THE SECRET TRACK CYCLIST - VELODROME TOILETS

Nobody talks about toilets in track cycling. This is strange, because a surprising amount of elite performance is decided in places that smell like stale air, regret, and nappies.

Race days follow a strict routine. Wake up. Eat. Warm-up. Stress. Repeat.

And then, inevitably, the coffee hits.

Every velodrome has toilets and they all smell the same. Not dramatically bad. Just tired. Stale air that suggests the building has stopped trying, and there are never enough of them. This is not poor planning. It is a test of character.

You realise too late that everyone has had the same idea. Riders, coaches, staff, officials. All standing in a quiet, awkward line, pretending not to notice each other.

You do not acknowledge teammates. This is not a social situation.

The person in front of you is bouncing slightly. The person behind you is checking their phone far too often. Someone sighs.

A commissaire walks past. This adds pressure.

Inside the cubicles, time behaves differently. Some people are in and out in seconds. These people are either blessed or lying.

Others treat it like a full recovery protocol. You hear zips. You hear bags. You hear what sounds like someone unwrapping a bar.

You consider abandoning the queue.

You do not.

Someone whispers, “How long till you're racing?”

This is the most aggressive thing you can say.

Eventually, it is your turn. The door opens. You step in like it is sacred ground.

There is no toilet paper.

The floor is wet.

You know it is not water. Everyone knows it is not water. But still, you stand there, weighing up your options, trying not to think about it.

It is not freshly wet. It is not obviously wet. It is just permanently damp, like it has never truly dried since the velodrome opened.

Panic flashes briefly, then settles into quiet problem-solving. This is not your first compromised environment.

You check again. Sometimes there is paper hidden behind the holder, like a cruel joke.

There is not.

You make a series of decisions you will not revisit later.

You emerge carefully, avoiding the floor with an unnatural level of balance.

When you step back into the queue area, you make brief eye contact with the next person waiting. They glance past you, immediately clock the situation.

Their expression changes.

There is an understanding. No words are exchanged.

Back in warm-up, everyone looks calmer. Lighter. Faster.

Nobody mentions where they have been.

No one asks questions. Because track cycling is about preparation, discipline, and marginal gains.

You make it back to the track centre. To the team pit. Helmet on. Shoes on, walking over to your bike and then you think, quietly, with absolute certainty:

I need to pee. Again.

Secret Track Cyclist is an anonymous diary inspired by real-life experiences in elite track cycling. Each entry is written from the perspective of a different figure within the sport. Names, identities, and events are intentionally obscured to protect this week's author.