Turning yourself inside out!

It was the last stage of Belgrade-Banjaluka, an obscure 2.2 race from Serbia to Bosnia. He crossed the finish line one minute or so after the bunch. I caught
up with him a few moments later, not knowing what his day had been like.
Had he been in front all day pulling? I was left in the dark, as I had
to battle my way through to the finish line in a completely different
race; the off-course by car on abominable Bosnian roads, obstructed by
oppressive police and suicidal drivers. Was he tired? Of course he was,
but like… wasted. Spent. Empty. Totally f*****, you know. Or was he
disappointed? The team happened to miss out on a GC podium spot, so that
would be quite reasonable. Frustrated, maybe? Angry, because of a lost
opportunity?

Sometimes, the body language of a professional athlete is difficult
to read. There might be a thousand different things going on at the same
time during those first minutes after crossing the finish line, and
being in the mix of things for over a decade has learnt me to keep a
certain distance. I wanted to give him a pat on the back and tell him he
should be proud nonetheless, but it could have been a wrong choice of
words.

So, I kept my mouth shut and took these photos, almost like a thief. My inadequate response to this infinite moment…

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