The Bittersweet Podium

At the last minute I had two race options for that Saturday.

Race in Columbia (MO) and see some friends, or race in IL and support a series I was super happy to have seen added to this year's 'cross schedule?

Circumstances had kept me from racing the previous 3 races in the latter series and this weekend would be the Finale.

I pondered and weighed my options for a while and finally decided that I really wanted to:

1. support all the hard work that Pride, Inc. had put into organizing this new series so that they did it again next year and maybe add even MORE races to the series; and


2. actually go for a podium instead of a mere finish.

(The latter was a fairly aggressive decision on my part and it might make you laugh when you find that I later actually stepped that goal up a bit as well...)

I had never entered any race aiming for the podium.

On that Friday, I joked with Tina and Judy that I was actually going to go for the win.

I could hear Jay blink over the phone when I told him.

I could feel him pat me on the head through the line like an adorable puppy.

I couldn't blame him really.

He hasn't exactly witnessed me being aggressive in a race but a handful of times.

Regardless, I had made up my mind.

(Wish I did this more often before races instead of the mind-fuckage I normally tango with...and I bet Dan will agree with this.)

Saturday dawned beautiful, sunny, and hot...for November.

The Sass and I drove out to the race singing loudly while lady bugs (or stink beetles) danced around the velowagon.

I can't lie, I don't know if they are lady bugs or stink beetles, but I detest those little fuckers. They bite and they were EVERYWHERE that week!

We pulled up to the park and the course was fantastically beautiful.

It was a magical place, this Glen Moore Park.

I threw on my skinsuit and registered.

I had a lady bug/stink beetle in my kit.

OUCH! WTF?!?!

We lined up to start and all was light and jovial.

The whistle blew and pretty much just like that, Stephanie dropped me like a bad habit.

Mentally I thought, "Dammit you *bleep bleepin' bleep bleep*!"

Outwardly, I groaned and had to hammer to chase...and make sure I held 2nd.

By the time we got to the steep hill, I was mentally ready to close the gap a bit, but when I dove into the descent and then started the climb, my IT band reached up and sucker-punched me right in the face and reminded me that I had run a few days earlier and how stupid that crazy-assed behavior is for a non-runner during cross season.

I could hear Jay screaming and my eyes got wide as saucers as I was suddenly unable to climb and had to run it.

FUTHER MUCKER!!!!!

This pissed me off.

Mentally, I had to battle my own stupidity and throw it away.

I came for a podium.

I am getting a dog damned podium.

Today.

This day.

And not just by a little.

I wanted a big fucking gap if I was going to take 2nd.

I did not want a close sprint with #3.

Screw that noise.

It was hot and it was a course that was tailored to a climber.

I was, for the most part, in my element.

With exception to what had become a run-up, I was pretty darn happy.

(Did I mention that there was a barrier at the top of that hill?)

Those are always super fun and not a place to bring small children whom you do not want to pick up $5.00 vocabulary words.

During one lap, I dropped my chain when I put down (read "dropped") my bike after a carry.

This wigged me because I knew that Nicole was now in 3rd and she is a runner.

Generally I will take her on the barriers, but not on this course.

All I had was my climbing and turning.

Gina calmed me down as I took off and hauled ass.

Matt D. told me which line to take in the back turn and I mentally got back on my game.

It was hot.

I was monitoring my water closely and without lap cards, I could not tell how far we had to go.

While racing, I yelled to Jay several times to see if he could find out so that I could pace correctly.

With 3 laps to go, I told Gina to tell Jay that I would need water as soon as finished the race.

I had 4 sips left and needed 6.

I had to quickly calculate my final recovery spots as I felt/watched the dehydration goosebumps cover my skin.

With 2 to go I got dizzy as I crossed the Finish and the course went blurry.

I had to shake it off and take the tiniest of sips.

Gina continued to cheer me on at the hell hill barrier.

(She rocks!)

...and had she been in this race, I would have taken 3rd...happily.

I was focused and could tell that I had widened the gap between Nicole and myself.

Something snapped in me.

The last lap was very different for me.

I could actually taste the competitiveness on my tongue.

It was a new taste.

It was not passive or bland.

It was sort of spicy and sweet all at once.

Like a cayenne infused dark chocolate truffle.

It was yummy and rich and I wanted to lick every last bit off my fingers slowly and chase it with a robust red wine...

Gina knew it was different when I made that last climb.

She could see it.

I was home.

I crossed the Finish and just to make sure, I actually made them say I was done before I would stop pedaling.

My head dropped and a small smile slowly crept across my quivering lips.

I rode over to my car and grabbed water immediately while The Sass jumped up and down about the magical stick bug she had found on the tree.

My body was not ready for the cold water and reacted less than gracefully.

I kept from puking and passing out.

(DOUBLE SCORE!!!)

I was high and sick and excited and sweaty (and I'm pretty sure stinky)...

...and I wanted to scream and dance and scream some more.

I mentally jumped up and down like an ADHD kid who just slammed a crack and Mountain Dew ice cream float...

(Red Bull ain't got shit on my energy at that exact moment!)

I hugged The Sass and Jay and grabbed my phone to text a few choice supporters (and/or anyone who might be shocked by the news) and was flying high...

Then it was time to focus on Jay's race.

It was a blast.

He got 2nd too and it was a pretty good day for Fulcrum Coaching.

As Jay was cooling off after his race, The Sass and I loaded the velowagon and waited to leave.

Just then, Tina (whom I had texted to tell her that I did in fact get the podium I had promised her the day before) called me.

I assumed she was calling to give me some playful ribbing about not winning.

I answered in my "I'm-so-happy-you-called-can-you-believe-this-shit?!?!" voice and she did not sound good at all.

"What's wrong, Sweetie? You don't sound well," I said to her.

"Cor, it's Kyle..."

I held my breath.

I felt my throat tighten and my eyes began to burn.

Her throat was raw with pain and devastation.

I could feel her green eyes burning red and swollen through the phone.

She didn't have the words out of her mouth before I knew.

I knew the sentence that was coming.

I tried to shut it out.

I tried to shut down time.

I tried to disappear inside of myself.

I looked in the rear view mirror at The Sass with her headphones on and knew I had to stay.

I had to hear it.

I looked past The Sass as Pride, Inc. tore down the recently beautiful 'cross course.

I watched the day vanish.

"...He didn't make it, Cor..."

I heard myself scream inwardly.

I felt the hot mess of salty pain running fast down my once happy face.

The day rolled backwards fast in my mind and I was standing on my desk and goofing off with her the day before.

Both of us happy and excited about the weekend ahead.

I knew I had to hold onto that image.

It will be a while before I will see my friend's eyes dance again...

I looked at my beautiful trophy and suddenly it all seemed so silly.

The next day, I raced Bubba for Kyle.

My only intent was to finish.

As I started day 2 of the November heat-wave cross weekend, I was emotionally drained.

I had cried all the tears I could.

I had relived all the pain tucked away long ago.

With 6 laps to go, I was done.

I was hot. I was tired. I wanted out.

Dammit.

I had said that I was racing for Kyle this day.

Kyle didn't get to finish.

He didn't choose.

If given the choice again, I'd put money on the fact that he would not DNF on his life.

What a slap it would be to quit right now.

Tears.

Tight throat.

Heat.

Panic.

I pulled it together.

I shut my mind down.

I somehow pulled it off and held my pace...and finished that race...

It hurt.

I was emotionally dead.

When it was over, I tucked it away.

Safe, where it could not hurt me for a few hours so that I could breathe.

I cannot bring myself to take his name off my bar tape.

I guess I will have to finish every race now.

It seems rather stupid and lame not to.

Thank you, Kyle. I am happy to share my first 'cross podium and every 'cross race with you, sweet boy.

In this small way, you will live.

You will finish.

Halloween Bubba-licious

Last week was Bubba #4, The Sprints of Darkness.

It was Halloween night. There would be costumes and mayhem.

It would be fantastic!

Because of all the rain in the week leading up to the race, the course was the muddiest of the season thus far.

The very thought of that made me giddy like a six year old on Christmas morning.

Kate, Cristel, and myself had decided to dress as Hooters girls, a separate idea of Kate's and Karen's (who had to miss the race due to being out of town).

We were like giggly school girls as we planned the irony of us tiny-titted ladies in the boob-friendly costumes.

Soooo, as the rain poured down that week, I got more and more excited about the race.

I was damn near beside myself as we pulled up.

My race at this venue last year did not go so spectacularly as it was effing cold, and my rear wheel feel off after descending the Green Monster and taking a sharp turn. (Honestly, it would have sucked for me without the wheel falling off since I had not yet embraced racing in 38 degree weather.)

This year was almost hot and steamy at 39 degrees.

39 degrees. Hooters uniform. HUGE blond wig. Lotsa mud.

*has mental 'crossgasm and continues*

My initial intent had been to simply have a blast with the girls and ham up the costumes...and finish the race.

Then I pre-rode the course.

Well HELLLLLLO!

Even going slow I had mud in my ginormous blond wig.

As I bonded with Christian, I could feel my confidence grow as my Fangos glided over the mud and I mentally prepared my game.

This would be no ordinary race for Cory.

You could not have smacked that smile off my face.

As we lined up at the start, I was relaxed and playful.

No stress. No anxiety.

(No, I did not do a bong water shot before the race.)

I was just completely zen.

The race went off and I worked my plan and held my pace.

Then we hit the chicane.

All mud and 180 degree turns, including one around a concrete light post.

(Good times!)

I would cringe at the light post imagining boys wiping out and hitting it. OUCH!

(Sorry, sometimes the gents tend to "overshoot" things a bit.)

*snicker*

Because I was at this point hanging with the boys, I didn't want them to wipe out. There was not enough space to get around them and I would have to barrier them if they wiped out and I think that may be frowned upon...but I'd have to ask an official...

*makes note for future clarification*

The barriers were a no-brainer in this race. 3 railroad ties after a muddy descent.

MMMMMM...I love me some muddy descent running dismounts!

Because it was a short course, it slopped up pretty quickly.

As the race went on (and the course conditions deteriorated), I was able to catch some people and advance.

This gave me what I had always heard about but considered a myth...an exercise high.

Something clicked.

The course became a dance.

On the sharp turns, I took the lines less chosen.

On the straights, I rode the less traveled grass unless drafting off a boy.

Cristel (MO State Road champion, time trial stud, and fellow "Hooter-crosser") and I stayed together most of the race.

As we finished this one particular lap, the lap counter read "3".

That "should" have meant we had 3 laps to go.

Cristel and I talked through the next lap, mentally preparing for 2 more laps to go.

However, when we came through again, the lap sign said "6".

WTF?!?!

I was confused and mind fucked for about 6 seconds and then decided to ride the lap and see what it said next time.

"5".

*sigh*

OK. It is what it is. That fucking sucked, but it is what it is.

I clicked the mind on again. (SOOOOO glad I found that button!)

I settled into my pace and advanced again in the muddy chicane.

Cristel was still with me...and then we hit the barriers.

I cleared them and as I remounted I heard Cristel behind me yell something about "losing her shorts".

I looked back and see the familiar orange and assume she is joking.

(She does that from time to time. The girl is silly!)

I hit the pavement and recover and speed up.

Then the hairpin back into the off-camber mud...

I add a couple gears and dig in.

I catch up to some men and settle back into a nice pace.

Literally every revolution of the pedals is a dance step.

Every shift of the gears calculated.

As I go through I see the sign.

1 lap to go.

as I make my turn off the first stretch of pavement onto the grass, I feel my gears slip.

"NO! Not now, dammit!"

(I think I actually said this out loud.)

I added a gear and it held.

I knew I could not drop back down.

As I exit the chicane and approach the muddy hill, the guy I am behind gets stuck in the mud and stops short on the climb.

I have *just* enough space to go right without wrecking him.

*wipes brow*

That was effing close. Wrecking in the last lap would suck super bad!

As I clear the barriers and hit the pavement again, I feel my body dance.

The hardest part of the course is behind me.

I am home free.

As I take my last muddy turn and climb, I see the dark pavement of the final stretch inches ahead of me and I am pure magic.

I add my gears and sprint it out.

The white of my Hooters uniform is splattered with mud and my legs are coated.

FUCK YEAH!

Suddenly all the hell...the surgeries, the recovery, the pain, the frustration, the suckage...is gone and I am pure disco ball and magic from the inside out.

I'm not the "girl next door" of the Hooters image...I am way dirtier...and that's pretty spectacular.