(Some may recall that this was the race where I was sick as a dog the night before and fell off the toilet and slept on the bathroom floor...then raced the race hydrating myself just enough to not pass out but not enough to poo my pants. Good times!)
*throws up mock thumbs-up sign*
I am naturally brilliant (this is sarcasm) when it comes to racing, so I felt that with this week's medical advice to "take it easy" and "not participate in any strenuous activities", I should of course temporarily abandon my decision to only do crit races and enter the O'fallon Grand Prix.
C'mon. It is a sentimental race to me and I wanted to see what it would be like to ride it without fear of pooping my pants. (Don't even try to pretend that you wouldn't do the same!)
Plus I had to skip last week's Wheels Over Wildwood crit, so I was feeling antsy to race. (There is CLEARLY something wrong with me. CLEARLY!)
Last year I raced in a category which no longer exists (Women's Masters 35+), but I was curious to see how (or if) I had improved over last year.
When we awoke, it was of course raining.
DAMMIT!
Mentally I was crushed, knowing that I could not race in the rain thanks to my health issues and still not being recovered from the Hermann RR.
As I turned the dryer on to make sure our race kits were dry, I crawled back into bed and said poutily to Jay, "I'm racing."
"Not if it's raining, you're not, " he replied.
*sticking out my bottom lip*
"Cor, you know what it will do to you and you will be screwed for weeks."
(I not so secretly hate when he is:
- logical
- correct)
"Can I pack all my gear as if I am going to race just in case it stops raining?" I ask with my saddest puppy dog eyes.
"Of course you can!" he says and hugs me.
(Psssst...I LOVE him!)
It rains the whole way out.
It rains while we walk up to registration with Steph and Phil.
I look at Jay with panic on my face.
Do I register? Do I wait?
Ughhhh!
"Why don't you wait a while and see if the rain stops?" he suggests.
"OK," I say with a pathetic sigh.
As I stood there, it seemed simply wrong to not register. I filled out my paperwork but didn't turn it in...yet.
I waited with Jay while he registered...
...but the ladies at the registration for my race looked so lonely now that Steph had finished.
I saw Steph with her race number and it seemed wrong to not race THIS race with her. We did this together last year.
I quietly register...still unsure if I will start.
Jay has a look I cannot describe on his face. It is one of frustration and I think a little pride too...I may never know...
As we walk outside, the sun is out!
Holy hell!
The sun!!
No effing way!!!
I think I may have squeaked or squealed...I'm not really sure.
I got ready...fast!
I was now a nervous wreck that the rain would start again.
"I want you to take your vest and rain jacket and protect your chest," Jay says.
"OK!" I say with a happy smile now that he has mentally conceded that I am racing this race. I wanted to hug him.
I was so edgy that I forgot my glasses and gloves and had to go back, but I didn't care.
We warmed up and Jay's race was getting ready to go off.
We did the "schmoopie thing" and he offered his love to some other Pro,1,2's and I rode off to warm up some more.
As Steph, Susan and I chat at the start line awaiting our race to go off, Christine spots me.
Christine took 1st to my 2nd in our category (which no longer exists) last year.
We caught up and were happy to see each other this year.
As the whistle blows, we ride through the neutral zone and a Wild Card racer (Antonia?) asks me if I want to go with her on an attack...off the front...because "they" will never expect it.
*Thinks in head, Ummmmm, no...but they're not headless...they'll SEEEEEEEE it....derrrr!*
She being from out of town and me knowing 90% of the field is laughing in my head.
"Well, you can try it," I tell her.
She was sweet and very strong, but not very stealthy...
She made 2 revolutions before looking back at the field as if to scream, "HEY! LOOK AT ME ATTACKING OFF THE FRONT! CAN YOU SEE ME?!!? HOW ABOUT NOW...?"
I chased...as did the field and I couldn't help shaking my head at her. There is NO future for that girl as a secret agent.
As I dropped back with Christine we are laughing at our roles in this race...bringing up the rear...or so we thought...but we had actually dropped quite a few girls.
Another attack on another hill and the field surges...
I try to get back in my big ring and it won't go...
I am fighting this when Christine passes me...
...and then I get passed by some racer with nice wheels...
I am starting to get pissed.
I like Christine, but she is not beating me today!
Why the *bleep* won't this effing thing shift?!?!? I just had this issue fixed at the shop last week...or so I thought.
I get it to shift and then feel completely fucked.
Dammit!
I am NOT doing another effing time trial in Illinois. Not today, bitches!
I speed up my cadence and drop my head and go.
I barely look up.
I am just charging and see the girl with the nice wheels.
I bridge up to her and attempt to draft her wheel for a minute, but she isn't having it.
She moves to the side and I stay with her.
She is getting pissed.
Something snaps in me.
I think, "Fuck you then!" but say nothing, go around her and drop her...hard.
*thinks in head, "Ya should have worked with me bitch. I'm NICE"!*
Head down and pounding my pedals, I am bridging back up to Christine and can see the field again and instead of drafting her, as I pull next to her I yell, "Jump on my wheel!" and keep bridging to the field.
In my head I feel that the girl with the nice wheels must feel pretty stupid right now.
*does juvenile nah-nee-nah-nee-boo-boo dance at stupid girl*
With Christine and I now back in the field, we get a moment's rest...
...and then I see it...
...a hill in the distance...
I signal Cristel (my Ghisallo badass) to get to the outside with me and nod at Wild Card.
Cristel nods that she gets it and moves over so we can chase her down when she goes.
Predictable as my monthly cycle, Wild Card added her gears and went...
We chased...
(I don't know if you are counting here, but that was twice *TWICE* that I was aggressive in a road race...not counting the bridge work.)
I am the generally the most passive, just trying not to die, pulling over to puke racer in any given race at any given venue in any climate.
Generally when I get dropped, I make one effort to bridge and if it doesn't stick, I say "fuck it" and time trial my way through the race talking to myself, drooling, and attempting to spit without wrecking myself.
Once again I find myself next to Steph in a race...on a hill...and we glimpse at each other as we chase down Wild Card and the obligatory "Fuuuuuuuuckkkkkk...." comes out on an exhale.
The field spreads out a bit on that attack and Christine and I find ourselves in the back...with a gap starting to happen...
As we take this one turn, I struggle to get my breathing back to normal and have a small panic attack in exactly the same spot that I had one last year.
For some reason this amuses me mid-panic and I somehow push through it...
Christine is catching me on this climb...
We turn and I throw it back into the big ring and and it won't go...again...
I hit my lap button on the Garmin so I can see exactly how long this takes.
The gap widens between Christine and me.
Then some other chick (but NOT the one with the nice wheels) passes me.
(Where the hell did SHE come from?!?!?)
[insert words inappropriate for children, grandmas and God-fearing Christians here]
I am slamming the cranks around in my little ring chasing her and Christine and I let out the first of 2 very loud screams of frustration, pain, and something that I hope will scare Satan himself...
It wasn't a word, just a guttural, primal yell...
"He" clearly did not hear me...so as I pound on, I do it again (as if that shit will propel me and not really rob me of precious energy...Oy!)
I guess the second yell was scarier because the Satan of Cranks (or maybe of stretched out cables) released me and I was able to shift.
2 minutes and 46 futha mucking seconds.
CRAP!
Here we go.
Head down.
Inhale.
Aero.
GO!!!!!!!!!
I chase and as we take the turn a little over 10 miles in, I see Heaven.
There's a hill.
They are struggling with the climb.
2 bike lengths now...
I am about to pee myself with excitement that I have caught them...
...wait...
Why am I suddenly going slow...
2.5 bike lengths...
3...
I look down at my wheel...
"Why hello, Mr. Flat Tubie! So nice of you to show up and screw me in my race!"
No respect.
We had just passed volunteers on the turn so I think I will hustle back and get them to walkie-talkie (yes, I know they are called 2-ways or radios, but saying "walkie-talkie" makes me happy!) the wheel truck so I can get a wheel.
I am met by 2 of the nicest volunteers, a married couple who are painstakingly watching this dangerous turn and keeping cars from killing racers.
They do not have walkie-talkies.
Nor does the next wheel truck that comes through...
Ummmm...seriously?
Sooooo...I am not getting a wheel nor a ride? Really? I have to carry my bike back 10+ miles?
*scratching head*
I watch a few girls who I was clearly ahead of pass by and I start to get a little stressed.
Am I REALLY not going to finish this race????
I finished this race last year while dehydrated. I am feeling GOOOOOOD for the first time in a LONG time!
(I never underestimate the power of a little defiance with a side order of piss and vinegar...)
The volunteers and I chat while we all hope there will be some love in the form of assistance soon...
I would be willing to come in DFL at this point, but I want a wheel and I want to finish!!!
*hears crickets instead of wheel love*
I sigh and realize that it's over.
I'm not going to finish this race.
I am frustrated, but am so warmed by this very cool volunteer couple that it all melts away.
They offer me a ride back in their truck and I accept after standing in the sun dehydrating a while.
Mrs. Volunteer mans the turn and we load up Trent into their truck.
I sigh again.
My OGP is over...but the mental commitment to return next year is strong.
I am not a fan of road races...yet, but there is something really special about this race that makes you want to do it.
I was an immediate fan last year and this year was no different.
I was happy that I got to share/race it with some of the people whom I love...and introduce Jay to it.
He also became an immediate fan.
As I walked up to the Start/Finish to let the officials know I DNF'd, Aero gives me some good natured ribbing.
"Hey man, what can I say? If it's DFL or DNF, it's probably me right now...but I still have the prettiest bike in last place," I laugh.
...and some days that's good enough.
*kisses Trent and smacks his naughty saddle for being bad in the OGP*
He knows he's in for it now...there's a hot black Pinarello just WAITING for me to love it, right Dave?
*wink wink*
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