I am not a racer.I enter races.
I ride in the races.
I often stop mid-race and "DNF" (Did Not Finish).
Usually this happens in criteriums. I finished my road race.
Here's the dealio...
I entered my first road crit in April of this year. I was not prepared and pretty much did not know what to expect. I soon found out.
I was trembling at the start on the freezing April morning and honestly considered peeing my pants simply for warmth. I had ridden the course over and over the night before with Steph and felt comfortable with it. I knew the inclines and I knew the turns. I knew where the suicidal squirrel liked to play/screw with us. However, on race day, I was scared shitless.
The whistle blew and the racers took off. I had to chase them from the start and was unfamiliar on what the strategy was supposed to be. I got panicked. I started to hyperventilate. I got dropped pretty dammed fast. F**K!!!
I kept riding, but not knowing (at the time) what to do when I saw the field coming back around, I pulled over to the side and stopped (yes, STOPPED!) to let them pass. Apparently, what I was supposed to do was NOT stop and jump back in on someone's wheel and simply be down a lap. So when Carrie screamed, "Jump on, Cory!" I looked at her like she was effing nuts. Hmmmmmm...dead stop to futha mucking fast was not likely from this old gal. So I started riding, but in no way was I even close to the field.
I mentally waved "ba-bye" as they zoomed on...
As I approach the final turn for that lap, a sweet, tall bald man cheers me on and tells me that I can do it. I think, "Jeeeze! Even that guy knows that I suck!"
That thought makes me cry.
(I will later find out that the sweet, bald guy was Phil, Steph's hubby, but as I had only met him once and he was in his cycling gear, I did not know who he was.) Steph and I will laugh about this the next day.
I made it around for my third lap but was so mentally toast that I dropped out, rolled over to the sidelines to my friends, took off my helmet and burst into tears.
(Holy crap.)
That did not stop me from entering another crit a couple weeks later.
This time I hung in for longer, but had already been dropped and was about to be lapped for the 2nd time when I pass Carrie and the elite team and they are cheering, shouting encouragement to us from the sidelines...and then my boss (and team sponsor) yells out, "You're doin' good, Cor!" and under my breath (once I have passed him and am out of earshot) I mumble, "Shut the f*ck up, Bob."
I then start hyperventilating again...and burst into tears.
Karma much?
*snort*
Needless to say, I DNF'ed that friggin' race as soon as I finished that awful lap.
(This shocks you, yes?)
I had done better than my first race, but still pretty awful and I was pissed.
THIS IS JUST NOT FUN!!!!
I was screaming this in my head (SCREAMING IT!) and wondering why I had ever started racing when it was making me dread being on my beloved, beautiful bicycle. Ughhhh!
"I am not a racer", I said to Steph. If I wanted to be, I would be. Something in me must not want it or it would be there.
I like to go fast. I like to push myself. I like to play with my recovery. I like to manipulate my body.
I do not like stress.
I do not like the unknown.
It freaks me out.
Maybe if I knew what to expect, I could relax and just race...but I hardly think so. You're sort of not supposed to "relax". Maybe I need to smoke a big fattie before I race or chug bong water... Not sure.
Sooooo...for whatever reason, I entered a road race (The O'Fallon Grand Prix).
I'm not certain as to why, except that I enjoyed the idea of not going super f*cking fast in a circle. I liked that I could get dropped and not have the same people see me suck over and over and over again each lap.
I liked that I could suck without witness and that although my time would clearly indicate my suckage, I would not have to endure their visual scorn or pity for/at my suckage.
I was sick as a dog the night before the race and possibly fell off the toilet and slept on the bathroom floor.
I was dehydrated and physically and mentally exhausted.
(Seems like a FANTASTIC time to enter a 28 mile road race, yes?)
I drove out to the race with Steph and Phil and literally decided to race because it was better than sitting in a 90+ degree car for an hour and a half while everyone else raced. I got the added bonus of being able to switch categories to the Masters Women after I registered. (They gave out free Depends undergarments instead of t-shirts...) Just kidding.
All I had to do was:
1. Not poo my pants
2. Not Crash
3. Finish the effing race
I was golden.
...until 3 miles in when the panic thing happened.
This time I was pissed.
I knew it would pass, but I knew I had to ride alone. (Not ideal for a race, but totally ideal for my heart.)
I worked past it and the rest of the 25 miles were pretty OK. I stopped a couple times to throw up and once to remove articles of clothing as the temperature was at times 97 degrees...and once to cross my legs and squeeze my knees together and mentally will my intestines not to make me poo my shorts. (It worked...or I scared the sh...nevermind.)
The last 500 meters was a hill, so that was fun.
I finished!
I felt great!
(Yay me!)
OK, so then...
I see that VeloForce is putting on "Dirt Crits" at Castlewood State Park.
I am NOT an MTB chick.
The last time I had ridden my mountain bike was March 2007.
Ty LOVES mountain biking.
This is something Ty and I can do together! Cool!
Why I thought I should jump into an MTB race when I had not touched my mountain bike in over a year is beyond me.
The race starts and I am between Ty and Susan.
I knew Susan and I could catch Ty in the hills because we were stronger. Unfortunately, Ty wiped out on it and went over the side. Holy sh*t!
He was OK, but now "Mama Bear" had her panic on. That was my baby!
We keep racing but I am no longer focused.
I hit a tree root and go airborne and crash down on my entire right side.
Unfortunately, my left foot was still clipped in and that made something magically painful happen to my left knee. I get up fast so that the other racers, including Ty, can get by and I get back on and continue riding.
My left foot is going numb and is a bit tingly.
I pedal on and come up to the creek that I am supposed to cross.
I must have thought they said "crash", because that is exactly what I did.
Wiped right the f*ck out because I couldn't get my now numb left foot out of the clip when I started to lose my balance on the unfamiliar terrain of loose rocks.
I am happy to see that there is a photographer there at that very moment with his camera poised to exploit my suckage.
(Oh GOOOOOOODY!)
I figure I am going to simply now pick up my bike and run across the creek with it.
I am confused by the weight of this monster and realize that I have become too accustomed to the carbon of my sweet and sexy road bike.
*sniffles like giant pansy*
I'm pretty sure I said some pretty choice words at that exact moment as I feel my knee tremble under the weight.
"You may as well walk up the hill now," says some snarky, non-racing bastard with a smirk at the creek.
"Oh, ya think so, wise ass?" I think to myself and imagine pushing the fat bastard into the creek face/belly first.
What I actually say is, "Thanks!" and give him my best damsel-in-distress-aren't-you-the-big-effing-hero-look laced with pure sugar and magic.
I climb up the hill and pull over for a second to look at my left knee.
It looks like I have 2 knees...on the left side. That cannot be a good thing. I hop back on the bike and ride on. I cannot clip in. I cannot move the knee or feel my toes. I "one leg drill" it back to the "almost start" and take myself out of the race.
I of course, DNF.
This time I really don't care. It's almost funny at this point and I think I am expected to DNF. At least I had a "battle wound" this time to show for it. I felt good though. It was wicked fun.
Fast forward a week...
Another Dirt Crit. It pours rain 5 minutes prior to race time. Fantastic.
I have puddles in the front of my shoes at the start. Ty and I agree that we will take it slow as it is as slick as slug sh*t. The course goes the opposite way that week. We know there is a drop into the creek this time. A now muddy and slippery drop to add to the rocks. SWEET!
We are somewhat stuck behind this one dude and we work with him a bit and think positively...
1 lap down. Cool.
Just as we ride past the officials, the dude we were stuck behind DNFs. He just rides off the course to his car as his buddies razz him about "getting back in there". He doesn't.
We hit the drop to the creek again and I hit the side with my left foot. It then won't clip back in and I tank at the creek and have to walk up. I try several times to clip in and cannot. I pull over and grab onto a tree and try to force my foot in. No go. As I am covered in mud and have mud in my eye, I think that I have lost my cleat. I pedal on, but now feel less confident.
Dammit! I was having fun! I was DOING it!
I get to the close of lap 2 and realize that I will never recover while not clipped in and slippery, and soaking f*cking wet. (I say "f*ck" a lot, huh?)
I DNF.
...but...
I am wicked bouncy about the blast that I am having.
I am covered in mud.
I am a little stinky.
Next Thursday can't come quick enough!!!
*makes zooom zooom high pitched fast forward sound*
It's next Thursday now... (Last night.)
Hmmmm...
I had suffered a panic attack the previous night on the Team Rev ride.
I knew we were racing the course the same way as we did week 1. It was cake.
I felt lethargic. I waited until the last imaginable moment to register for the race.
I chug a Roctane GU and wait for "it" to happen.
I roll up to the start and am still not entirely certain that I am going to actually start. I really wanted a nap.
"Ultra endurance energy gel"? Holy hell! If this is energy, I am pretty sure I must have flatlined just prior to taking it. I yawn. Twice.
"20 seconds...", the official calls.
*sigh*
Too late to roll away now. I guess I better ride.
*yawn*
Even as we come up on the first turn, I see my car and look longingly at the empty bike rack and want to put my bike up on it...
I roll on.
Ty is ahead. I know I will catch him on the hill. I do. We hit the creek. We nail it. We haul ass over the lip and head toward the climb. Ty stops and I am forced to crash the wall or hit him and possibly rip his leg up/off. I go left and hit the wall.
Did you read that? LEFT. I crash LEFT. Slam my LEFT knee ito a pretty rock and I am quite sure I said something resembling, "Well, there goes my effing knee. I'm out."
Ty feels awful.
I tell him it's not his fault. It wasn't. I didn't afford him the space to get up that climb.
I tell him to roll on and I pull off to check the damage.
I jump back in.
Just as I come up to the close of lap 1 and am about to DNF, I reconsider.
Screw it. I didn't log enough miles this week and need the work out.
I come up on that creek again and nail it. Just as I fly up the hill, I see Ty over to the side. He has crashed. He is pissed. He screwed up his wrist. (Did I mention that he is pissed?) I ask him if he wants to ride together. He takes some time and we roll on.
I am unaware that he is no loger behind me when we close lap 2 until I get there. The official says, "You're done."
I am puzzled. It's 3 laps. That was 2. I may not be George W. Bush, but I have the Math down. I am NOT done.
I call out to Traci that Ty is hurt and may DNF and to look out for him. She does. I roll on. Slowly. Sort of bored.
This "energy gel" shit is like that bowl of bong water I imagined earlier. I know I wanted to chill, but this was ridiculous. I chilled like mad. You could have put a basket with a puppy on the front of my bike and it would have been OK.
I let some B racers fly by a couple times, see Karen, cheer her on, and then follow her. I hit the creek and nail it knowing that I will not see my injured son there.
I am in the home stretch now. I sprint to the finish, feeling pretty happy that I did not DNF and see my little boy waiting at the finish, injured and mentally beating himself up.
*sigh*
It's just a race.
Next week, we will both finish...or break something trying!
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