Sitting It Out

Well, I'm just not sure this is my summer.

I have battled to get back to zero after the Tour de Hermann and the shit with my chest/immune system just doesn't seem to agree.

Over the past few weeks, I have jumped back on the training pony, only to over train and end up sick again.

This sucks.

Last week I was scheduled for 4 races. And while that may not be a tough dealio for some racers, it was an ass kicker for me.

I started the week with a pretty fantastic wreck session in Castlewood on Monday evening.

And while the whole wreckfest was hilarious and fun as shit, the next day I fully realized what I had actually done to myself.

Though my left knee swelled immediately upon the first of the Monday night wrecks, it handed me my ass fully on Tuesday morning.

(I guess I should have stopped riding after I wrecked it Monday night...)

*shrugs*

Instead of babying it, I went out to Tuesday Night Worlds to spin on it.

Pretty purple bruises adorned my sun-kissed skin as I was told by my littlest that all the spots made me look like a purple Appaloosa.

(Nice.)

I put on my ugly knee brace and rode around.

It sucked.

I couldn't stand and mash.

My leg shook as I pedaled.

I started the B race and got nervous the 2nd time we hit the turn and backed off.

I took a lap off, but knew I needed to get my workout in.

I jumped back in, but waited for the field to pass so that I could work without impeding.

I practiced my diving skills.

Each revolution sent knives shooting through my body.

I have really slacked off with my pain management lately. It's been weeks since I've seen my acupuncturist. It sucks.

I heard myself actually growl as I pushed up the backside of the course.

Drool dangling on my lip.

For the first time in a while, I consciously focused on the words written with a black Sharpie on my handle bars.

"Push Thru"

*grooooooooaaaaannnnnn....*

I tuned it all out.

After a few laps, I rolled over to the kiddos and removed my wet knee brace.

Free.

I jump in again.

*fuuuuuucccckkkkkkkk!*

A few more laps and I am burning.

I go back to the kiddos.

Tears hover on the rims of my eyes and my lip trembles as I look at Ty and he knows how much this sucks.

Jay is still in there racing, so I grab my iPod and roll to work it out on the other side of the park.

NIN comes on the shuffle and I settle in as I let my mind go blank and let Trent (NIN) sing me through the pain of riding....ummmm, Trent (bike)...

The pain is fucking with me.

I finally fall asleep around 2:30am.

On Wednesday morning I get a text from Dan, my coach, that he thinks I may be over training. We set up a time to talk the next day.

However, I ride an easy ride Wednesday night with Jay to spin our legs.

Unfortunately, we also stay up working until 12am on a response to a project he is working on, so I am beat when the lights go out.

5am on Thursday dawns too soon and I am excited and anxious about the Dirt Crits that night.

It will be my first week in the B race.

Will my knee hold up?

Would I fall asleep mid-pedal stroke?

Would I be alert enough to hit the creek without blood on the cross bike?

Do I have enough Absolut Citron for my post-race lemonade?

I talk to Dan and he is unhappy with my beating the crap out of myself the week leading up to that weekend's races at Tour de Champaign.

I promise to be a good girl and I know he doesn't believe me and can tell that I am hopped up on caffeine and excitement like a Chihuahua on crack as I gush on about the dirt crits and the new cx set up.

He pats me on the head through the phone and heads off to the mountains for the weekend.

I race the B race and do better than I thought I would, though I would never have made it through as well without Mark Grumpke and Jiri Deksasky.

*high fives both badasses*

Mark would let me pass him on the backside of the course and then kick my ass at the creek.

I think at some point in the race I actually told him that I love him.

(Priceless.)

On the final lap, I let Jiri pass on the bridge, as he is ahead of me on laps.

Because it is the last lap, he rides just ahead of me, but seems to check back to make sure I'm still there and not crashed...or dead.

We hit the creek and we both dismount and cyclocross-carry our bikes across.

It is a very "Chariots of Fire" theme-song-playing-moment as we high five each other and run up together.

As we finish up the lap, Jiri says that we should make a big production about finishing.

We start screaming and cheering ourselves on in the last stretch and keep going as we hit the turn and mash toward the matrix...

I keep telling him to come up, but he will not cross the finish before me.

No matter. He was a lap up, so he beat me regardless. We knew this.

It was a hilarious and spectacular finish to a fantastic race.

I am high with excitement as I crawl into bed, knowing I have to be at the office by 6am so I can leave for Champaign.

As we are ready to leave, I am exhausted.

I spent the day talking myself into driving to Champaign.

I wanted to be in Champign, but I wanted to blink myself there and wished that teleporting was a reality.

By the time Jay and I arrive in Champaign, we are both exhausted and hungry.

My glands are swollen and my eyes are red.

My voice is going.

When we awake Saturday morning, I am sore from head to toe and my nose is stuffed.

Throat is sore and I am listless.

I want to sleep for days.

We talk it over for a few minutes and decide I should sleep and race the next day.

We grab a bite and watch my race from the restaurant.

Anona is on fire and kicks the field's ass...by a LOT.

It starts to rain as the next race takes off.

Hard.

Fantastic.

We go back to the hotel and sleep another few hours.

I roll out of bed again and drive to the course as Jay rides so I can help set up.

Jay races and I have little energy to run the course like I normally do.

It is a tough race and wicked fast.

I am detached from it.

I feel weird.

Sleepy.

Numb.

The next morning, I feel worse.

I had spent the better part of Saturday talking myself into racing on Sunday, but now that Sunday was here, I wanted to sleep.

Warm bed.

No kids.

No chores.

*yawn*

I wash the dry (but super sexy) dried snot off my face and tell Jay, with what is left of my voice, that I am not racing.

This is a change for him.

Usually he is telling me that I am not racing while I pout like a child.

I think he actually worried a bit, but followed my lead.

I sat down for 90% of his race.

After his race, I got on my bike for the first time that weekend and rolled around with him.

I wanted to sleep.

We got in the car to drive home.

I wanted to sleep.

I drove.

I awoke Monday with less voice, more pain and realized that I had an 8am meeting.

Ughhhhh!

Jay and I rolled around easy that night as we discussed my plan for the week now that I was flat out sick.

No Tuesday Night Worlds.

I rode with Steph and Quiz and did some hill efforts, but rode tempo for the most part of the 22 miles.

Gum and snot.

Yummmm!

My bike went unloved Wednesday night as I relaxed with Jay and the kiddos.

I took some TheraFlu Nighttime before going to bed in the hopes that it would give me my miracle for the Thursday Dirt Crits.

It did the opposite.

It "loosened" stuff up in my chest and sinuses, but now I am a coughing weezing wreck.

So pretty.

Then it happened...

I made a comment that I might still try to race tonight, and Dan, being what he is supposed to be, my coach, nipped that in the bud so quick my head almost spun.

I made my promise.

I won't race.

I will be "good" and spin, but no efforts.

Tour de Soulard is Sunday.

...and we all know I need my snot cleared and gone so that I can look fast in Dennis Fickinger's race photos of all those wicked turns.

*snicker*

So, though it will "kill" me, I will be sitting the Dirt Crits out this week...though I will be there to support my friends and cheer on Ty.

This will be a tough one, but I feel confident that I can do it.

I can sit it out.

*pout*