Domestique

Domestique

French, noun. 

Servant. Help.     

My heart hammers. Warning me. As though I can’t already see my daughter Gwen biking 40 kilometers per hour, navigating intricate hairpin turns, ascending steep hills, and descending treacherous slopes. I’m sitting fifth row in the Edmonton, Canada, bleachers for an Olympic-distance triathlon. Pop songs blast from six-foot speakers, afternoon rays beat against my back, and anxiety torpedoes my veins. 

A few minutes ago, Gwen completed the swim leg, sprinted from the water, shed goggles and cap, and mounted her bike. She is a favorite to win the world championship today, but others swam faster, transitioned faster, are biking faster, and Gwen is riding solo far behind the leaders. 

Gwen’s position is one reason my pulse backfires. Another is I’ve seen too many crashes. Olympic-distance triathlon is draft-legal which allows athletes aerodynamic advantage by riding in packs. But if one rider goes down, there can be a pile-up. Mangled bicycles, broken collarbones, fractured wrists, skin ripped raw on pavement.

When Gwen started racing, I knew nothing about triathlon, but each race is a tutorial. Today, my lesson is domestiques. Gwen has hired one. It’s a secret.

In France, a domestique is a servant or household help. In triathlon, a domestique assists an athlete during the bike leg, usually by setting the pace or preventing a competitor’s breakaway.

As I try to explain this to my family (in whispers) they question me. How can Gwen hire someone to help her? How can that be fair? 

I shush them. It’s not my place to make this public. But domestiques are common in triathlon and they are definitely fair. 

I don’t get it. What is a domestique? 

My family understands ‘contender,’ ‘leader,’ ‘winner,’ ‘loser.’ But domestique? There is no translation, only explanation—about the domestique’s role, function, and advantage, to the individual, team, and country. 

Why would a team use one? They know each country may enter only five athletes, so Gwen must have convinced USA Triathlon to enter Sarah as her domestique.

I try to explain—quietly—that some governments award funding when an athlete is on the podium. If a domestique facilitates a win, the entire team benefits. In any country, a victory can trigger positive press, sponsorship, and support.

Why is it a secret? they say.

Advertising race strategy is never smart. 

As Gwen rides solo behind the leaders, Sarah maneuvers next to her, and commentator Barrie Shepley says, “[Sarah] Haskins, if any person is able to get you to the front end of a race course...[it] is Sarah Haskins…If Gwen Jorgensen is having any kind of a day, she’s going to get herself ridden up.”

Shepley has apparently guessed Sarah’s role. 

Gwen tracks Sarah’s lead and moves into the chase pack. Shepley says, “That was a very worthy airline ticket…spent on Sarah Haskins.” 

This is exactly how a domestique should work. Sarah knows where Gwen is. She bikes close to her and sets a pace that brings Gwen into a competitive position. Sarah’s maneuver lessens my jitters, but I still see visions of last year’s championship race, the crash, Gwen hobbling to the medical tent, bandage after bandage leaking blood.

On lap two, Gwen’s pack trails by 45 seconds and appears to be slowing. 

Sarah pushes the pace but Gwen drops back and, on lap three, Gwen’s pack trails by 65 seconds. 

Suddenly, I’m distracted when an Italian rider leans into a corner, loses traction, and slams into the concrete. While I silently pray that Gwen stays rubber-side-down, she generates power and moves to the front of her chase pack, right behind Sarah. 

When the one-hour bike leg is almost complete, Shepley says, “If [her deficit is] 75 seconds, Gwen Jorgensen has a legitimate chance [to win this race].” I want to believe he’s right, but I remember other races where athletes incurred a penalty, or tripped on a cone, or pulled a hamstring. 

Gwen dismounts and exchanges her bike for running shoes, 78 seconds behind. 

Sarah walks off the course. 

Sarah’s role as domestique has been crucial to Gwen’s performance. In some races, a domestique controls a race from the front. Today, Sarah worked inside the chase pack. She may not have propelled Gwen to the front of the race, but she saved her from lingering at the rear. 

In other races I’ve seen, domestiques have:

- slowed the pace, allowing a teammate to catch up

- initiated a breakaway, taking a teammate with her 

- maintained a moderate pace, allowing her teammate to save energy for the run

Before the twentieth century, French and Canadian families employed domestiques for household chores. But not everyone could afford help, and many women did all the work themselves. Triathlon is no different. Not every triathlete can afford a domestique, and most execute races on their own. Gwen, perched at the top of the rankings, enjoyed support from sponsors, appearances, winnings, and bonuses. 

As Gwen sprints onto the run course, my shoulders drop and I sense myself relax a bit—she avoided a crash, Sarah kept her competitive, and running is Gwen’s forte.

During lap one, Gwen decreases her deficit to 49 seconds. I want to be hopeful about the drama playing out, but the 18 runners ahead foreshadow a suspenseful finale. 

During lap two, Gwen infiltrates the front ten. I gather optimism and remind myself that she recouped 60 seconds in another recent run.  

During the last lap, Gwen runs shoulder-to-shoulder with the two leaders, having erased her entire deficit. My husband says, Don’t worry, she’s got this. My daughter Elizabeth says, Mom, she’s gonna do it! My gut says celebrate, but I wonder if Gwen used too much energy to catch up. Does she have any power left for the final kilometers?

My family does not return to the subject of domestiques. They have forgotten their questions, engrossed in the spectacle before them. But are domestiques fair? Are rules always fair? Can money affect fair play? Is fair the same as equal? There is no space in the race frenzy to niggle the answers. 

With five minutes to go, Gwen surges. I eye the other racers—they fail to respond. My family is on their feet, pumping fists, shouting Gwen’s name, slapping high-fives. Gwen’s arms swing, rhythmic and smooth, her stride powerful, and every time her foot strikes ground, she inches forward. Soon, she is five seconds ahead, then ten, twelve, sixteen seconds beyond her nearest challenger. I shout encouragement, send mental strength, and hug my husband, Elizabeth, my in-laws. 

Gwen crosses the finish line, lifts the banner overhead, and flashes a smile for photographers. World Champion Triathlete.

As she walks past the press corps, awards podium, and interview stage, Gwen sees Sarah. I read her body language apologize for a disastrous first lap. Then, with a hug, she thanks Sarah for her help. 

N.L. JORGENSEN is a Wisconsin writer, educator, and musician whose most recent book is a middle-grade sports biography, Gwen Jorgensen: USA’s First Olympic Gold Medal Triathlete (Meyer & Meyer). Essays appear in The Offing (“Position”), River Teeth (“Resonance”), Wisconsin Public Radio (“Little Known Truths About Lilies of the Valley”), Cheap Pop (“The Speed of Life”), and elsewhere.