Paralympic Athlete Blogs: A Golden Paralympic Dream Ended by One Jammed Chain


Alicia Dana shows off her bronze medal alongside the gold and silver winners.
Although the gold Alicia Dana sought eluded her, she won two bronze medals.

Another Paralympic Games has come and gone. Tokyo 2020 flew by in a whirlwind of complex, COVID-inspired travel requirements and processing — a week to overcome jet lag and get familiarized with the racecourses at the Fuji International Speedway, the races themselves (three events, in my case), then packing up for the long trip home. Some stayed to witness the closing ceremonies. Others of us left as soon as we could to return to our families and busy lives at home.

This was my third Paralympic Games. I competed previously in London 2012 and Rio 2016, winning a silver medal in the time trial. At 52 years old, I had been looking to this Games as my final hurrah and was eager and determined to bring home gold in at least one of my races. Based on my results in World Cups and World Championships, I knew this was an entirely possible outcome, but it depended, I felt, on my paying attention to every detail — attending to every possible optimization of my performance, be it through training, fine-tuning and customization of my handcycle, through practicing mental toughness, through diet, through time management, etc.

All of it mattered. This was my One Shot.

Recent developments in the Paralympic movement made me hang in there for these Games. The U.S. Olympic Committee was now the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee, and the pay scale for us Paralympic athletes had at last reached parity with our Olympic counterparts. As a single mother with no other significant source of income, this was a huge opportunity to make the past 10 years of financial struggle in pursuit of my passion pay dividends, as handcycling is a costly sport. With my daughter nearing college age, this was a golden opportunity — pun intended — to provide some means for her education. Armed with over 10 years of experience in the sport, a record of success at the highest level, and the motivation and grit of an “older” Mama Bear, I was ready to get the job done.

Gearing Up for Gold

Alicia Dana holds up a bottle of water.
Although she’s smiling here, Dana says she felt panicked at not being rested or having her equipment exactly as she wanted it.

I didn’t exactly hit the ground running. Jet lag, the interminable COVID processing through Narita airport, the worry over not having achieved an ideal upper body and head position or suitable hands-free hydration system on my handcycle, plus intense performance pressure, all combined to create few nights of decent sleep and resulting days of uncomfortable emotions.

The closer it got to race day, the more panicked I felt at not having my body and mind rested and tuned or my equipment 100% dialed. It began to feel like a race before the race — to reach a point of “finality” with my preparation, at which point I felt I could relax and focus entirely on the race. The team had high expectations for me, which brought some additional pressure. I was one of the athletes at these Games who they knew could win gold.

Then there was the course itself. The Fuji International Speedway is a Formula One race car track with long, steep climbs and steep, tricky descents, including a sharp off-camber right-hander into a narrow tunnel that would cause a couple of serious crashes. It was an exciting but challenging course that demanded thorough reconnaissance to be safe, let alone fast and efficient. So many unknowns, so much at stake — it’s no wonder I felt anxious.

Thankfully, the few days of training we had — riding itself — had its naturally uplifting effect of tiring my body and calming my nerves. I got help from an extremely handy quadriplegic teammate with my handcycle and hydration system. I opened up to two coaches about my mental stress. They helped me with nasal breathing exercises, familiarizing the course and what lines to take, and by simply being present, friendly and available (thank you, Mike and Jim)! Finally, it was all coming together. On the last day of training, I had the mechanics put a new waxed race chain on my handcycle and race wheels. I felt smooth, fast and in control. My new drink tube system was working beautifully.

The Big Day

This photo of the Fuji International Speedway shows off its curves.
The Fuji International Speedway is known for steep ascents and descents that make it technically challenging.

I awoke race day morning feeling pumped. Nervous, but the kind of nervous that mainly was excitement. I felt good. Ready. The pits were humming with activity as coaches, mechanics, athletes and staff busied themselves with preparations for the full day of racing ahead. After a 30-minute warm-up on a trainer, I got a radio earpiece taped on for the staff in my follow car — usually a coach and a mechanic. An athlete can be warned of any potential obstacles on the course this way and receive split times, gaining perhaps valuable information on how they are performing in relation to their competition.

I told our head coach, who would be in my car that day, that I didn’t want any splits. My plan was to go full gas from the word Go and be utterly destroyed by the end. What my competition was doing or not doing was of no concern to me.

I made my way to the start ramp, downing my favorite pre-race energy gel on the way, a Chocolate Cherry Clif Shot. The most anxious time is right before the start, and I took repeated deep, fast breaths to oxygenate my lungs and calm my nerves.

At the countdown, I was off like a demon. I worked the centripetal force around the first sweeping, downhill left-hand curve and accelerated toward the first chicane, slowing just enough to cut the shortest line through it. Immediately came the next chicane, this one steeper, tighter, sharper. I had nearly crashed here during training the day before and ended up in the grass, off-course. This time, I flew through it like a pro and laid down the watts into the first climb. I found my rhythm right away — climbing is my strength. The whole first lap went this way — like butter. Halfway through my second and final lap, the trouble occurred.

A fast downhill with a sharp left-hand turn at the bottom carried me up a short, steep pitch before the track leveled out again. I navigated the turn perfectly, then shifted my derailleur to the smaller chainring to push hard and fast up the incline. Suddenly, my chain came off, getting jammed on the inside of the ring. My hand shot up to notify my follow car — this was exactly what it was needed for. Instead of a mechanic appearing, however, it was my head coach.

She pulled on the chain to get it up on the ring, but it came apart at the quick link. I swore. Where’s a mechanic?! I asked. She didn’t answer directly, instead telling me to stay calm and that I was 40 seconds ahead of the competition. She struggled. I waited. Then the second staff person joined us — also not a mechanic. His purpose on the team was still not clear to me. I had never even met him before. The two of them fumbled some more while I sat there, feeling the seconds turn to minutes, the golden dream becoming a nightmare.

Nearly five minutes passed while riders I had passed came by me. Finally, the chain was re-positioned, and I was able to start moving again. Lactate that pooled in my muscles made it feel like riding through mud, but I forced my arms to turn the cranks around, knowing the pain was temporary. I pushed like my life depended on it, but inside, I knew that it would never be enough, could not possibly be enough, to make up those excruciating lost minutes.

Dazed and Alone

Alicia Dana rides her handcycle past a Tokyo 2020 banner.
After losing her race, Dana felt as if her sacrifices were unappreciated by her coach.

Finally, across the line, I sat there alone, recovering, while the only one who seemed to even notice me was a Japanese volunteer who gave me a bottle of water. Nearby was the “mixed zone,” where the media pulled athletes aside to interview them — the medal-winning athletes.

I rode through in a daze, feeling invisible, and made my way back to our pit. When I arrived, no one approached me. My coach was nowhere to be found. I confronted our high-performance director, who was evasive and, while sympathetic about what had happened, shrugged it off as a “that sucks” kind of moment. There was no apology or even explanation for why there was not a mechanic — the standard practice — in that follow car.

I felt he didn’t get it, really, and in that moment, I needed someone to get it, to apologize, to explain, to make amends somehow. To acknowledge that I had worked 10 years to get to this point. That I had had to overcome a multitude of obstacles, invest thousands, struggle alone for hours in training and in working on my bike, confront the inner demons that plagued me with performance anxiety my whole career. That I had done all those things because it mattered, deeply, to me. The price paid was indeed incalculable, but the potential rewards were worth it. For myself, for my daughter, for my community back home that supported me, held high expectations for me, dreamed my dream with me.

In the end, it all came down to a broken chain.

Editor’s Note: Dana finished sixth in the Women’s H1-3 Time Trial with a time of 37:09.19. The next day she won a bronze medal in the H1-4 Women’s Road Race. The day after that, she was part of a U.S. team that won the bronze in Mixed H1-5 Team Relay Race.


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ken bestine
ken bestine
2 years ago

great article!

Peter Oxford
Peter Oxford
2 years ago

Hi this is Peter from the mid Vermont dead car rescue. I have fixed more than 30,000 bicycles in my day. It has been awhile now, technology may have improved, but quick links do not belong on derailleur systems especially in competition. They are a guaranteed weak point. Even if they don’t break they don’t behave like all the other links. From appearances your chains are longer(more links) than standard bikes. They were deemed ok on 1 and 3 speed bikes but I never used them on any of my bikes and I was never a competitor. It is a shame such an unnecessary technical flaw should hinder your performance.

Alicia Dana
Alicia Dana
2 years ago
Reply to  Peter Oxford

Thanks Peter – I wish the mechanics had said something to me about this – I heard afterwards from our High Performance Director that there had been murmurings from them about not liking them – but no one spoke to me. Yes, we use 2 chains, so 2 links. Anyway, thanks for reading !

monica bascio
monica bascio
2 years ago
Reply to  Alicia Dana

Really????? Who uses brand new gear at such a big race?

Frank
Frank
2 years ago

I was heartbroken reading your story. I hope the podiums helped.

Alicia Dana
Alicia Dana
2 years ago
Reply to  Frank

Thank you! Yes – it was an experience of extreme low…but then 2 solid highs. Thanks for reading!

Rob Leiser
Rob Leiser
2 years ago

I am a mechanic by trade, and a recreational racer. Chain jamming is an occasional problem that I addressed on my handcycle by adding a plastic ring below the sprocket to keep a jumped chain from jamming.