I’m sitting staring at a screen, sweating and trying to hide the fact that my hands are shaking – a voice comes through the headphones and begins the countdown.
The next thing I know, we’re on air, live on TNT Sports and I have to speak. But what should I say?!
I never thought I’d be in this position, commentating on the downhill race at the World Championships. I’m terrified, and the race is in Champery, famed for producing some of the most iconic race runs of all time, which only adds to the pressure.
If I could go back and tell my 16-year-old self this would happen, it would blow my little, much, much younger mind.
But here I am, with the lead commentator, Ric McLaughlin, looking at me, waiting for me to speak – how did I get here?
Obsessed with racing
I’ve been a fan of downhill mountain biking for decades, and I'm obsessed with racing.
Growing up in a house without Sky TV meant I wasn’t able to watch much of the World Cup racing back in the early 90s, although on occasion, my mum would ask our neighbour to record it.
The problem was that we didn’t have a video recorder, so they would then have to put up with me sitting in their lounge while I watched it.
They’d plonk me down on the sofa, in front of the TV, while they went about their day, chain-smoking while cooking dinner.
I distinctly remember rewinding the tape so I could watch my favourite riders again and again as they took on the lengthy track of Kaprun, Austria, through a haze of cigarette smoke (not mine), until it was time to hand back the remote and make my way home.
Watching the races on TV was rare, though. For the most part, I would pore through magazines, reading and re-reading the race reports, staring at the photos and analysing the results – I simply loved it.
Of all the races, the world champs has always been special. It’s got a different buzz about it – it always has done, and it always will.
Despite having a good crack at racing when I was younger, I knew I was never destined to make a living out of riding bikes, let alone compete at the world champs. But commentating on it? That seemed almost more unlikely.
However, that’s exactly what happened this year.
Don’t say anything stupid
As the action unfolds in front of us on the two live monitors in the commentary booth, I have a moment – I cannot believe I’m here, doing this.
I sit there, glued to the screen in silence, watching the racers hammer down the mountain. Ric quickly jolts me out of my trance, asking how the rider has lost so much time.
This is where our jobs get tricky.
We’re sat in a booth in the Warner Bros Discovery offices in London, talking about a race happening in Champery, Switzerland. I’ve not set foot on the course, so working out the finer details of what’s happening to the riders, especially if the cameras don’t cover that section, is tricky.
Thankfully, some good friends who now manage, coach or work for teams, have been sending me insights all week, which helps massively.
I’ve scoured Rootsandrain.com for results, photos and insights on each rider, researched all the bikes and have thousands of words of notes in front of me.
Now I just need to string a coherent sentence together. But I’m terrified – terrified of making a fool of myself, proving I shouldn’t be here or that (and this is the odds-on favourite) I'll say something stupid.
I blurt out some info on the track and the rider on course. Ric gives me a thumbs up, and it seems we’re off and into it. While some lesser-known riders make their way down the hill early on, the action is thick and fast, thanks to the short gaps between their start times.
Getting anything meaningful or insightful out of my mouth isn’t easy, though. Even with all of these notes, I’m struggling a bit.
Then there’s trying to get my timing right, avoiding talking over Ric. I need to ensure he’s able to guide the audience through proceedings without getting into a rant about how this bike has too much adjustment or why riders will have spent days perfecting their setup for this unique course.
I’ve garbled a couple of answers now, rushing frantically and spending too much brain power concentrating on the producer's voice in my ear as they count us down into a commercial break, instead of saying anything meaningful.
I decide to go with speaking little and often. Get to the point quickly and try not to ramble on. That's something my wife assures me I do, especially when it comes to bikes.
Slowly, though, as the gaps between riders increase and we get into the racers who may well soon be the next world champion, things get a little easier.
Don’t get me wrong, the nerves and tension never leave – even during the break between categories, my hands are still shaking.
But as I get used to the rhythm of how this all works, when I need to come in, and when I need to be quiet and listen just enough to the voices of the production team, I realise I’m actually doing it. I’m commentating on the World Championships and, hopefully, making sense from time to time.
It doesn’t feel real, but it is. It's really happening.
That’s a wrap
After – spoiler alert – Vali Höll and Jackson Goldstone depart the podium having clinched gold, we’re told we’re done, off air. We can finally relax and, better yet, go for a wee.
It’s been an incredible experience, and I was so lucky to be sat next to Ric, a calm and seasoned professional who didn’t even bat an eyelid when a couple of our monitors weren’t working.
My shakes have subsided, my armpits are less sweaty, and my mouth is less dry.
To see, first-hand, how it all happens was an experience in itself, but to be a central part of it was a dream come true.
I’m not sure I’ll be able to watch sport in the same way ever again. My appreciation for the commentators has skyrocketed now I know what a tough job they have to manage.
I feel very lucky to have been asked along and grateful for the opportunity. Mainly, though, I’m glad I forced myself to do it, despite being petrified.
