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| So much for the... |
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
End of the Line
There is a photo that Edmond White took at Montrose Harbor on Sunday that sums up my day pretty well.
I am the faceless, nameless, numberless body. I am the red and white helmet, the black sleeve, and the matt black/brown bike. The thrill of victory is not for people like me. We ride by after the fact, after the race has been decided, and form at most a backdrop for other peoples' victories. But neither are we vanquished to live with the agony of defeat. There is no defeat in cyclocross. There are no losers. There are only your friends and acquaintances who rode either faster than you, or slower than you on this particular day. There are the people who had mechanicals, who were hung over, who were burned out from doubling or tripling, or even those rode their best race of the season and are super excited with how high they were able to finish no matter how low it is in the field.
The only people who lose in cyclocross are the people who do not let themselves have fun doing it.
And I should know because I have lost my fair share of races. There was the day in DeKalb that I got stung on the tongue by a bee. The last two races I rode in October were also losing efforts for different reasons. Thankfully despite the anonymity of my performance, Sunday was not a loosing effort. Let me explain.
Sunday morning I woke up at a fairly normal time for me. The race was a scant 1.6 miles from my house, so there was no hour drive in a borrowed or rented car to get there. I ate breakfast, and spent more time than necessary trying to figure out A) what to wear and B) what to bring. I consulted the weather channel, rummaged through drawers, made piles, sorted piles into new piles, and finally decided on what should be stuffed into the bottom of my newly warrantied Mission Workshop Vandal. I packed lighter than I did last year because the weather was a touch warmer, and I have dialed in my race/post race clothing needs much better this year. I don't over pack as much because I have enough experience to know exactly what I need.
I threw the pack on, pulled down the freshly washed and lubed Falcon, and headed north to the lake.
When I arrived at the park, the Master's 40+ race was already underway. Those guys generally get the short end of the stick with photography so I made a concerted effort to get out with my camera and find some shots. It took me a while to get warmed up and my equipment dialed into the lighting conditions, but I was able to get a few good shots. After their race I ran my first pre-lap of the day. The course could be described in three words: Sand, mud, hill, and not in equal portions. It was about 50% sand, 25% mud, and 25% hill. The winds had drifted and blown sand up from the beach over the barrier berm, and there was 2-3 inches of sand (thankfully it was wet) across large swaths of the course. It was a hard ride, but the difficulty of it did not make it less enjoyable. Everyone who I talked to about it said it was "Miserable", but they all had the same silly little grin on their face. It was the kind of misery we live for.
During the Master's 30+ race I went back out with my camera. I know more of the Master's 30+ racers, and it is always fun taking pictures of people that you can tag later on Facebook. I was on my bike, riding to different parts of the course, and spent a good bit of time on the hill trying to capture a "money shot" of someone coming down the hill silhouetted in front of the city skyline. My teammate Brad hammed it up a little bit for what I believe was the best shot I took that day.
After the 30+ race it was time for another pre-ride. It went smoothly, or as smooth as possible. The women's 1-2-3 race is one of the harder ones to photograph when it's cold, and I did not get out with my camera. Instead I focused on my race preparation. Getting the right layers on, getting my number pinned on, getting my number taken off when I decide that I really don't need full leg tights and realize that my number is pinned through my skinsuit into my baselayer, and then getting my number pinned back on. Before I knew it, Jason was calling for staging for the Cat 3 racers.
My staging for this race was the worst of the season. The system that was used to filter in individuals without CCC points left me back in the fifth or sixth row. The one "beef" had was that there were guys who I have raced against in CCC races, who have never finished higher than me, and who's cross results points were lower than me, who ended up being seeded higher than me. I don't know how that worked out, but I decided that I was not going to make a stink about it. Instead, I lined up in the back of the pack with my friends and teammates as we shivered, laughed, and bantered with the riders in the front who we would not see again (until they lapped us). In short, I was having fun no matter what.
I lined up on the far left side of the course. The starting grid was open, meaning there was no fence immediately to my right, but the officials warned us that trying to jump outside would result in a not-automatic disqualification. They would let you suffer for 40 minutes and then DQ you. But regardless I knew that I could jump past some of field on the long home straight away, and when the whistle blew I did just that. I burned a match and surged out and around, pulling up not with the leaders but certainly in the top 25 people going into the first set of barriers. As was typical my match did not burn for all that long, but the tight technical sections kept the pack close together and we jostled amongst ourselves for positions through the sand and around the corners. I was right where I wanted to be racing in the cloud of people that I wanted to be racing with. Not just that but I also felt pretty strong going into the second lap. Even when we surged up the hill the first time I was able to keep pace. The leaders of course were starting to pull away and open a lead, but I was holding my own within the top 25. I remember being close to Paul-Brian, because I'm always close to Paul-Brian at some point in the race, especially if I am doing very well. We passed the finish line and surged down the straight away again. We hit the barriers for a second time, and made it through the far south end of the course still in a pack. Riding up a small hill with a 90 degree turn to the left in a sand pit, my front wheel washed out and I stepped / tumbled forward. I think I might have put a hand down, and maybe a knee, but I didn't roll. I was dead stopped, so I grabbed my bike and started running. I made it about 20 ft and someone behind me was kind enough to yell "Your chain" and I looked down and saw I had dropped it. I tried to do what I did at the USGP and put my chain back on while I was running. I did that for about 30 yds and had no luck. So I stopped and started to try and get it back on. I couldn't. I tried again. I couldn't. 10, 20, 30, and 40 riders swarmed past. The bulk of the pack went by while I stood looking at my chain, feeling stupid because I could not figure out how to make it go where it went.
I took some deep breaths and looked back at the rear sprocket. The rear derailleur had shifted up about 5 chainrings from where the chain was. It was putting so much lateral pressure on the chain it was pulling it off the front ring. Only after I shifted back into alignment was I able to get the chain back onto the ring, but the race had literally passed me by. There was only one thing to do though, and that was finish. So I hopped back on my bike and started pedaling. The first person I remember passing was my friend Chernoh. He said after the race that I just blew by him, and I kept going. I would see someone ahead of me, and I would reel them in. One by one I just kept picking off riders. I felt strong, I was riding a lot of the sand pits, and I might have looked tired according to one spectator, but I didn't look as tired as the guys I was passing. I rode hard and I felt pretty good about my effort, my speed, and the number of people I was passing.
When I was talking to Paul-Brian (who did awesome) after the race I told him that it was kind of fun riding from the back and have the feeling of reeling guys in and passing them vs. the last few weeks where I started closer to the front and then watched as guys blew by me, one after the other. I caught up with and passed my teammate Sean, and even Brent who finished two places ahead of me at Ted's Double Track adventure. As I noted above, I ended up getting pulled one early like the race before, but this time I was less happy about it because given another lap I would have had at least one more place. Instead I settled for a fairly anonymous 50th place.
It was my worst finish in any CCC race, but by no means was it my worst race. For 38 minutes that I was in the saddle, I felt like I was moving. Had I not failed at Chain 101 for 2 minutes, I think I would have even been able to hang onto a top 30 finish. Shortly after I crossed the finish line the leaders of the race blew threw with much cheering and fanfare. I made sure to congratulate them, as I am in awe of how fast those guys are.
John Keating (Robin William's character in Dead Poet Society) said:
Now, I just need about 49 of them to Cat up so I can dominate the 3s next year.
I am the faceless, nameless, numberless body. I am the red and white helmet, the black sleeve, and the matt black/brown bike. The thrill of victory is not for people like me. We ride by after the fact, after the race has been decided, and form at most a backdrop for other peoples' victories. But neither are we vanquished to live with the agony of defeat. There is no defeat in cyclocross. There are no losers. There are only your friends and acquaintances who rode either faster than you, or slower than you on this particular day. There are the people who had mechanicals, who were hung over, who were burned out from doubling or tripling, or even those rode their best race of the season and are super excited with how high they were able to finish no matter how low it is in the field.
The only people who lose in cyclocross are the people who do not let themselves have fun doing it.
And I should know because I have lost my fair share of races. There was the day in DeKalb that I got stung on the tongue by a bee. The last two races I rode in October were also losing efforts for different reasons. Thankfully despite the anonymity of my performance, Sunday was not a loosing effort. Let me explain.
Sunday morning I woke up at a fairly normal time for me. The race was a scant 1.6 miles from my house, so there was no hour drive in a borrowed or rented car to get there. I ate breakfast, and spent more time than necessary trying to figure out A) what to wear and B) what to bring. I consulted the weather channel, rummaged through drawers, made piles, sorted piles into new piles, and finally decided on what should be stuffed into the bottom of my newly warrantied Mission Workshop Vandal. I packed lighter than I did last year because the weather was a touch warmer, and I have dialed in my race/post race clothing needs much better this year. I don't over pack as much because I have enough experience to know exactly what I need.
I threw the pack on, pulled down the freshly washed and lubed Falcon, and headed north to the lake.
When I arrived at the park, the Master's 40+ race was already underway. Those guys generally get the short end of the stick with photography so I made a concerted effort to get out with my camera and find some shots. It took me a while to get warmed up and my equipment dialed into the lighting conditions, but I was able to get a few good shots. After their race I ran my first pre-lap of the day. The course could be described in three words: Sand, mud, hill, and not in equal portions. It was about 50% sand, 25% mud, and 25% hill. The winds had drifted and blown sand up from the beach over the barrier berm, and there was 2-3 inches of sand (thankfully it was wet) across large swaths of the course. It was a hard ride, but the difficulty of it did not make it less enjoyable. Everyone who I talked to about it said it was "Miserable", but they all had the same silly little grin on their face. It was the kind of misery we live for.
During the Master's 30+ race I went back out with my camera. I know more of the Master's 30+ racers, and it is always fun taking pictures of people that you can tag later on Facebook. I was on my bike, riding to different parts of the course, and spent a good bit of time on the hill trying to capture a "money shot" of someone coming down the hill silhouetted in front of the city skyline. My teammate Brad hammed it up a little bit for what I believe was the best shot I took that day.
After the 30+ race it was time for another pre-ride. It went smoothly, or as smooth as possible. The women's 1-2-3 race is one of the harder ones to photograph when it's cold, and I did not get out with my camera. Instead I focused on my race preparation. Getting the right layers on, getting my number pinned on, getting my number taken off when I decide that I really don't need full leg tights and realize that my number is pinned through my skinsuit into my baselayer, and then getting my number pinned back on. Before I knew it, Jason was calling for staging for the Cat 3 racers.
My staging for this race was the worst of the season. The system that was used to filter in individuals without CCC points left me back in the fifth or sixth row. The one "beef" had was that there were guys who I have raced against in CCC races, who have never finished higher than me, and who's cross results points were lower than me, who ended up being seeded higher than me. I don't know how that worked out, but I decided that I was not going to make a stink about it. Instead, I lined up in the back of the pack with my friends and teammates as we shivered, laughed, and bantered with the riders in the front who we would not see again (until they lapped us). In short, I was having fun no matter what.
I lined up on the far left side of the course. The starting grid was open, meaning there was no fence immediately to my right, but the officials warned us that trying to jump outside would result in a not-automatic disqualification. They would let you suffer for 40 minutes and then DQ you. But regardless I knew that I could jump past some of field on the long home straight away, and when the whistle blew I did just that. I burned a match and surged out and around, pulling up not with the leaders but certainly in the top 25 people going into the first set of barriers. As was typical my match did not burn for all that long, but the tight technical sections kept the pack close together and we jostled amongst ourselves for positions through the sand and around the corners. I was right where I wanted to be racing in the cloud of people that I wanted to be racing with. Not just that but I also felt pretty strong going into the second lap. Even when we surged up the hill the first time I was able to keep pace. The leaders of course were starting to pull away and open a lead, but I was holding my own within the top 25. I remember being close to Paul-Brian, because I'm always close to Paul-Brian at some point in the race, especially if I am doing very well. We passed the finish line and surged down the straight away again. We hit the barriers for a second time, and made it through the far south end of the course still in a pack. Riding up a small hill with a 90 degree turn to the left in a sand pit, my front wheel washed out and I stepped / tumbled forward. I think I might have put a hand down, and maybe a knee, but I didn't roll. I was dead stopped, so I grabbed my bike and started running. I made it about 20 ft and someone behind me was kind enough to yell "Your chain" and I looked down and saw I had dropped it. I tried to do what I did at the USGP and put my chain back on while I was running. I did that for about 30 yds and had no luck. So I stopped and started to try and get it back on. I couldn't. I tried again. I couldn't. 10, 20, 30, and 40 riders swarmed past. The bulk of the pack went by while I stood looking at my chain, feeling stupid because I could not figure out how to make it go where it went.
I took some deep breaths and looked back at the rear sprocket. The rear derailleur had shifted up about 5 chainrings from where the chain was. It was putting so much lateral pressure on the chain it was pulling it off the front ring. Only after I shifted back into alignment was I able to get the chain back onto the ring, but the race had literally passed me by. There was only one thing to do though, and that was finish. So I hopped back on my bike and started pedaling. The first person I remember passing was my friend Chernoh. He said after the race that I just blew by him, and I kept going. I would see someone ahead of me, and I would reel them in. One by one I just kept picking off riders. I felt strong, I was riding a lot of the sand pits, and I might have looked tired according to one spectator, but I didn't look as tired as the guys I was passing. I rode hard and I felt pretty good about my effort, my speed, and the number of people I was passing.
When I was talking to Paul-Brian (who did awesome) after the race I told him that it was kind of fun riding from the back and have the feeling of reeling guys in and passing them vs. the last few weeks where I started closer to the front and then watched as guys blew by me, one after the other. I caught up with and passed my teammate Sean, and even Brent who finished two places ahead of me at Ted's Double Track adventure. As I noted above, I ended up getting pulled one early like the race before, but this time I was less happy about it because given another lap I would have had at least one more place. Instead I settled for a fairly anonymous 50th place.
It was my worst finish in any CCC race, but by no means was it my worst race. For 38 minutes that I was in the saddle, I felt like I was moving. Had I not failed at Chain 101 for 2 minutes, I think I would have even been able to hang onto a top 30 finish. Shortly after I crossed the finish line the leaders of the race blew threw with much cheering and fanfare. I made sure to congratulate them, as I am in awe of how fast those guys are.
John Keating (Robin William's character in Dead Poet Society) said:
Now, devotees may argue that one sport or game is inherently better than another. For me, sport is actually a chance for us to have other human beings push us to excel.And excel we did. Even though we did not get to stand on a podium today, and though we may never see a podium we, the nameless faceless masses excelled. I am proud to be among you my brothers and sisters.
Now, I just need about 49 of them to Cat up so I can dominate the 3s next year.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Back in the saddle
When I left Carpentersville I was glad that I was getting a break from cycling. All year long I had been planning a trip to Montana elk hunting with my Dad, Uncle and Brother, and knew I was going to miss part of the season. It was one of the reasons why I moved up to Cat 3 instead of vying for the title Sandbagger of the Year in the 4As. I knew that missing three or four races in the middle of the season would not be conducive to a series championship, so I decided to take the leap and "Cat-up" as they say. I was able to squeeze the QuBe (my mountain bike) into the very top few inches of space in the back of the Suburban we took out west, but I was not able to ride it very much. My compatriots were unwilling to view the bike as an asset and an additional vehicle, and I didn't want to "ruin" the hunting trip by turning it into a bicycling trip. So we rode around in the truck and hiked a lot, but I only got in three short rides in two weeks, and missed three races.
My first cross practice back, a Sprockets Tuesday morning, was bad. It was really really bad. I just felt slow, and like my body was covered with a stiff tar. Guys I could ride with, even lead for a while were blowing past me. Any feeling of confidence that I had in my ability was stripped away by taking three weeks off. The rest of the season was going to be rough. Wednesday night in Humboldt Park went slightly better, and by the end of the week I was feeling comfortable the saddle again. I had registered for both races at Indian Lakes, and was looking forward to going and racing.
Instead a confluence of events kept me home. My transportation and lodging to the race fell through at the last minute, so I had no way to get there. That was combined with big project at work that blew up on Friday and was due on Monday. I ended up working 10 hrs on Saturday, and sending off the client deliverable at about 12:33AM. Even if I had a way to get out to Indian Lakes in the morning, I was completely spent. I ended up sleeping until 10AM and then looking the results up online. My "mid-season break" turned into missing half the season.
But I was looking at the wall in my house where I keep my bikes, and where I have started decorating with my race numbers. I had already raced in 14 races this year ranging from 39 minutes to 4 hrs and 8 minutes. Last season I raced a total of 13 thirty minute cross races. This season the opportunities for racing are even better late in the season than they were last year. If I feel up to it I can race in at least 5 more races after the end of the ChiCrossCup season. I am undecided on winter racing as of yet, but I would like to test myself against the Barry Roubaix again this year. Maybe have a little bit better experience by going into it a little bit better prepared than last year. We will see how that works out.
The following weekend was also a double race weekend, but only one was a CCC race. I thought about doing both races, but again transportation and work were issues. In theory I could have rented a car, but it would have had to have been picked up by 6:30pm on Friday (Rental place doesn't open until 9AM on Sat leaving me zero time to get to the suburbs), and I had a "Summer Outing" for work that turned into a happy hour. I even had a friend offer me a solution for transportation, but I didn't get the message (aforementioned happy hour) until it was too late to work out. Like the Rental car place the Metra train in the morning was running just a bit too late, and I did not get home until 1AM anyway, and had no time to prep for a race. So no double race weekend for me.
Instead on Sunday morning Sean and I rode to the exurbs with Chernoh in his friend's car. One bike went in the trunk, and two went on the rack. We had a good time chatting on the way out, and the only snag was that I had forgotten my wallet in my other backpack, and had no money. Being the good friend that he is Chernoh floated me a loan until we got back, and I was able to race.
We arrived at the course, unloaded and headed to the tent. For me it was the first "chilly" cross race so I had a extra lot of clothes. It was also the first race of the season without my trusty Mission Workshop oversized backpack so I was left holding the bag, a black duffle bag I used last season.
We made it to the Sprockets tent which was well placed on the course, and incredibly warm. It made us the center of attention even though we were not on the most spectator friendly part of the course. I had not pre-registered for the race, so my immediate concern was getting a number, getting everything set-down, and getting on the course for a pre-ride before the Master's 30+ race.
The time in the morning before a race always goes so fast. I did something a bit different after the 30+ race and hit two laps around the course. I don't think I made it all the way to the end of the second one, having been pulled off the course to make way for the swarm of women-who-are-faster-than-me, but it was good to get some extra riding in given how many weeks it had been since I actually raced.
I went back to the tent to change from my warm-up clothes into my race clothes, and while I was standing there in my base layers I heard my name being spoken outside. I turned towards the tent flap and in pops a familiar face. My mom had made the trip down from Wisconsin to see my race. So I finished getting dressed, then went outside and hung out with my Mom until it was go time.
We headed to staging, where I was pleasantly surprised with a call-up into the third row. I was expecting to start at the back of the pack with Chernoh and Sean as a late registrant, but my early season points moved me up into the third row. (It also helped that the field was small, only 48 finishers that day). The whistle blew and we were off. It was a little bit sketchy because the starting shoot led into a 90 degree turn to the right, up a hill, then a 90 deg turn back to the left, and up a longer hill. It was repeatedly cursed as the worse part of the course because it wasn't a steep hill, but it was long enough that a single match would not get anyone to the top. I was on the inside edge of the turn which made it a little hairy getting around the first tree, but going up to the top it opened up a spot on the outside to move up with the pack. After the hill started the long namesake section, the double track adventure, which was a fairly smooth long downhill. We were cruising down that section at a break neck pace of 20+ miles per hour, all of us still trying to hold onto the lead pack, and the lead pack trying to blow up the rest of the field.
The double track came to an end as it curved into some literal single track, weaving through the woods, then opening up on double track again with two rail-road tie obstacles. They were oddly spaced to bunny hop both of them, but the were rideable (for most). I cleared them and maintained my spot. As we were coming out of the woods back into the camp we opened up onto some pavement and wove around the buildings. I was passed on the downhill, but was able to reclaim some spots on the uphill. As we looped around the buildings we hit the most dangerous turn. It was a steep downhill, off camber 180 degree turn, into a railroad tie. The railroad tie was buried into the ground on the proximal end, and was all the way out of the ground on the distal end. So if you took an "ideal line" around that corner (wide, narrow, wide) you would end up running into that railroad tie with about 10 inches of it exposed.
I remember that turn because I was trying to go wide narrow, narrow, and Sasha from Tati came on my inside and cut me off, I had to brake hard but let him go by on my left side, then cut across his line so he was on my right. That put me in position to hit the railroad tie where it was only 2in out of the ground, and he hit it where it was about 5 inches. I saw him come to a complete stop, and start to fall to his right. I don't know if he was able to unclip and catch himself, as I continued onward, with a small feeling of satisfaction. That was my personal moment of victory.
Unfortunately the tide of battle soon turned. We looped down around toward the lake, then had to run up a steep-steep stair run. I did not sprint up, knowing that I did not have too many matches left in me, instead choosing a more plodding pace, and still ended up almost unable to breathe at the top. Very shortly afterwards, all of these people passed me.
And then I died a slow and painful death. I continued to lose spots and fall backwards in the pack, and could not find any second wind. The hill climb, the straight aways, everything felt like thick mud, except the sand which just felt like sand. I blew up so severely that even my dear mother, who knows nothing about cycling, and sympathy in her voice when she encouraged me to "keep going". Near the end of the second to last lap there was about a 200-300 meter gap between myself and a pack of three riders who were in front of me. I started to feel like I might have a second wind coming up, like I might be able to make a move on them and try to close that gap on the final lap, and I was mercifully denied that opportunity by the officials who made me the first person to get pulled off the course. It was the first time that I was not allowed to finish the same number of laps as the leaders, but I was okay with that. I really don't think I had it in me to catch the guys in front of me, and there was someone coming up behind. I'll take my 38th place out of 48 and go home feeling like I knocked some of the rust off, and get ready to go again in two weeks.
It wasn't a terrible finish given the amount of time that I had taken off, and the severity of my crash. It also wasn't a terrible crash relative to my friend Sean who, for the second year in a row at this same race, crashed HARD going over the railroad ties. He landed on his head, and actually cracked his helmet. He didn't know it at the time and finished the race much dazed.
We packed up and headed back to the city during the 1-2-3s race. We like to support the 4s racers (and I usually like to take pictures), but we all had commitments that evening. We exchanged race stories, and talked about the next big adventure. Somewhere in our future is a killer gravel road race.
My first cross practice back, a Sprockets Tuesday morning, was bad. It was really really bad. I just felt slow, and like my body was covered with a stiff tar. Guys I could ride with, even lead for a while were blowing past me. Any feeling of confidence that I had in my ability was stripped away by taking three weeks off. The rest of the season was going to be rough. Wednesday night in Humboldt Park went slightly better, and by the end of the week I was feeling comfortable the saddle again. I had registered for both races at Indian Lakes, and was looking forward to going and racing.
Instead a confluence of events kept me home. My transportation and lodging to the race fell through at the last minute, so I had no way to get there. That was combined with big project at work that blew up on Friday and was due on Monday. I ended up working 10 hrs on Saturday, and sending off the client deliverable at about 12:33AM. Even if I had a way to get out to Indian Lakes in the morning, I was completely spent. I ended up sleeping until 10AM and then looking the results up online. My "mid-season break" turned into missing half the season.
But I was looking at the wall in my house where I keep my bikes, and where I have started decorating with my race numbers. I had already raced in 14 races this year ranging from 39 minutes to 4 hrs and 8 minutes. Last season I raced a total of 13 thirty minute cross races. This season the opportunities for racing are even better late in the season than they were last year. If I feel up to it I can race in at least 5 more races after the end of the ChiCrossCup season. I am undecided on winter racing as of yet, but I would like to test myself against the Barry Roubaix again this year. Maybe have a little bit better experience by going into it a little bit better prepared than last year. We will see how that works out.
The following weekend was also a double race weekend, but only one was a CCC race. I thought about doing both races, but again transportation and work were issues. In theory I could have rented a car, but it would have had to have been picked up by 6:30pm on Friday (Rental place doesn't open until 9AM on Sat leaving me zero time to get to the suburbs), and I had a "Summer Outing" for work that turned into a happy hour. I even had a friend offer me a solution for transportation, but I didn't get the message (aforementioned happy hour) until it was too late to work out. Like the Rental car place the Metra train in the morning was running just a bit too late, and I did not get home until 1AM anyway, and had no time to prep for a race. So no double race weekend for me.
Instead on Sunday morning Sean and I rode to the exurbs with Chernoh in his friend's car. One bike went in the trunk, and two went on the rack. We had a good time chatting on the way out, and the only snag was that I had forgotten my wallet in my other backpack, and had no money. Being the good friend that he is Chernoh floated me a loan until we got back, and I was able to race.
We arrived at the course, unloaded and headed to the tent. For me it was the first "chilly" cross race so I had a extra lot of clothes. It was also the first race of the season without my trusty Mission Workshop oversized backpack so I was left holding the bag, a black duffle bag I used last season.
We made it to the Sprockets tent which was well placed on the course, and incredibly warm. It made us the center of attention even though we were not on the most spectator friendly part of the course. I had not pre-registered for the race, so my immediate concern was getting a number, getting everything set-down, and getting on the course for a pre-ride before the Master's 30+ race.
The time in the morning before a race always goes so fast. I did something a bit different after the 30+ race and hit two laps around the course. I don't think I made it all the way to the end of the second one, having been pulled off the course to make way for the swarm of women-who-are-faster-than-me, but it was good to get some extra riding in given how many weeks it had been since I actually raced.
I went back to the tent to change from my warm-up clothes into my race clothes, and while I was standing there in my base layers I heard my name being spoken outside. I turned towards the tent flap and in pops a familiar face. My mom had made the trip down from Wisconsin to see my race. So I finished getting dressed, then went outside and hung out with my Mom until it was go time.
We headed to staging, where I was pleasantly surprised with a call-up into the third row. I was expecting to start at the back of the pack with Chernoh and Sean as a late registrant, but my early season points moved me up into the third row. (It also helped that the field was small, only 48 finishers that day). The whistle blew and we were off. It was a little bit sketchy because the starting shoot led into a 90 degree turn to the right, up a hill, then a 90 deg turn back to the left, and up a longer hill. It was repeatedly cursed as the worse part of the course because it wasn't a steep hill, but it was long enough that a single match would not get anyone to the top. I was on the inside edge of the turn which made it a little hairy getting around the first tree, but going up to the top it opened up a spot on the outside to move up with the pack. After the hill started the long namesake section, the double track adventure, which was a fairly smooth long downhill. We were cruising down that section at a break neck pace of 20+ miles per hour, all of us still trying to hold onto the lead pack, and the lead pack trying to blow up the rest of the field.
The double track came to an end as it curved into some literal single track, weaving through the woods, then opening up on double track again with two rail-road tie obstacles. They were oddly spaced to bunny hop both of them, but the were rideable (for most). I cleared them and maintained my spot. As we were coming out of the woods back into the camp we opened up onto some pavement and wove around the buildings. I was passed on the downhill, but was able to reclaim some spots on the uphill. As we looped around the buildings we hit the most dangerous turn. It was a steep downhill, off camber 180 degree turn, into a railroad tie. The railroad tie was buried into the ground on the proximal end, and was all the way out of the ground on the distal end. So if you took an "ideal line" around that corner (wide, narrow, wide) you would end up running into that railroad tie with about 10 inches of it exposed.
I remember that turn because I was trying to go wide narrow, narrow, and Sasha from Tati came on my inside and cut me off, I had to brake hard but let him go by on my left side, then cut across his line so he was on my right. That put me in position to hit the railroad tie where it was only 2in out of the ground, and he hit it where it was about 5 inches. I saw him come to a complete stop, and start to fall to his right. I don't know if he was able to unclip and catch himself, as I continued onward, with a small feeling of satisfaction. That was my personal moment of victory.
Unfortunately the tide of battle soon turned. We looped down around toward the lake, then had to run up a steep-steep stair run. I did not sprint up, knowing that I did not have too many matches left in me, instead choosing a more plodding pace, and still ended up almost unable to breathe at the top. Very shortly afterwards, all of these people passed me.
And then I died a slow and painful death. I continued to lose spots and fall backwards in the pack, and could not find any second wind. The hill climb, the straight aways, everything felt like thick mud, except the sand which just felt like sand. I blew up so severely that even my dear mother, who knows nothing about cycling, and sympathy in her voice when she encouraged me to "keep going". Near the end of the second to last lap there was about a 200-300 meter gap between myself and a pack of three riders who were in front of me. I started to feel like I might have a second wind coming up, like I might be able to make a move on them and try to close that gap on the final lap, and I was mercifully denied that opportunity by the officials who made me the first person to get pulled off the course. It was the first time that I was not allowed to finish the same number of laps as the leaders, but I was okay with that. I really don't think I had it in me to catch the guys in front of me, and there was someone coming up behind. I'll take my 38th place out of 48 and go home feeling like I knocked some of the rust off, and get ready to go again in two weeks.
It wasn't a terrible finish given the amount of time that I had taken off, and the severity of my crash. It also wasn't a terrible crash relative to my friend Sean who, for the second year in a row at this same race, crashed HARD going over the railroad ties. He landed on his head, and actually cracked his helmet. He didn't know it at the time and finished the race much dazed.
We packed up and headed back to the city during the 1-2-3s race. We like to support the 4s racers (and I usually like to take pictures), but we all had commitments that evening. We exchanged race stories, and talked about the next big adventure. Somewhere in our future is a killer gravel road race.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
The Long Weekend: Day 2
One of the reasons why I started this blog was to record my racing results as they were happening so the feelings and experiences would be captured in the moment and not distorted by the passing time and subsequent experiences.
Fail.
It has been almost a month and a half since I have penned anything in this blog, as my racing thoughts have mostly turned into thoughts about all the other detritus that has been washing over me. But I digress.
The last time I wrote was to document the fairly terrible race I had at Psychocross. The result was not terrible, but the experience of racing mid-asthma attack was.
I don't remember much about the Sunday morning before my race as far as the procedural minutia. I am assuming it involved the usual routine of packing clothes, food, and gear, loading the car, and driving to the suburbs.
I do remember that I was carrying a heavy emotional burden. A close friend was supposed to call me on Saturday night and make arrangements so she could accompany me to the race on Sunday morning. She never called, so I was going to the race alone and upset. It was not the first time this happened, so the pain was especially acute.
So I made it to Carpentersville alone in my rented Jeep. The course was much wetter this year than it was the year before, there was actual water running in the stream that cut through the park. The cornfield on the East side of the park was a morass of thick black mud that attached to bikes like clay. I didn't even bother riding through it on my first pre-ride. I saw five guys who broke derailleurs or hangers in the first two races. It was thick and awful, and like no mud I had seen before. On my second pre-lap I bit the bullet and "rode" the entire cornfield maze. I didn't actually ride the whole thing, as I took a strategy that it was better to run slowly than break my bike pre-riding. I then spent the intervening hour trying to clean the thick mud off my bike. There was a hose, but I just used my hand and the creek. It wasn't as effective, but it was better than standing in line. I looked like an idiot, but oh well. It's not the first time.
When it came time to race, I felt pretty good. I was a little bit stiff, and spent some time riding up and down the road to try and work out the stiffness, and because of my strong early season performance I was still called up near the front of the pack. When the race started I surged, and maintained a position with the lead pack, probably in the top 20. Unfortunately I could not hold it. Even in the first lap I felt my legs seizing up. I carried my pre-ride strategy into the first couple laps and ran the corn instead of trying to ride it. I think it did help because my bike was not being pushed into the thick mud, and it was not building up as much. However, as the race progressed the mud dried enough that I rode the mud (or tried to ride) the last few laps.
Although my lungs felt better than the day before, my legs were much maligned and the race went much the same way. I started strong, then faded as others continued to surge past me. I fell from the top 20 to the top 30, to the top 40. As the placing numbers clicked backwards my thoughts drifted from the race I was in to the disappointment I woke into. As the physical pain mounted, the emotional pain complied it. I lost my focus.
In the parlance of Dr James Loehr, (The New Toughness Training for Sports) I failed to maintain my "ideal performance self" and therefore "choked". I tried as much as possible to "correct course" and "re-engage" but, I could not get back into a good mindset for racing, but my body and my emotions would not cooperate. I continued to slide backwards in the field as people who "should not" have been passing me were passing me. Which is to say that the Cat 3 field has a lot of strong riders, and I must have been in really good shape early in the season the first couple races in the season to end up in the top 30. My mileage had decreased, my fitness had decreased, and I ended up once place lower than I had the day before in 37th. It was extra sad because I did so well there the year.
In 2010 I was not planning on racing on Sunday, but found a ride after a very disappointing race (finished 39th) Saturday. I got the hole shot (Someone took a great picture of me leading Bryan Lee around the first big tree), and finished 20th overall. The technical course seemed like it should have favored me, but the straights were long enough, and the ground soft enough that I sunk in, physically, mentally, and emotionally.
I bought a new camera this fall so I could spend time taking pictures at races, and on Sunday afternoon it did not even make it out of the bag. I took some pictures of the 30s+ racers in the mud in the morning, but did not take any pictures during any other races. After my race I rushed down to the hose so I could clean my bike off, and instead of staying to be a photographer and spectator for the later races, I packed up my stuff and went home feeling sad, defeated, and like I needed a break from racing.
Fail.
It has been almost a month and a half since I have penned anything in this blog, as my racing thoughts have mostly turned into thoughts about all the other detritus that has been washing over me. But I digress.
The last time I wrote was to document the fairly terrible race I had at Psychocross. The result was not terrible, but the experience of racing mid-asthma attack was.
I don't remember much about the Sunday morning before my race as far as the procedural minutia. I am assuming it involved the usual routine of packing clothes, food, and gear, loading the car, and driving to the suburbs.
I do remember that I was carrying a heavy emotional burden. A close friend was supposed to call me on Saturday night and make arrangements so she could accompany me to the race on Sunday morning. She never called, so I was going to the race alone and upset. It was not the first time this happened, so the pain was especially acute.
So I made it to Carpentersville alone in my rented Jeep. The course was much wetter this year than it was the year before, there was actual water running in the stream that cut through the park. The cornfield on the East side of the park was a morass of thick black mud that attached to bikes like clay. I didn't even bother riding through it on my first pre-ride. I saw five guys who broke derailleurs or hangers in the first two races. It was thick and awful, and like no mud I had seen before. On my second pre-lap I bit the bullet and "rode" the entire cornfield maze. I didn't actually ride the whole thing, as I took a strategy that it was better to run slowly than break my bike pre-riding. I then spent the intervening hour trying to clean the thick mud off my bike. There was a hose, but I just used my hand and the creek. It wasn't as effective, but it was better than standing in line. I looked like an idiot, but oh well. It's not the first time.
When it came time to race, I felt pretty good. I was a little bit stiff, and spent some time riding up and down the road to try and work out the stiffness, and because of my strong early season performance I was still called up near the front of the pack. When the race started I surged, and maintained a position with the lead pack, probably in the top 20. Unfortunately I could not hold it. Even in the first lap I felt my legs seizing up. I carried my pre-ride strategy into the first couple laps and ran the corn instead of trying to ride it. I think it did help because my bike was not being pushed into the thick mud, and it was not building up as much. However, as the race progressed the mud dried enough that I rode the mud (or tried to ride) the last few laps.
Although my lungs felt better than the day before, my legs were much maligned and the race went much the same way. I started strong, then faded as others continued to surge past me. I fell from the top 20 to the top 30, to the top 40. As the placing numbers clicked backwards my thoughts drifted from the race I was in to the disappointment I woke into. As the physical pain mounted, the emotional pain complied it. I lost my focus.
In the parlance of Dr James Loehr, (The New Toughness Training for Sports) I failed to maintain my "ideal performance self" and therefore "choked". I tried as much as possible to "correct course" and "re-engage" but, I could not get back into a good mindset for racing, but my body and my emotions would not cooperate. I continued to slide backwards in the field as people who "should not" have been passing me were passing me. Which is to say that the Cat 3 field has a lot of strong riders, and I must have been in really good shape early in the season the first couple races in the season to end up in the top 30. My mileage had decreased, my fitness had decreased, and I ended up once place lower than I had the day before in 37th. It was extra sad because I did so well there the year.
In 2010 I was not planning on racing on Sunday, but found a ride after a very disappointing race (finished 39th) Saturday. I got the hole shot (Someone took a great picture of me leading Bryan Lee around the first big tree), and finished 20th overall. The technical course seemed like it should have favored me, but the straights were long enough, and the ground soft enough that I sunk in, physically, mentally, and emotionally.
I bought a new camera this fall so I could spend time taking pictures at races, and on Sunday afternoon it did not even make it out of the bag. I took some pictures of the 30s+ racers in the mud in the morning, but did not take any pictures during any other races. After my race I rushed down to the hose so I could clean my bike off, and instead of staying to be a photographer and spectator for the later races, I packed up my stuff and went home feeling sad, defeated, and like I needed a break from racing.
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