Originally Posted by
Sommando
Very late additions:
De Vlees Huis Ronde Road Race, Category 4:
This is a tough race, 60 miles, 2 down/uphill turnarounds per lap, a Bee farm on the course, and cow-filtered, near body temperature Bakersfield air. And I got food poisoning before the race. Immediately before-on the drive from the hotel to the course. I only went into stage one (body chills) and suppressed any move to 2 or 3 (mouth watering, and vomiting, respectively). I started after a short, completely unnecessary warmup, and found out that the start is parallel to the road, and the small group I saw ahead of me was actually 90 or so guys.
The only thing I knew before the race started was to not be at the back. A shaky start, a small, uphill crash; some chasing ensues, then more, and finally more. I was used to sprinting out of corners in crits, and even in San Luis Rey, but this was too much. I gave up, threw up, and realized I was maybe 20 miles in (to a 60 miles race). I worked with some people, lots of people didn't work. They won the "sprint finish" at the end of lap one. They were the smart ones. With the "water" bottle I got from the feed zone, I cooled myself off, then finished the rest of the Cytomax inside of it. I was shortly thereafter stung by a bee. Which had never hurt so much before.
I kept going, ran into the lady who posted a youtube video review of a previous year's race. Agreed that it was a terrible event. She went out the back of our group, then caught and passed us. The three of us looked at each other, and without speaking, agreed to never speak of such a thing. I figured nothing too bad had happened in the last 15 minutes, so I opened my Strawberry Banana powerade Gu I had been looking forward since trying them at the BWR a few weeks ago. They taste better cold. Or at the very least, when not baked by the sun and my body for over an hour. My body skipped straight to stage 3 again, and then I got chills. I figured this signaled heat exhaustion or some other, unsavory, condition so I put my tail between my legs and headed home to my first DNF. I would have cried if I had any spare water left. I could have used the salt, too.
I'll be back in June for State Champs.
Devil's Punchbowl, Cat 4:
A mostly downhill, easy race to rebound with I figured. Especially since I "tapered" by going to the doctors and feeling nauseous for most of the week. I felt better when I woke up at 4 on Saturday to drive to the race (Google estimated the trip time at 3:51). I got there at 7:30. Too much time to warmup, not enough to sleep. I made sure my number was nice and pointing in the right direction.
I found a teammate, and start warming up with him, doing some of the course in reverse (the portion added to the UCLA RR). Legs felt good, my stomach and I are on the same page, I was actually excited to be this close to Palmdale!
Race start, parallel again. I've never seen this before, then two weeks in a row, but I was prepared this time. The pace starts at a Sunday recovery tempo, then crescendos to "Holy Christmas! We've got three laps guys" and accordingly, someone again falls going uphill (behind me thankfully) because it's much easier to quit a race after being in a crash. I crest the series of stair-steps round 15th, but can't breathe and drift out the back of the group on the way down. I stay in touch and often have to brake for those in front of me. As we begin the long, false-flat to start another lap, I look back at my tire and brakes, hoping that something is wrong, that something explains why I can't sit in this group. Nothing wrong with the bike. I see a teammate backing out, gasping like a goldfish, and he tells me he donated blood on Thursday. I inform him that he missed a crucial part in his blood-doping regimen. He falls off, and then still finishes 2 laps.
I also get dropped, but no excuses come to aid me, real or imagined. I consider pulling out, succumbing to yet another race, and driving it all home and contemplate taking a break from racing (quitting).
I see the pack ahead of me, those at the start/finish line-those I know, those I don't, and I decide I'm not going to get any better by quitting. Anger replaced whatever emotional funk I was experiencing, and I found a groove and just kept pedaling. I passed a few guys, got passed by some others (not in my category) and caught onto (and was caught) by a small contingent of other 4 riders. I see a racer I met in Bakersfield who I worked with before my semi-death. He and I do a lot of work, a few others chip in, but then got spat out, and with 3-4 miles to go, it's just the two of us. I was feeling terrible, but knew that this suffering, even if not at the front of the race, would be rewarding somewhere, sometime, so I hung with him. Eventually, at the sharp downhill turn to the finishing straight (about 1 mile long) I get gapped, and he seemingly takes off. I catch a few women's riders, chat briefly, cheer them on if at all possible (they still have a lap to go, and are on their own)-one even tells me to do a cooldown lap with her. Different parts of my body wanted me to do different things, but my legs and lungs ultimately convinced me this wasn't to happen. I crossed the finish line, 8 or 10 minutes down on the leaders, and never had I been so happy to have finished a race (I even sprinted the end just to flog myself for being such a wimp earlier, not that a speedometer would have labeled it anything other than "Oh, so you have a road bike?")
I ate every single one of the oatmeal cookies that my family had left in the car on my way back home. Where I then worked in the yard for three hours.
Swami's Club RR, RSF course, Group B:
Following a very depressing two races, I went to bed motivated to push myself the following morning in the club's first Spring Series race. When I woke up, my bed was silently, warmly stealing any desire to head outside into fog, sweat or pain. I realized the predicament I was in immediately, having experienced it during college often for 8am classes, so I only pressed snooze once. Maybe twice. I then got in my car, and multi-tasked all the way to the starting part to make up for lost time.
Once I got on my bike and started moving, I felt fantastic. Maybe it was the slow pace we were going, as we were kind of lost, but we found our way through rolling Rancho Santa Fe hills. I had opted for the B group, as it was labeled "career" 3/4 racers. A was pro/1/2 and fast 3s, and C was "has bike, will ride." Lots of people were labeled sandbaggers, but I stayed where I was. At this point, my psyche was weak, and I needed my ego stroked. And I had already decided on being a B far before failing the last two races.
In the end, I attacked early and often (6, 4 mile laps) until a break was finally established. I eventually finished 2nd, by about 8", but I had a blast and finally felt competent and capable on the bike again. Let's hope this feeling carries over for a little while.
Sorry for the long post, but I had to get that out.
