“And it’s going to be gold for the US women in the Team Pursuit!!!”
You can find Part One here
As the rest of the team made their way from our serene Belgian enclave to the Olympic Village in Paris, Coach Gary Sutton and I boarded a high-speed train, beginning the swift three-hour journey from Brussels to Charles de Gaulle. Awaiting us there was Jan, the manager of the Sittard Netherlands-based USA Cycling house. With characteristic precision, he whisked us into an official Olympic vehicle, and we navigated the vibrant Parisian traffic with ease, gliding through the exclusive lanes reserved for Olympic vehicles—an Olympic credential at once a ticket and a key.
It was the kind of warm evening where the city itself seems to breathe, golden light reflecting off the tarmac, alive with expectation. Our destination? The Hotel Roi Soleil Prestige, a modern yet unpretentious refuge, set inconspicuously in an industrial corner near the village of Plaisir—a stone’s throw from the Velodrome in Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines. Practical, efficient, close to the action, and far from the pageantry of the Olympic Village proper.
By the time we arrived, Paris 2024 was already in full swing. The opening ceremonies, that great spectacle of water, flame and flag, had come and gone. The roads were alive with time trial cyclists, mountain bikers had begun to carve up the trails, and the energy in our hotel was palpable—a veritable hive of athletes and staff, minds as sharp as the racing lines they would follow.
“Swanny” is the nickname for a Soigneur in cycling, the all-around therapist, gopher, nutrition provider and general helper who makes sure the athletes are well cared for throughout a cycling project and race
It was no accident that USA Cycling chose this quiet base, far removed from the throngs of the Olympic Village. Here, not only did we have proximity to the velodrome, but the BMX track, the mountain bike trails at Élancourt, and the road race course all lay close by. In such a setting we could function as a tightly knit unit, bringing along extra staff—sports scientists, therapists, all manner of support—without worrying about the constraints of a limited number of official Olympic accreditations. The bustling operations back in the Village may have been something we missed, but it was a sacrifice in favor of efficiency and control.
The hotel itself became our little enclave. The USA Cycling team had converted a large room on the first floor into a multifunctional hub—a community space where the staff and athletes of all disciplines gathered. Half the room was dedicated to long, communal tables, where family-style meals were served buffet-style from a well-stocked pantry. The other half resembled a cozy, modern lounge, complete with beanbags and armchairs arranged around a big screen for watching live Olympic action. There was a convivial spirit there, with coffee stations and sports nutrition setups scattered about—fuel for both body and soul. It was a place not just to work but to unwind together, in between the rigors of competition.
Upon arrival, I quickly acquainted myself with our station—the second floor of the hotel, where soigneurs and staff had set up a compact but efficient treatment area. Three massage tables stood in orderly fashion, with a laundry machine nestled discreetly inside a USA Cycling van parked by the side entrance. The scene was typical of a well-oiled machine: coolers and food bags lined up, ready for quick deployment, a freezer tucked into a corner, each team’s gear staged for maximum efficiency.
After we settled into this rhythm, it was time to make our way to the heart of the action: the velodrome. There, our mechanics would begin the intricate process of assembling the precision-engineered bikes, while the soigneurs and staff prepared the athlete’s area. The two mechanics and I loaded up our gear into the van and set off, the air humming with anticipation. First stop: picking up our Olympic credentials, the golden tickets that allowed us access to the labyrinth of the Games.
It was during this simple administrative task—collecting my credential—that I was handed a small but invaluable gift: a red Navigo public transit card. This slim piece of plastic, emblazoned with the emblem of Paris, granted me free access to buses and trains for the duration of the Games. It would soon become my most cherished companion, offering me the freedom to explore the city in my spare moments—glimpses of Paris between the crackling excitement of Olympic competition.
Navigo card in hand, medical bag slung over my shoulder, dragging a cooler behind me, we made our way toward Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines. Tomorrow, training would begin. But tonight? Tonight was Paris, a city as timeless and alluring as the Games themselves.
Every velodrome around the world possesses its own unique character, but the French national velodrome at Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines—oh, this velodrome—has a particularly fast soul. Wide, steeply banked ends that sweep effortlessly into shorter straights make for a track where riders, especially pursuiters, find themselves propelled to dizzying speeds. The pursuiters thrive here, drawn to the elongated, banked corners like moths to a flame, their rotations smoother, their accelerations more fluid. But this individuality—the very thing that makes each velodrome special—also demands respect. Each track has its own rhythm, and mastery comes only through familiarity. Our athletes, precision machines themselves, needed those key track orientations and technical workouts to absorb the intricacies of this venue, to find its flow, to make it their ally.
Yet, as the grandeur of the Paris Games enveloped us, training time at the host venue became a rare commodity. Gone were the peaceful, expansive sessions we had enjoyed in Belgium. Here, training windows were shared among nations, our allotted time whittled down to a crisp 90 minutes. Every second mattered, and efficiency became not just important but essential. As always, I arrived early with the mechanics and coaches, setting up before the athletes even appeared, ensuring that when they did, they were ready to step into a finely-tuned routine. The countdown to competition had begun, and every moment had to be measured, controlled.
Cyclists train by cycling, of course, but when not on the track, our athletes sought refuge in long road rides or sessions on their trainers, preserving their form. These windows of relative calm became my sanctuary—a chance to catch up on laundry, shop for supplies, and, occasionally, take care of some personal business. By mid-afternoon, the rhythm of treatment began, athletes filing in for massage or recovery work until dinner called us together. These meals, taken in the team room, became the heartbeat of our day—our small community of athletes and staff gathering to enjoy meticulously prepared food, with a camaraderie that was restorative in its own right.
And the food—it was remarkable, not just for its nourishment but for the atmosphere it fostered. We were fortunate indeed to have Allen Lim, the founder of Skratch Labs and a force of nature in the world of sports nutrition, collaborating our culinary efforts with the professional chefs from the EF Education-Easypost cycling team. This precision team prepared all of our meals, bringing a gourmet touch to our base of operations. The meals, served buffet-style from a brightly painted food truck, were a delightful mix of omelet stations, charcuterie, croissants, salmon, halibut, and vibrant vegetable dishes. It was a feast for both body and spirit. And over cups of coffee, I had the pleasure of chatting with Allen and the other chefs about the science of sports nutrition, the joys of travel, and their recommendations for wine—a delightful interlude in the rush of Olympic preparations.
Days at the Games are long, a never-ending cycle of tasks and responsibilities. Yet the pace was quick, and moments of respite were precious. On occasion, I managed to escape the bubble of the hotel and velodrome, slipping into the broader world for an errand or two. The Paris weather was relentlessly hot, and the velodrome, always kept warm for optimal riding conditions, was no relief. Keeping the athletes cool became paramount. One particularly memorable trip took us to a nearby mall to buy a blender, allowing us to whip up icy sports mix slushies—small luxuries, but ones that made all the difference. Another excursion brought us to a charming wine shop, where we selected bottles in anticipation of the celebrations we hoped were on the horizon. And, of course, there was the evening I stole away to the Latin Quarter to meet my wife, Amy, and our friend Janice—a fleeting, yet delightful, reunion amidst the whirlwind of the Games.
One of the most heartwarming aspects of the Paris Games were the volunteers—scores of them, clad in rosy pink or sky-blue shirts, always smiling, always eager to help. They seemed to be everywhere, making the city itself feel welcoming and manageable despite the grandeur of the event. At the velodrome, these volunteers made my life considerably easier, ensuring that we always had ample water, towels, and ice, leaving me more time to focus on the athletes. Even the personal touches—like the charming pink Paris 2024 towels they provided for each athlete—added a layer of care and comfort to the otherwise high-stakes environment.
The velodrome itself, with its layers of security, became a familiar haunt. Each day, we’d be dropped off at the same spot, just outside the velodrome, passing through the checkpoints with our credentials, our bags and coolers inspected by the ever-watchful security. Over time, the faces of the guards became familiar, and we developed a rapport. We traded pins, stories of the day’s victories, and shared brief but meaningful exchanges. Despite the omnipresence of the French police—always carrying the sort of heavy weaponry that demands respect—the atmosphere was never tense. Rather, they too became part of the fabric of our daily experience, even posing for photos with our medal-winning athletes.
And as each day passed, we edged closer to the women’s team pursuit—the event that would soon claim our undivided attention. But first came the women’s road race, with Kristen and Chloe—two gifted riders—both feeling primed for success. The morning of the race dawned bright and hopeful. We shared an early breakfast before sending the women off to the start, their spirits high. As they set out, the rest of us returned to our daily routine, though the big screen in the lounge remained tuned to the race.
Kristen and Chloe rode valiantly, each in strong position until disaster struck. A crash. Chloe’s front wheel clipped by another rider. The narrow course made it difficult to recover, and precious minutes slipped away as she waited for a bike change. Meanwhile, Kristen found herself in a fortuitous position, chasing the front with only Lotte Kopecky of Belgium by her side. The hotel became a pressure cooker of excitement as we watched the race unfold, eyes glued to the screen as the chase group whittled down. Each time Kristen led, the gap to the leaders shrank, and when Lotte took the reins, it stalled. Was it strategy? Was she conserving energy for the final push? No one could say, but the tension was palpable.
As they surged through the streets of Paris, up and over the iconic hills of Montmartre, the aerial shots of Kristen attacking with sudden ferocity will forever be etched in my memory. She launched herself at the hill, and in that moment, the rest of the riders seemed to pause, as if in silent agreement that none could match her. The gold was hers.
The elation of that victory, shared with the team and staff in that small hotel room in Plaisir, was a moment I will never forget. Kristen had done it—gold. Chloe, undeterred by her bad luck, finished 15th, a heroic effort after her crash.
Later that night, exhausted but triumphant, the women returned. There was food waiting, ice baths prepared, and massage tables ready—because in just two days, the pursuit would begin. Kristen, despite her victory, was already focused on recovery, and as I worked on her, she told me she felt she had even more to give. In quiet awe, I watched her analyze her power data, noting her massive output, before slipping into well-earned rest.
What these athletes accomplish is nothing short of astonishing. And the fact that they do it again, and again, just days apart? It leaves one speechless.
Being part of a team with an athlete who’s just won gold imparts some intangible ‘pixie dust,’ and I could feel the energy in the air as the Women’s Team Pursuit prepared for competition. The coaches and athletes made final adjustments to their starting order and the planned number of turns at the front as the hours ticked down. Through my staff WhatsApp group, I received instructions on which team shirt to wear for the first round, and off we went to set up the pit and get the ladies ready for the day’s ride.
The next day passed in a bit of a blur. Between recovery massages for Kristen and Chloe, organizing supplies, and prepping ice packs for the Nike Cooling Vests our athletes wear before and after racing, time flew. Before I knew it, we were back in the velodrome, fully kitted and ready to go. Race time! To gain the greatest aerodynamic advantage, the racers wore special long-sleeve skinsuits designed by a small company in Europe and custom-made based on 3D measurements of the athletes. These suits are tight—the heat-welded seams mean no room for error, so all the Swannies were trained to help riders slip into them carefully to avoid blowing a seam or jeopardizing one of the keys to victory.
Once suited up, the riders sat by the stairs to the velodrome, waiting for their start. The coaches and mechanics stood close by with the bikes, while we therapists were ready with towels, water bottles, and shoulder-slung musette bags filled with extra pins, lens cleaners, and anything else they might need last minute.
As much as I wanted to watch the race, our job as Swannies shifted into overdrive once the riders took off. We zipped back to the pit to refill bottles, swap out thawed ice packs for frozen ones from the cooler, and make sure we were ready for the athletes to recover immediately after their ride. We kept one eye on the big screens showing the race, listening for the cheers of the crowd to get a sense of how things were going.
The Team Pursuit is a grueling three-race event. It starts with a qualifying round, where each team time-trials by themselves to set the fastest time. From there, the teams are paired off for the second round, which decides who competes in the final medal rounds. It’s a long day, so we were prepared with packed lunches, drinks, and lots of espresso to keep everyone fueled.
In the first race, our team wasn’t sure where we stood physically. Since the US women had won a medal at the previous Games, tradition had them racing towards the end of the field. By that point, we knew what times we needed to be competitive. Coach Gary stood near the line, communicating lap times with simple finger signals so the riders could adjust their pace to preserve energy for the critical final laps. This strategy worked beautifully—the women qualified well, setting us up for a shot at the gold if they could win their second-round race the next day.
Lily Williams, one of our riders, remarked that they were expecting to finish around 4:07 but were thrilled to clock in at 4:05 in the first round. As soon as we realized we were serious contenders for gold, the energy ramped up. The following day brought two races: the first to secure a spot in the medal rounds, and the final showdown that evening. In that first race, our athletes pushed themselves to their limits, with several riders setting personal bests to beat Great Britain in the first round race by less than 3/10ths of a second. It was exhilarating to witness! We knew we were closing in on a medal.
With strong momentum but the week starting to take its toll, the US women faced an incredible challenge in the final race. Despite fatigue, they took an early lead against the New Zealand team and, though the last laps were a battle, managed to hang on and clinch the gold in front of a roaring crowd. About halfway through the race, I had a flash of realization—we needed the American flag ready if our women pulled it off. I dashed across the infield to grab the flag and made it back just in time to hand it to Chloe as she circled the velodrome, proudly waving the Stars and Stripes.
What followed was pure chaos in the best way possible—coaches, mechanics, and Swannies flooding onto the track to celebrate with the athletes. Chloe did a victory lap with the flag, and the women met on the track, arms raised in triumph. We reminded them of the post-race media gauntlet, so as soon as they came down, they were off to meet reporters while we got their cooling vests and hydration ready. After that, it was time for doping control and more recovery efforts.
Later, at the podium ceremony, Lindsay Golich, our sport scientist, handed out red berets she’d bought from a tourist shop in Paris that morning. Donning those berets and watching our team receive their gold medals was a surreal, joyous moment.
With the Team Pursuit behind us, we returned to the hotel for dinner and more treatments. Kristen and Chloe still had events ahead, so we dove back into our routine, but my track time was over. With fewer events requiring Swannies, my credential was passed along to another team member, and my official Olympic duties had come to an end.
I had one last task—driving a van full of gear back to our service course in the Netherlands. Early the next morning, I set off with mechanic Jason, whom we dropped off at the airport, and Chloe, whom I dropped off at her home outside Brussels. From there, I made my solo drive across Belgium to Sittard, dropped off the van, and hopped on a train back to Paris for a few days of personal leave with Amy.
We spent time with family in Paris and soaked in the sights, enjoying the cafes and shops of Montmartre. After weeks in the cycling bubble, it was a treat to explore the city and catch up with loved ones.
And then, just like that, we were on a plane back home.
I’m incredibly grateful to Team USA for the opportunity to serve as part of this team, to the athletes and coaches who trusted me with their care, and to my wife and business partner Amy, our incredible staff, and my fabulous clients at Focus Physical Therapy for supporting me during this adventure. As we head into the next four-year cycle leading to the 2028 Games in Los Angeles, I’ll continue to stay active—but hopefully not be away for so long until then!
Cheers to all of you pursuing your dreams and adventures. Until next time!
Burke Selbst PT
Team USA’s Women’s Team Pursuit Results
8/06/24
Qualifying round: Second fastest time, 4:05.238
58.718 km/h average speed8/07/24
First round: The US beats Great Britain by a hair to clinch a spot in the gold medal round, 4:04.629 vs. 4:04.908
58.865 km/h average speedFinal gold medal round
US beats New Zealand for the Gold Medal, 4:04.306 vs. 4:04.927
58.942 km/h average speed
