Back in the Saddle...Sort Of

Dan has done it.

He has lit my fire.

There is nothing like getting the "green light" from your coach to actually train to put a little extra spring in your step and smile on your face.

(Thank you Sweet and magical Universe for making my body finally stop bleeding!)

While I am sure it gave him little pleasure to know that I had been training a bit and doing intervals (and running a race), I feel confident that he may have had the tiniest of smiles accompanied with an amused shake of his head.

I had known that he would not be on board if I was going to do damage to my body, so this was a good day!

We discussed my 2010 plan and we are both on the same page in understanding that my head goes psychocross come July 1st and everything until psychocross season is the "off season".

(It is spectacularly comforting when you have a coach who gets it!)

We discussed my silly little non-hobby of running and how that shit is just nonsense, and like junk food, it should be done infrequently, if ever.

(It's still better than Cheetos, but I know what he means.)

Since I like my feet and my knees, I will likely follow his advice on this, though a certain teammate is attempting to tempt me into one more running race for good measure...

*wink*

Dan and I discussed that I will only be racing two road races (Froze Toes and The Tour of Hermann RR) because I still need to rehab my body in 2010 and it cannot take the beating of road races yet.

(Dr. Tim is working frantically to get my pulse and body stronger, but the man is only human, no matter how brilliant.)

Because Dan never blows sunshine up my arse, he let me know how Froze Toes was going to work out for me...and we had a pretty good laugh about that.

After a full week of being back on the training horse, I am feeling pretty darn good...but frustrated about being so far behind the training ball.

I am still draining fluid from the site (but not blood) and this means that I still cannot sit in a hot tub or bath after a workout, so I am now an Icy Hot and compression socks/tights junkie.

I smell like my great-grandma and am grateful that the compression socks are not flesh-toned or I would look like her too.

Jay is diggin' it (at least in my mind) and really, the boy can't say shit.  He has not shaved his legs since December, sooooo there's that.

Kisses, peace, love, and bikes to all...

W-w-w-w-w-welcome...errrr...Again!

Whatever you think that you thought that you knew...especially about me...was a bit off.
The gloves are off.

I was forced to move my blog because certain people suck.
I can deal.
I can tear down, move and rebuild quicker than anyone on the effing planet.
Believe.
For you bitches who don't like that people know me even though I am rarely on the podium, suck it.
Learn to be nicer.
Work harder.
Recover better...and with more flare.
Develop a smile.
Get great legs.
Always have a kind and encouraging word handy.
(Psssst...maybe that's how I "caught on", because we all know my supermodel days are behind me.)
*snicker*
For the assclown who thought it would be "funny" to email my blog to my boss either in the hopes that I would get in trouble or that he would go ape shit over the photos of Jay and I...Nice work.
Ummmm...my blog didn't violate company policy, but now the man is obsessing over the details and stressing me out.
You're a dick. (Even if you are a female.)
When that man wanted to reduce everyone's salary, it was me who fought for your asses.
Good luck with that in the future. Next time, this ol' liberal is going to look out for herself. How about that?
Weak. You people are fucking weak.
You may not want to hear that shit, but someone has to say it.
Ask yourself when I have ever patted myself on the back for anything more than surviving another day on this planet...
I haven't.
I don't measure myself by my paycheck or times on the podium.
I measure myself by how many times I can smile while I suffer and push through.
I may never win a bike race...
...but I assure you that for quite a few of you, including some podium regulars, I kicked your ass in spirit and humanity alone plenty of days...and I am not done yet.
I don't give a shit if you like me or loathe me, but you better be fucking nice to me, because I am to you and you know it.
If you loathe me, you better ask yourself if it's because of something I did to you...or something that I did that you can't or something I am that you are not...
(I think the word you are searching for is "real"...)
For those who have stayed loyal and followed the blog here to its new home, thank you.
I have received tremendous support in the community and I feel very grateful for that.
I am sending out my love to all those who have cheered me as I have suffered and sucked and pushed through.
You have no idea how much strength your shouts gave me.
I am sending more love out to those who have given me tissues for my vomit, held my hair back, or carried me off a race course.
I have finally stopped bleeding from this last surgery and am back on the training horse. (More deets on that in future blogs.)
I am very lucky to be able to race another season in St. Louis and proud to once again be part of Fulcrum Coaching.
At this time, I wish to thank my coach, Dan, my teammate and partner Jay for their continued belief in the fact that I will get stronger. I will beat it all.
I also wish to thank my super fantabulous friends for all that they do. You know who you are. You are always there to ask, cook, listen, accept...
Love and peace to all.
Love, peace, and balance to the haters.


(PS: I am sure when I have more time, I will get the formatting the way I like it.  My apologies for now.)

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.

Night of the Puking Bubba

The Bubba psychocross series started this past weekend.

(YES!)

Some kids wait all year for Santa...this kid waits all year for Bubba.

Everything I did on the bike all year was just to stay/get in shape for Bubba.

Bubba is like my Buddha, so regardless of having the flu on top of my other crap (a few thousand adorable stitches and no effing core to speak of) for the past 2 weeks...and regardless of the fact that I have been mostly off the bike for 2 weeks...

I signed right the hell up for Bubba #1...a psychocross race at night.

I didn't even blink.

That being said, at the Start, I was sort of out of sorts.

I was cold.

I was coughing.

My nose was stuffed.

Still.

This would be "fun".

I raced a few laps.

There was a LOT of running in this race.

OK, just so you know, I am not a runner.

I'm pretty much against running unless I am being chased by a madman with a knife or Freddy Krueger...

As I have been chased by neither, I see no reason for me to run.

Ever.

This race had the most running I have done in a good 25+ years....combined.

It made my boobies hurt.

*NOTE: I do not have big or actual boobies so if they jiggle when I sneeze, it's generally considered a "good day".

This was painful.

So the third time up that hill after the run-up/descent, I damn near collapsed and started puking water/Hammer.

Jay appeared out of no where!

Kube sang, "Wind Beneath My Wings" at me while I cried and puked and Jay said really nice things to make me breathe...

Once I saw Kube, I knew that "That One Girl" was coming...

I got mad that "That One Girl" was about to pass me and once she did, I'm pretty sure I growled, though you'd have to ask Jay.

I know I cried harder and said, "She. Is. Not. Beating. Me."

...and then took off and attacked...

...and picked her off...

...and then some other girl...

...and then caught up to where I wanted to be...with Kube.

I raced another lap after that and it was almost "lights out" for ol' Cory.

The world spun.

I dropped to my knees and puked some more.

I scared the crap out of some dude with a cowbell and he tried to help as I grabbed the Earth and lost my water and Hammer gel while looking very specifically "not pretty".

I got a Kleenex hand-up from a sweet older lady and then Jay came and led me away.

I sobbed like a baby.

I knew that he wanted to take it away for me...and not just because boys hate seeing girls cry.

I'm so effing tired of being sick that I want to smack someone...and I'm not sure if it matters whom.

Someone paLEEEEEZE hand me a politician...or L.A....

I got up the next morning in the biggest funk I have seen in some time and wasn't sure if I was going to race or just lay in bed all day and cry.

(Holy shit!)

Thank dog Allison texted me that she was racing that day and asked if I had a spare GU.

I didn't, but told her I had some extra Hammer.

...and that is how I talked myself into at least going to the race.

I cried the whole way there.

Not sobs, but tears.

I took some baby steps.

Jay checked out registration and called me to tell me the line was short.

I got dressed.

I registered.

I pre-rode the course with Jay telling me my race strategy.

I started to relax.

I started the race.

I didn't go out as hot as usually do.

I was sort of in a Theraflu stupor and just grabbed a wheel.

It's all I had for a few moments until we went through what would eventually be the finish and I started to climb.

I started remembering my skills.

I got my head together on the pavement and remembered all that Jay had said when we pre-rode.

He didn't run the course this day, so I had to remember everything he said.

(Dude! That boy can talk! He says a LOT of stuff!)

Days like this made it difficult to ride AND remember...

Jeeeeeeeze.

I held it together.

I held my pace.

For whatever reason, on this day, I was brain dead at the barriers.

I even did something on one lap that cannot be easily described.

I almost slapped myself for doing it and I know I started chastising myself out loud...

(Are you fast-forwarding in your head to like 30 years from now when I am pushing a shopping cart and talking to my 27 imaginary cats too?)

With 3 laps to go, something snapped...in a good way.

I started picking up the pace a little bit and screwing with boys on the climbs.

(I don't know why this is fun to me, but one boy in particular did NOT like it one little bit.)

I mean, it's not like I would ride by and kick them or slap their asses...I would just climb past them.

The one boy made a point of immediately bombing down past me on a descent whilst making a snarky comment.

(Ya didn't really think the course through in your head before you did that, did ya, wise ass? I'd like to stay and chat, but we have this climb and this is where I have to drop ya. My baaaaaaaad...)

*rolling eyes*

It was only the second time in all my 'cross races that a guy has been a dick to me, but the first time was a body-check at Spanish Lake last year and that actually pissed me off...and hurt. This was just silly/funny.

Anyhoo...

I sort of have to thank the tool.

I started to get that playful spirit back in me and actually began having fun.

I blew kisses to my "fans" and actually smiled the last 2 times through the barriers.

I finished between Gina and Kate and that's pretty much a perfect race day for me since they are both actually badass and kick my ass regularly on the road.

As we lay in bed last night, Jay told me how fun it was to watch me actually race again.

I knew what he meant.

...and he looked actually proud of and happy for me.

...and it was the latter that made me smile.

Feel the Load....CONTROL the Load!

"Yeah!

You feel that?

Feels good, doesn't it?

Yeah!

Just reach down and control it.

You control the load...

Yeah...

Ahhhh....

Own that load...

Not breathing hard enough...

Tweak that load...

Stand up and grind a little bit...

Yeah.

Mmmmmm....

That's right.

You control it...

*she slowly exhales*

Yeah. That's good.

Hold that.

Hold it a few more seconds...

Yeah...

Oooooooh....that was good...

Now ride it out!"

It being my first time, I look over at Allison to see how she feels about this...

Her face is calm and concentrating.

She's in the zone....

...Apparently, she is not mentally 12 years old like I have become as soon as our spin instructor started groaning and sighing about feeling and controlling "the load".

Clearly, I need more music and less talk in my spin class.

I found myself being distracted by how many times she said "load" and kept wondering what Jay would be doing if he was in the class to hear this too.

Once I had THAT image in my head, I started laughing when I was supposed to be serious and had to sort of bury my face in a TT position so that I didn't get busted...or kicked out.

...but I think she was on to me.

All in all, a really entertaining spin class.

...especially if you are prone toward semi-juvenile behavior, like myself.

The Abyss of Nothingness and Everythingness

I'm fucking tired.

I am.

I am not unique in this.

I have nothing and everything, depending on the day and of who's perspective.

I am alone and supported.

Loved and loathed.

Some days the latter pleases me and gives me a rest from needing to be everything or anything to anyone.

Most days, I just don't give a shit what anyone thinks other than me and my kids, because no matter how close you are to people, there are only so many people directly affected by your choices. My kids are those people.

Some people wonder "what Jesus would do" or what The Joneses think...

I wonder if my kids will be proud of me...

If a decision I am about to make will hurt or hinder their life experience...

I don't care what Jay or my friends think, because they are supposed to love me regardless, so long as I stay on the correct side of moral decency and principles...and I must do the same in return.

I've made some tricky decisions over the past year that have kept in line, but have made me walk the line between quality v. quantity of life.

While this topic is always a rich one, I have always been on the side of quality.

Most people have supported this and others are too confused or scared or selfish to consider such support.

In November of last year, at the start of cyclocross season, a tumor posed a problem. It was advised that I undergo surgery to remove it.

I told them to find another option.

They told me that all they could do was better prepare my body for surgery.

They destroyed me.

By the end of November, I could barely make it through a cyclocross race and couldn't ride my bike except on race days.

They told me they could "make me comfortable"...

Jay and I packed my things that Tuesday before Thanksgiving and planned one last bike ride before he drove me to the hospital...

As we took to the road in the dark, my mind went a little mad...and free.

The pain ripped through my insides as I made each revolution of the pedals and I felt myself burning as if my body was a paper cut doused in lemon juice...

Yet as the cold air hit my face, I realized that the pain meant I was alive...

I was not numb or "comfortable"...

I knew who I was and who this man riding next to me was...

I didn't want to stop this.

I remember the cold night air and every detail because at the time I was mentally recording it in the event that I did not see such a night again...

When we got back to Jay's house, we talked, cried and thought hard about my options...

We went home and talked to the kids.

I wasn't ready to be "comfortable".

We worked my plan as the pounds fell off.

16 pounds in 2 weeks.

Where was I going?

They were killing me.

I showed up at 'cross races every Sunday and died a little bit, but lived a little more...

Some races I didn't have the energy to even lift my bike over the barriers.

At Cross Nationals, my body simply fell apart.

"They" almost carried me off the course until I gathered what remaining composure I had and crawled under the tape to safety...

My world started to shut down.

My body was now too weak for surgery.

Fast forward to a year of trying to get a taste of racing...

A year of trying to make my body stronger.

A year of living life to the fullest with the kids and trying to cover every base...

I am now faced with the very real reality of interviewing surgeons and making plans for what I had hoped I could always put off...

Placing myself in a temporary state of denial while I prepared for my favorite race season, while in hindsight wishing I had sacrificed the road season with surgery so that I could be there for every single 'cross race in The Lou and surrounding areas...

As it is, I will be going under the knife in the far too near future, to remove the tumor in my stomach.

While I plan to schedule the surgery on a weekend when I have "nothing going on", my doctors have reminded me that while that is so sweet of me to squeeze them in, I will not be in the saddle the following weekend...though they readily admit that they know I will try every imaginable way to attempt it.

As my birthday weekend wound to a close today, it was with heaviness that I had to mentally and emotionally prepare myself for certain hell that is about to become my life....at least for a few weeks.

Tomorrow I will begin preparing my body for battle.

My bike rides will be very different.

My sleep will be very different.

My food will be a joke.

*sound of life, blog, thoughts screeching to a halt; in the distance, something clicks/snaps*

You know what?

I started writing this to update friends and family and I really don't know how to do that.

Typically I tell people what is going on after it's done.

I don't know what to say here.

I'm so fucking lost and confused and scared and in pain that it's all a fucking mess.

I just want them to cut the bitches out of me and let me get on with my fucking life.

I don't want to just be a survivor. I want to be cancer-free.

I want that for everyone.

I want that guy that I saw in Chicago without shoes but with mangled and gnarly toes to have good feet and good shoes...and a bath and toothpaste and a straight spine...and I want to be cancer fucking free.

(Jeeze that was random!)

I don't want anymore fucking stitches.

I don't want to hear the drone of anymore pathology reports.

I don't want a fucking repeat of 1999 when they apologized but informed me that they didn't get it all and I would have to do "a little chemo".

You know what?

There is no such fucking thing as a little chemo.

My organs are still suffering the damage from the shit they injected into me to fuck my world.

I had everything I needed before that...then lost it all.

I built it back up and had it all again...only better...and they did that shit to me again and I lost it all again.

*rinse and repeat*

I am not fucking willing, nor do I believe I have the strength, to lose everything and build it back up again.

I am old for my age and fucking tired.

I want zero stitches, many cow bells and endless hot chocolates with Baileys after I kick someone's (anyone's) ass in every 'cross race I enter.

Besides, it's going to really piss off X-Factor if I bought that Ridley and can't race it for some candy-assed reason like stitches, cancer, blah, blah, blah...

...and I'm sort of on his side for this one.

10 Things Overheard on an MTB Adventure with Cory & Lisa

10. "...So this next trail has some descents, but nothing too tricky..." (Heard by Lisa just prior to them sliding down Cardiac.)

9. "Well...Adrienne said I needed to work on my descents...I'm not sure she meant this though..." (Cory laughing as her cross bike bombs down fast and furious descent.)

8. "...Did you hear me scream? I was hoping I had a better story for you other than a cute and fuzzy squirrel almost got sliced in my spokes thus wrecking me off that cliff. That's a little embarrassing..." (Said to Lisa after a suicidal squirrel made a go for it while I was riding the edge.)

7. "Fuck! Owwwww! Shit! Damn!! That hurt! ...Yep, this is still better than marriage...at least my marriage!" (Said to Lisa just after the big pedal-knee slap down during losing battle with tree limb.)

6. "I'm sorry...what? I couldn't hear you over my breathing..." (Said by Lisa after being *tricked* by Cory to ride Love.)

5. "I had to stop. I lost my sunglasses in my boobs..." (Said by Lisa after rough ride caused glasses to slip a bit. )

4. "Hey! I think I may have this whole 'fear thing' conquered!" (Said to Lisa just before #3)

3. "Hey! That was almost an endo!!!" (Said to Lisa after a descent into a hairpin when I had thankfully unclipped my foot fast enough to ground myself while Christian went flying and only barely dragged me to the ground.)

2. *OOOOF!* "Cookie check...Yep, it's still there!" (Said by Cory after smacking hoo-ha on stem while out of the saddle on a climb...and slipped.)

1. "Yep, I am for sure going to bleed today!" (Said by Cory after semi-brilliant decision to defy gravity/physics and ride cross bike down Cardiac.)

Riding the Pain Train Through The O'Fallon Gold Cup

I woke up that morning cramped up and feeling particularly unsexy.

No better time to drive out to O'Fallon, MO and race.

The sun was shining and the day felt calm.

It was exactly the greeting that I needed to keep my car from U-turning and heading back home to the warmth and comfort of my glorious bed and man racer.

Everything ran smoothly.

Jay switched out my wheels so that Trent would finally get to ride on both 404s...

(I will later wish that I had practiced cornering with the 404 in the front.)

Ehhhh...it is what it is.

As we awaited the Juniors race to complete, Kate, Alice and I discussed/decided who would win our race.

I know in your mind the obvious choice is ME (this is where you nod your head in agreement instead of falling off your chair piddling your pants in a wild fit of uncontrollable laughter, dammit!), but since the winner was awarded beer (which I hate) and my only goal for this race was to not die, it seemed clear that today would not be my day.

PLUS, if I am going to do well in a race, there are just certain people who I want there racing with me. Some of them weren't there.

Ehhhh-hemmmmm!

"We" had recently decided/agreed that I would only race crits. No road races or MTB races. "Maybe" a time trial now and then. No stage races. This is all in an attempt to save what little energy and immune system I have left.

Let's face it, Hermann destroyed me.

I am pretty sure I still have mud and worm guts in my lungs.

That being said, I'd do it again. I'm that much of an asshole.

My lungs are tanked.

Soooooo, before this race, I discussed with Dr. Tim all that was going on.

I discussed it with Dan, my coach.

We agreed that I would take asthma medication prior to the race to clear me up, as well as Tim's bottle of natural magic, before and after the race.

I was obedient.

I wore my wind vest.

I wore arm warmers.

I did not eat anything that would/could screw up my stomach...

I rode some hills to warm up and clear my head.

I rode up to the line.

Jay kissed me and blew kisses to all the other racers.

(What a man whore!)

I heard Buddy talk but it was a blur.

The whistle blew and we were off.

Immediate descent into a tricky right that immediately ascended.

It wasn't the climb, but the turn that wigged me.

I don't wig on turns.

I like turns.

Two things:

• I didn't trust/know my front wheel well enough. (Dammit!)
• I fear wrecking on my right side.

The former is something that I knew and something that Jay and I have discussed. You have to trust your wheels.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with my wheels and I have ridden them before...on my time trial bike. They have never both been on Trent.

I hesitated on that turn...

...which meant I had to work harder on the ascent.

I was fine and still in a good position, but less comfortable.

The back side of the course was a DREAM!

Perfect for recovery and speed.

We were all together as we came around and stayed that way until the 3rd lap or so (I think) when Kate turned it up on the back side of the course.

Here we go!

Initially, I went with her and Alice.

My lungs didn't think that was a good idea, so they stabbed me.

I flipped my lungs off and climbed up the hill past the Start/Finish.

I heard Jay yelling at me to keep it steady.

He was right.

That was my goal for the rice.

Don't burn out. Don't kill yourself.

I hated that hill and loved the descent...but I still didn't get comfortable with that first turn.

It (me) slowed me down EVERY lap.

I stopped looking at my Garmin halfway through the race.

The poor volunteers at the top of the hill after that turn looked afraid that I was going to cry/faint/die each lap.

At some point they stopped encouraging me to hang in there, but I think that's because they were afraid that the sound of their voices would scare the shit out of me and send me into cardiac arrest.

Coincidentally, I think they stopped after I rolled to the side with 3 laps to go and almost puked...

I kept it in...but know I made a strange and scary sound as I rolled away in a sad attempt to finish strong.

I could still see Holli up ahead and considered catching her and really suffering or using this race in the way in which I had originally intended.

Jay kept me grounded each lap and I stayed steady.

I heard Carrie and Chris and the rest of the Team Rev clan cheering us on.

It made me smile.

They're calling my name!

I'm still in it!

I saw Teresa at the top of the climb and she cheered me on.

"I'm winning!" I told her with a smirk.

I didn't feel particularly strong...or weak...I just knew that the pain was almost over.

As a completed my last lap, I thanked Hannah for cheering me on the entire race and knew it was time to turn it up for another 40 seconds of pain.

I dug a little deeper and took the last turn into the final climb and proved to myself that I was not done.

Jay is there at the Finish.

He knows.

He knows I'm in pain. He knows I'm not done.

I go ride. Alone.

I try to breathe.

I cool down and finally, it comes.

The tears and the vomit...in the Baptist church parking lot.

I hugged the grass and shivered and let my body fall apart.

It was glorious!

Fuck it. Like it or not, I'm a racer.

Later that night, I sat at the dinner table outside with Jay and The Sass and had a yummy meal and some much earned red wine and finally got my piece of chocolate.

All was right with the world.

Nothing Says Podium Like...

...racing within the first 24 hours of Mother Nature delivering a monthly bitchslap.

Nice!

Thanks MoNa!

I really like wearing super tight clothes that show every ounce of my being whilst retaining water and surfing the crimson wave.

AWESOME!

I am grateful that this race is not a time trial and I don't have to wear that skin suit!

I am also really super happy that my race kit is predominantly black instead of white.

*thumbs up to Dan for earning sensible costume design points*

I think it's safe to say that I will not be out of the saddle much this weekend...

It may not be safe to think that I will be passive in this race, as I cannot take pain killers and will be wound tighter than an 8-day clock when my race goes off really early Saturday morning...

...assuming I am walking upright by then.

I will attack.

I may cry for "hurting your feelings" when I do, but I will still do it.

Heck, I will probably cry as soon as Buddy blows the damn whistle.

Crying.

It's what I do...for at least 5-7 days.

If I wasn't so scared of being wrecked by Cat 4 men (think back to the Tour of StL), I would sleep in and race with them in the afternoon, but I really can't afford the blood loss...

...at least this week.

*snicker*

Jokes aside, I am actually really looking forward to "jumping" back into the game.

It is allegedly not supposed to rain, so it should be a good time....assuming all of us ladies haven't synced our cycles.

*shudders*

I guess we'll see...

Hide the handguns and bring on the chocolate...just in case.

*wink*

My Name Is...

It's not what you think when you look at me lately.

It may begin with the same letter, but you have me confused.

I am not defined by that thing that you have rolling around in your head.

It is no big f*cking deal that I am riding a bike.

...or racing a bike.

...or walking upright.

I may lay in a fetal position for a while...

It may take a while for my body to stop twitching...

But I will get up...

The day I don't is the day you will light me on fire and put my ashes in an urn.

I'm just a girl with a bike who figured out that she likes to race.

It doesn't matter that I suck.

I'm doing what makes me happy.

Even when I suck.

I don't suck because of that word you have rolling around in your head.

I suck because racing is new to me and I don't train properly...or enough.

I suck because I am not properly nourished and I don't get enough sleep.

I still ride more than a lot of people I know and want to scream when those people look at me with pity.

Why?

I'm not dead. I don't have a third (or even a second) head. I'm not completely unfortunate looking or illiterate.

Those things demand pity.

I'm out there living a helluva life on my bike surrounded by my amazing children and fantastic friends.

Pity me?

I think not.

I bombed this weekend. Sure. I know.

I have no regrets about taking part in those races.

I was sick (and sleepy) and missed my first race of the day on Saturday.

So what.

Part of the problem was that I got in my head that my race went off a half hour later than it did.

Oh well. My bad.

I volunteered all day out in the hot sun on my feet from 8am until after the Pro-1, 2's race that afternoon and then drove to my time trial.

Stupid.

It was stupidity, not cancer that tanked my time trial.

...and likely a little sun poisoning.

I completed my time trial.

I did it.

I didn't stop to puke.

I didn't cry.

Sure, I cursed the wind in that last mile and a half like no other and said things that surely reserved my place in Hell, but I finished...upright.

I didn't die.

I wasn't spectacular.

I was a girl in her second time trial who succeeded in doing the one thing I had set out to do.

I had committed to staying in my aero bars the whole time, regardless of wind, and I did.

*WOOP! WOOP!*

Sure, I screamed like a child when my bike blew sideways, but I stayed upright...and pedaled.

I didn't poo or pee my pants.

I awoke the next morning and knew I shouldn't race.

I rolled out of bed and dragged my sorry ass to the velo wagon and drove to my race as the sun came up.

I imagine plenty of people were doing the same.

I wasn't special.

I was simply sunburned and exhausted.

I felt like tiny trolls had beaten me with rolling pins while I slept.

I was moving slowly.

Painfully.

Even as I pinned my race bib onto my jersey, I knew I should simply sit this one out.

I knew the course and rode it often.

In my mind, it should have been cake.

After one roll around the course that morning, I knew it would not be a good day for me.

Stupidity made me roll up to the line.

I had cement in my shoes as the whistle blew and sneered as that one chick took off.

*DAMMIT!*

Now we have to chase her!!!

*YAWN*

I remember looking over at Steph, both of us wishing we were home in our beds next to our men instead of having to chase some chick who warmed up properly around the course.

I knew what we had to do.

I looked over at Kaboom and said, "Get her, Maura!"

There!

Done!

That'll teach that little wisp of energy to pull that nonsense first thing in the morning.

I felt like a 5 year old as I sung in my head, "Maura's gonna kick your ass now, girlie! la la la la la.."

We chased them around the course and were a *weeeeee* bit off the back.

I attempted a bridge on my favorite part of the course and was about 2 bike lengths from completing it, when a sucky thing happened...

I went to stand and my legs gave way.

Hmmmm...

That should have been cake.

I'm a stander.

I stand.

It's what I do.

My legs laughed at me.

My eyes were huge with shock and panic as I willed myself up and over the line and considered taking a nap at the Dogfish tent as I rolled by.

Steph said, "So are you ready to do 8 laps in the park with me this morning?"

I attempted something that was supposed to resemble a laugh, but I think even she knew it was not.

My mind went blank.

All I felt was pain for the next lap and knew I was done.

There's pushing through the pain and then there's just plain stupid.

For me to continue would mean bad things for me and my body.

Like a dog who knows it's days of fun are numbered, I quietly rolled to the grassy side of my car and laid down on the grass.

My body in knots.

My muscles twitching.

My breathing challenged.

I was told my eyes were rolling (and hope there is no pictorial evidence of such beauty).

I was freezing.

I was sweating.

I felt my hair standing up and neck stiffened.

*Not today. Not today. Not today.*

I was being swallowed.

Sounds were far away.

With a little help from Patrick and Traci, my body got it together.

I started to hear things again.

I shivered under my down blanket.

It was 80 degrees out.

My stomach raged its fury.

I sat for most of the day...shivering.

I eventually got my legs back.

At least enough to jump up and cheer when Jay attacked from the back of the pack like a friggin' badass...and then attacked again right after it!

This is what it's all about.

Some days I wish I could change it back and not want to race.

I was that way last year, but something snapped in me (psychocross?) and I can't unsnap it...

...and I don't really want to.

When you see me sucking, remember I am just a girl with a bike...

...and my name is Cory.

Not:

• "Poor Cory", or
• "Cory has Cancer", or
• "Such a Shame" (what am I a race horse?!?!), or
• "Ughhh" (I think my ex-husband still uses this one, but he has his reasons...)

Just "Cory".

...or "Ty's and Sassy's" mom, but only if you have children who know my children and we have not personally met, after that, my name is Cory.

I know it's a four letter word, but it's the one that's here to stay, so practice it.