Let me set the scene. Eight of us, riding as CMC Sangria. A team time trial on Zwift. A pull order sheet I made specifically to make this go smoothly. And within about ninety seconds, the whole thing turned into eight women sprinting into a headwind for no reason whatsoever.
If you’ve never done a TTT, here’s the short version: a team time trial is supposed to be the most cooperative event in cycling. You take turns on the front, you sit in the draft when it’s not your turn, and the whole team moves faster than any one rider could alone. Beautiful in theory. An absolute circus in practice. 🎪
The whole point of a TTT is the draft
This is the bit that makes the chaos so frustrating. A TTT only works because of the paceline. One rider pulls at the front and takes all the wind. Everyone else tucks in behind and saves up to 30% of their effort just by sitting in the draft. Then the front rider peels off, drifts to the back, recovers, and the next person takes over.
Do that smoothly, and a group of average riders flies. The team holds a pace none of them could hold solo, everyone gets a rest between pulls, and you cross the line together feeling like absolute heroes.
But the draft only exists if there’s a line. No line, no draft. And on this particular evening, there was no line. There was just… a blob. A red, determined, slightly competitive blob, all of us pedalling our hearts out and getting absolutely nothing back for it.
If everyone wants to be in front, nobody gets a draft — and a TTT without a draft is just eight people suffering in parallel.
I made a pull order sheet. I really did.
I want it on record that I prepared. I made a proper pull order. Who goes first, who follows, how long each pull lasts, the whole thing. I sent it out beforehand. I felt organised. I felt like a captain. I may have felt slightly smug. 😅
And for about the first minute, it almost worked. Then the front rider didn’t peel off. Then someone behind got impatient and went around. Then someone else thought, well, if she’s going, I’m going too. And suddenly the sheet was a lovely document describing a paceline that no longer existed.
Here’s the thing nobody tells you about a pull order: it’s not the order that’s hard. It’s the discipline of staying put when it’s not your turn. Sitting in the draft feels too easy, almost lazy, like you should be doing more. So people surge forward to “help” — and every surge breaks the line for everyone behind them.
And then there was the one not on Discord
Every story needs a plot twist, and ours was the rider who wasn’t on Discord. 🎧
For a TTT, voice comms aren’t a nice-to-have; they’re basically the steering wheel. “Coming through,” “ease up,” “I’m cooked, next person take over,” “gap forming, close it” — that’s how eight separate riders behave like one team. Without it, you’re guessing. And one of us was guessing the whole time, through no real fault of her own, because she simply couldn’t hear any of it.
So whenever she felt strong, she went to the front. Whenever she felt like easing, she eased. Completely reasonable instincts if you can’t hear the plan. Completely chaos-inducing if you’re one of the seven trying to follow it. She’d surge to the front off-schedule, the line would scramble to react, and the rhythm we’d just rebuilt would fall apart again.
I’m not cross with her. I’m cross at the situation. But it taught me something: if a rider can’t get on comms, the plan has to account for that before the start — not mid-race when everyone’s heart rate is already in the red.
Why “everyone wants to be in front” kills the team
I think this is the real lesson, and it’s a slightly uncomfortable one. A TTT is the one event where wanting to be the strongest actively makes the team slower.
When everyone fights for the front:
- Nobody sits in the draft, so nobody recovers
- The pace becomes a series of surges instead of a steady effort
- Riders get spat out the back because the accordion effect is brutal
- The strong riders burn out early, doing way more than their share
- And the actual team time — the only thing that counts — gets worse
The hardest skill in a TTT isn’t pulling hard. It’s pulling at the right time and then having the discipline to sit quietly in the draft and let someone else do the work. The team that holds the line beats the team full of heroes. Every single time.
What I’d do differently next time
Because I’m clearly a glutton for punishment and I will absolutely do this again, here’s what I’m changing:
- Comms are non-negotiable. No Discord, no start. If someone can’t get on voice, we sort it before the gun, even if it means a five-minute delay.
- Practice the paceline first. One easy lap holding the line properly, no racing, just feeling the rotation before it counts.
- Agree on pull length out loud. “Twenty seconds each” beats a beautiful sheet nobody glances at mid-effort.
- One person calls the rotation. A single calm voice saying “rotate… rotate… sit in” so nobody has to guess whose turn it is.
- Lower the ego, raise the team. Remind everyone: sitting in is not lazy. Sitting in is the job.
It wasn’t fun. But it was a lesson.
I won’t pretend it was a good ride. It wasn’t. It was eight strong, capable women turning a cooperative event into a parallel suffer-fest, and I finished it frustrated, sweaty and a little deflated. No paceline. No draft. No fun.
But here’s the comeback energy: a TTT that falls apart teaches you more than one that goes smoothly. We now know exactly where it broke. Comms, discipline, and the quiet courage to sit in the draft and trust the plan. Next time, the sheet stays in the drawer and the rotation lives in everyone’s legs instead.
And honestly? The fact that all eight of us cared enough to want the front says something lovely about CMC Sangria, even if it made for a terrible time trial. 🩷
If you’ve got a TTT horror story of your own, come tell me — I promise mine is worse. Drop me a line at hello@theendurancediaries.co.za.
🩷The Endurance Diaries🩷
