The Breakthrough/Breakdown Tour of KC

For the first time in a long time (Tilles Crit) I felt pretty confident going into a bike race.

(Not confident that I would win, but confident that I would not die, cry, or quit.)

Over the past few weeks I had gotten back on course with my training and was pleased with how it was coming along.

After my heat issues at Winghaven, I worked hard all week to get my body acclimated to the high heat and humidity while on the bike.

I pushed through most of my brushes with heat stroke and dehydration and felt that I played it wise.

I took my rest days.

We got up to Kansas City Friday night for Jay's race.

While he warmed up and for the first few laps of his race, I rode.

I followed Dan's instructions and felt oddly good in the summer heat.

The venues were fantastic.

Well organized.

Visually appealing.

Challenging.

These weren't flower-pickin' race courses.

I warmed up on Saturday before the Lee's Summit Crit possibly a little more than I should have.

I was shaking and had a high heart-rate as we pulled up at the line.

Megan was experiencing the same.

Another racer commented on how she felt like she was going to throw up.

The officials then announced that we would be going off with the Women's Open. There would not be a staggered start.

Ummmmm...

Nice.

They may as well have said, "Listen up you candy-assed Cat4 women. You have chosen to race on the hottest day on record for 2009 and have the Sydney Brown/Catherine Wahlberg/Michelle Jensen Trifecta-O-Hell driving the pace for your race. You will suffer. You will be lapped...repeatedly. By the end of this race you will be in a fetal position begging for a pacifier and your childhood woobie. Fuck what you know, this is PAIN!"

[insert evil and sinister laugh here]

If I had not just seen Justin snap a picture of me, I may have crawled away right then and there and pretend that I was on a shopping trip and no where near the Tour of KC.

As it was, I poured some cold water on my head, swallowed hard and shitted out my mental game.

I tried to visualize myself on Michelle's wheel, but nearly fell over laughing.

I lost the race before we hit turn one.

Why the fuck was I so scared?

We weren't even in the same race as those maniacs!

(Don't get me wrong, I dream of being one of those maniacs one day and hope to get a real podium finish before I am completely gray, but still. They are wicked fast and clearly fearless.)

3 laps in I have to take off my heart rate monitor.

This has been happening lately.

I guess I am in such a state of panic/heat that the HRM around my chest just makes me feel like I am being crushed.

I spend the rest of my race kicking my own ass and talking myself through each lap.

The goosebumps/chills come again and I try to mentally convince myself that it isn't happening.

I start downing electrolytes at the top of the course and am rolling really super slow.

I keep going.

Head down and focused.

I have to shake this.

It's just heat.

Those other girls are doing it.

Megan tells me to work with her.

I am so dizzy and out of it that I tell her to push on. I was going 15mph.

FIFTEENFUCKINGMILESPERHOUR!

My six year old can almost go that fast.

At one point I nearly wreck myself unzipping my skinsuit. (That's one, and possibly the only, advantage of being dropped, you can't wreck anyone else.)

I hang in there until I can feel the shakes in my legs.

Stacie yells at me on the climb to jump on.

Oddly, I liked the climb today. It is the descent into the turn that has been fucking me the entire race.

That being said, at that point, I was in no shape to work with anyone.

I stay to the right and out of everyone's way.

I am no where close to being in contention and at this point will be lucky to not pass out.

One more lap.

I watch a racer DNF and feel her pain, but keep on going.

I push through but know I am toast.

With 8 laps to go, I pull out.

The typical body spasms, gasping for air, dry heaves, and crying ensue.

(Poor Jay.)

I cannot formulate sentences.

(Happy Jay!)

I lay under the tent while the world swirls.

I stay that way a while.

I sit on the cooler to cheer on Stacie and Megan in the final laps.

I am beating myself up and inform Jay that I am still racing the next day of the Tour.

"I know," he says.

Why the fuck does this keep happening I wonder out loud.

"You're sick, Cor," is Jay's sweet response.

It hits me like a brick to the face, though that's not how he meant it.

His eyes were soft, his tone gentle.

It killed me to hear it.

I often try to forget.

I never want "THAT" to be the reason I suck.

I was off the bike for a few weeks.

I had lost my love of it once the health issues started in.

But I had gotten refocused.

Sure, there was no way I was going to be stellar, but I was racing slower than I generally ride...and suffering.

What happens to me when a number gets pinned on my back has nothing to do with cancer.

Sure, there are days when clearly my illness plays a part, but somewhere along the line I developed a mental block.

Maybe I don't want to do well.

*shakes head*

Nope, that can't be it...

Maybe I am stressing too much about doing well...

I don't really know.

That being said, I dragged my sorry ass out of bed the next morning and kitted up to jump back in for the Power and Light Criterium.

There were two wicked climbs in this crit.

Right after each other.

The second was deceptively more difficult.

Where I should have been bombing down the hill and diving into my turn, I recovered instead.

I drooled. I gasped. I gritted my teeth.

There was no way I was dropping out.

They could pull me if they wanted, but I was pushing through this until that moment.

I made damn certain I rode strong on the front of the course.

I secretly thanked the universe that Jay stayed on that side of the course and didn't see my suffering.

I'm not saying he didn't know, but my dignity was marginally spared.

This crit hurt.

Bad.

Every revolution felt like knives ripping through my bones and slicing my chest.

I heard, "8 laps to go!" and sighed.

I shut my mind down.

At one point on the 2nd climb, my legs shook so bad that I couldn't stand and had to spin.

That sucked.

I closed it off.

I went numb.

"5 laps to go!"

Michelle Jensen caught me on the back side of the course and said, "Jump on for a draft if you need it!"

My heart smiled.

That was futhamuckin' Michelle Jensen, dude!

I nearly fainted.

That being said, we aren't allowed to work with their field and I was so chicken shit of getting DQ'd when I was this close that I didn't go with her.

I hear the leaders go through and hear the most magical sound...

The bell.

"ONE LAP TO GO! ONE LAP TO GO!"

As I roll through, Lefler calls out, "Cory Redmond, you have one lap to go!"

I blow him a kiss.

As I take turn one for the last time, I start to cry.

(You are surprised by this, no?)

I am so happy that there are no photographers at that moment. I am not fantastic at crying.

I dive into my last 2 turns and hammer up the hill to the Finish.

Lefler announces my finish and proceeds to announce that a reporter is waiting to talk to me.

This actually makes me laugh because I know people who don't know me will think I'm a pretty big deal for that one moment...

I take a second to imagine who they might wonder me to be, because clearly I was not the winner of that race.

This strikes me as funnier by the second and I start to relax.

As I roll over to Jay, I lose it however.

I bury my face in his chest and bawl as he hugs me and pours water down my back and head.

One of these days, I am going to do more than just finish.

One of these days, finishing is going to be no big deal to me.