Night of the Puking Bubba

The Bubba psychocross series started this past weekend.

(YES!)

Some kids wait all year for Santa...this kid waits all year for Bubba.

Everything I did on the bike all year was just to stay/get in shape for Bubba.

Bubba is like my Buddha, so regardless of having the flu on top of my other crap (a few thousand adorable stitches and no effing core to speak of) for the past 2 weeks...and regardless of the fact that I have been mostly off the bike for 2 weeks...

I signed right the hell up for Bubba #1...a psychocross race at night.

I didn't even blink.

That being said, at the Start, I was sort of out of sorts.

I was cold.

I was coughing.

My nose was stuffed.

Still.

This would be "fun".

I raced a few laps.

There was a LOT of running in this race.

OK, just so you know, I am not a runner.

I'm pretty much against running unless I am being chased by a madman with a knife or Freddy Krueger...

As I have been chased by neither, I see no reason for me to run.

Ever.

This race had the most running I have done in a good 25+ years....combined.

It made my boobies hurt.

*NOTE: I do not have big or actual boobies so if they jiggle when I sneeze, it's generally considered a "good day".

This was painful.

So the third time up that hill after the run-up/descent, I damn near collapsed and started puking water/Hammer.

Jay appeared out of no where!

Kube sang, "Wind Beneath My Wings" at me while I cried and puked and Jay said really nice things to make me breathe...

Once I saw Kube, I knew that "That One Girl" was coming...

I got mad that "That One Girl" was about to pass me and once she did, I'm pretty sure I growled, though you'd have to ask Jay.

I know I cried harder and said, "She. Is. Not. Beating. Me."

...and then took off and attacked...

...and picked her off...

...and then some other girl...

...and then caught up to where I wanted to be...with Kube.

I raced another lap after that and it was almost "lights out" for ol' Cory.

The world spun.

I dropped to my knees and puked some more.

I scared the crap out of some dude with a cowbell and he tried to help as I grabbed the Earth and lost my water and Hammer gel while looking very specifically "not pretty".

I got a Kleenex hand-up from a sweet older lady and then Jay came and led me away.

I sobbed like a baby.

I knew that he wanted to take it away for me...and not just because boys hate seeing girls cry.

I'm so effing tired of being sick that I want to smack someone...and I'm not sure if it matters whom.

Someone paLEEEEEZE hand me a politician...or L.A....

I got up the next morning in the biggest funk I have seen in some time and wasn't sure if I was going to race or just lay in bed all day and cry.

(Holy shit!)

Thank dog Allison texted me that she was racing that day and asked if I had a spare GU.

I didn't, but told her I had some extra Hammer.

...and that is how I talked myself into at least going to the race.

I cried the whole way there.

Not sobs, but tears.

I took some baby steps.

Jay checked out registration and called me to tell me the line was short.

I got dressed.

I registered.

I pre-rode the course with Jay telling me my race strategy.

I started to relax.

I started the race.

I didn't go out as hot as usually do.

I was sort of in a Theraflu stupor and just grabbed a wheel.

It's all I had for a few moments until we went through what would eventually be the finish and I started to climb.

I started remembering my skills.

I got my head together on the pavement and remembered all that Jay had said when we pre-rode.

He didn't run the course this day, so I had to remember everything he said.

(Dude! That boy can talk! He says a LOT of stuff!)

Days like this made it difficult to ride AND remember...

Jeeeeeeeze.

I held it together.

I held my pace.

For whatever reason, on this day, I was brain dead at the barriers.

I even did something on one lap that cannot be easily described.

I almost slapped myself for doing it and I know I started chastising myself out loud...

(Are you fast-forwarding in your head to like 30 years from now when I am pushing a shopping cart and talking to my 27 imaginary cats too?)

With 3 laps to go, something snapped...in a good way.

I started picking up the pace a little bit and screwing with boys on the climbs.

(I don't know why this is fun to me, but one boy in particular did NOT like it one little bit.)

I mean, it's not like I would ride by and kick them or slap their asses...I would just climb past them.

The one boy made a point of immediately bombing down past me on a descent whilst making a snarky comment.

(Ya didn't really think the course through in your head before you did that, did ya, wise ass? I'd like to stay and chat, but we have this climb and this is where I have to drop ya. My baaaaaaaad...)

*rolling eyes*

It was only the second time in all my 'cross races that a guy has been a dick to me, but the first time was a body-check at Spanish Lake last year and that actually pissed me off...and hurt. This was just silly/funny.

Anyhoo...

I sort of have to thank the tool.

I started to get that playful spirit back in me and actually began having fun.

I blew kisses to my "fans" and actually smiled the last 2 times through the barriers.

I finished between Gina and Kate and that's pretty much a perfect race day for me since they are both actually badass and kick my ass regularly on the road.

As we lay in bed last night, Jay told me how fun it was to watch me actually race again.

I knew what he meant.

...and he looked actually proud of and happy for me.

...and it was the latter that made me smile.