great success they have achieved with Team Sky, did they consider it acceptable to ignore the British women riders? When organising the London Olympic trial events in 2011, they could not be bothered to put on anything for the defending Olympic champion or Emma Pooley, who was then the current World Time Trial champion. We were ignored. Resources unmatched anywhere else in the world were made available for the men, but virtually nothing for the girls. In the era of the internet and social media, they could hardly ban us from riding like the English FA did with the women footballers, but was what they did so very different?
The wonderful British public, who did such a super job at London 2012, hosting the greatest show on Earth, clearly confirmed, by their support, that they valued their daughters equal to their sons. I am very confident that their opinion will eventually prevail and sweep away the obstacles created.
I will settle for the title some kind commentators placed on me: ‘Nicole Cooke – Trail Blazed.’ If I ended up taking a lot of knocks, so what? There was no path at all ahead of me as I left home, an 18-year-old, off to ride with team-mates and managers I had never met, in a house, in a town I had never been to. Now it is different, now there is a path, now girls can see a route and a destination. I set out holding tight the dream of a 12-year-old, hoping that if I achieved half of what that little girl wanted, I would be happy. Others will eclipse me with their achievements – that’s the way of life. They will dig up my little track and build a motorway along its route. In years to come, no one will remember my path and certainly no one will think about what was there before. But, I have a whole sackful of firsts that people can have only as seconds or thirds. I will share in the conquests of those who follow and think of the wilderness that was in front of me when I started. I’d like to think that little dreaming 12-year-old would be proud of all I achieved both on and off the bike. Like her, I fell off a few times and took a good few knocks – but each time, I got back on my bike.
Nicole Cooke
May 2014