I met Steph out front where a few other racers had assembled.
Steph and I are chatting when a male racer comes up to us and says, "So, are you ladies here for the MS150 training ride?"
(I am amused at how adorably clueless Cat 5 men racers are!)
Now I realize that between me wearing my ripped jeans and flip flops and Steph balancing her oatmeal and coffee, we may not have exactly looked badass, but come on, Dude! Always ASSUME the other person is a badass!
I kindly (which is amazing for me this early in the morning) tell him that we are racing and then inform him that Steph is on his team.
(I refrained from pinching his cheek which had blushed from embarrassment, mostly because I was afraid I would hurt him.)
Once everyone arrives, we all head out to Hillsoboro where I am once again amazed how similar "Main Street" is in Illinois towns...unless you're in Chicago.
When we arrive at the race, I am calm. More calm than Froze Toes, but I was excited about that race. (No, I do not actually know why other than it was the first race of the season.)
Nancy from the Journal News finds me and we chat about the article and the race.
I tell her my expectations. (To finish. To not wreck. To not die.) She seems OK with this.
I roll around with Gina for a while and loosen up.
I'm not nervous, but I am "cold" since I hadn't been on the bike in a few days.
I'm not worried because the race that matters to me will be the next day.
Maybe I should have cared a wee bit more...
The whistle blows and we go off.
I feel good as we approach the first hill...confident enough to stay on the left.
I don't know what happened, but mid climb, I started to shake and I felt like my bike was falling apart beneath me...
I felt like I had a noose around my neck and a vice on my chest...
(Those are generally bad things, just in case you were wondering...)
I hear my friends and am stupefied by my falling apart. I mean, seriously...? We are like 5 minutes into the damn race!
I was married to my ex for YEARS! How can I fail 5 minutes in?!?!
I get it somewhat together or at least over the hill and chase back onto the field.
I pass a couple of racers and let Kate know that I'm back on.
We laugh and crack jokes about the cow shit and fumes we are inhaling as we take a few turns when I start to feel my stomach rising.
I am falling apart.
If I saw body parts fall to the ground, I wouldn't be one bit surprised at this point.
I am kicking myself that I did not mentally prepare for this race and even called it "a group ride with numbers".
(I have since promised Dan I would NEVER say that again...except when trying to ease someone else into road racing or completely mind fucking them...depending on whether I like them or not.)
That's bad. I know.
Thankfully I only said it to Gina and she knows I like her because I sure didn't need another chick in the race to beat my ass!
*kisses*
Kathleen and I fall off the back and because I don't know her, I keep my distance...which was intentional at first but then became less intentional.
She drops her chain and I am not the type to not offer help, even if it's just mental support while someone awaits the SAG vehicle...so after checking that she was OK, I rolled on...all the while willing my food to stay down.
I am being hit with the wind and now have vomit in my mouth. When I try to spit it out, I almost wreck myself and think of how I would explain to Dan and Jay how I wrecked...
I stay upright and Kathleen passes by.
I look at her.
I hiccup.
I feel vomit burning in my nose.
I watch her go.
I do not chase.
I breathe.
I keep an eye on her and keep her at sprint distance.
We are close enough when we hit mile 11 that I feel alright as we hit the hill.
I already know she hates descents just from watching her.
(I love descents....when they're dry.)
It won't matter.
Over the hill past mile 11 and past the volunteers, I see a lovely brick mailbox in front of a lovely brick home with a sprawling green lawn.
Yes. This will be my vomit's resting place.
I pull over to get rid of the mess so that I can breathe properly and really expand my lungs.
My throat had been burning with it for 8 miles at this point and I have had enough.
I toss my cookies in the lovely yard and see someone peek out the window.
I feel the least I can do is wave an apology.
I wipe my snot on their grass and roll up attempting some yoga breathing.
OUCH!
F*CK!
I get it together and realize that I am now way the fuck back from Kathleen.
Dammit.
I know I have to haul ass.
I hate this part.
I think of something Ron from The Hub said once about their no drop ride not being a "flower pickin' ride".
I laughed.
This was a race, not a group ride.
I needed to get it on.
I promptly picked a flower and tucked it into my bar tape and took off.
While the wind handed me my ass, I dug deeper.
It was much easier to do since:
- I was lighter from losing the extra food
- I could breathe better not that the vomit was out of my mouth
There was one turn where the volunteer had the flag in the wrong hand (pointing right on a left turn) and that confused me for a minute...but she was elderly and sweet and looked like she smelled like cookies, so I just thanked her in my sweetest voice in case a shitty look had passed across my face.
There was another spot where there was a turn and the cyclist in front of me went left and the volunteer waved me straight...only after I had started left and almost wiped out in the gravel stopping to obey him.
I did look at him like he was crazy...and almost didn't believe him that I was supposed to go straight...
Now I just wonder if that other racer was cutting the course...
*scratches head*
I pass a little girl sitting in her yard and she asks if I am winning.
I think for a millisecond.
"Yes! Yes, I am."
This makes her smile.
Me too.
I was riding the pain train when the Pro, 1, 2 field breezed by and had to laugh as Van Deven yet again called out his support to me in the wind...
Then I laughed again when I saw that 6 boys were sort of hanging out chatting like it was a slumber party in the back...
I wanted to work with them in the worst way...or at least have them shield me from the freaking wind since they clearly had no concerns about racing...
*sigh*
We're not allowed to "work" with them, which sucked, because that was the only time that that I thought I could.
So sad.
As I approach a bridge I notice a nice hill ahead...
That's when it dawns on me that I know that hill!
I'm almost done!
I'm almost to the cobblestone (Where I will secretly pretend that I am George Hincapie in the Paris Roubaix...except I won't fake a flat because I am losing and crush the hopes of my fans).
I climb the hill and realize, "Oh goody! This is where all the spectators are!"
I love when there are LOTS of people to watch me suffer. It's super awesome.
I see Jessi in the "Feed Zone" and jokingly ask her if I've won. We both laugh and a couple people say, "Yes!"
Fantastic!
I have one more climb and then the cobbles.
I am spent.
I drop it into my little ring.
There are 2 chicks on lawn chairs on that last climb...and I have to admit they seem rather un-bothered by the whole racing thing going on. I don't believe they were cheering anyone on, just drinking on the sidewalk.
When I get to the top, I have trouble getting it back into the big ring and I stress as I have a descent and then the cobbles.
I play around a bit while descending and get it in right before I hit the cobblestone.
I am LOVING this part.
The psychocross girl in me sees this as play time...
...at least for a while...
A short while.
I was smart enough to hover when I first hit them, but after a while, you sort of have to sit down and let me say that cobblestone + carbon frame + hooha = OUCH! (Do the Math!)
I haul ass to the finish and cross to the sound of crickets.
(Seriously?)
It was very anti-climatic.
(I really miss cyclocross!)
Instead of my eyes watering up like they usually do when I finish, I sigh.
I am exhausted.
My body is screaming.
My legs and kidneys are burning.
I head over to my car and get some nourishment...and pray that it will stay down.
The happiness that the race is over starts to take over.
Nancy from the Journal News finds me again and I am relaxed.
I am numb and my sights are already on the next day's race.
Several hours later, after I have dined with friends I haven't seen since last season and dropped Jessi off, I get home to an empty house, drop my gear bag and sink into the couch and cry.
It had dawned on me as soon as I crossed the finish that I was a different girl.
I was no longer OK with simply finishing.
I had not tried my best.
I had not worked hard.
I got what I deserved.
Tomorrow, things would be very different.
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