Psychocross Closeout

I know that I owe 3 race blogs.

I know.

I have bigger shit going on, so let me sum it up:

Mt. Pleasant Bubba Cx:

That course was futha muckin' wicked!

It was a the hardest, most bad ass course that has been a Bubba course for a long while.

This course was suited for MTB racers.

It made me happy. It made me cry. It made me puke.

There were stairs, barriers, and a ramp that drove the course through the bar.

'Nuf said.

In the end, I finished and beat some people and earned my wine and my sleep that night.

I had talked some people into trying their first cx race at this venue and they may never speak to me or ever race cross again, but it is what it is. I will remember them fondly and call them "pussies" in my head with a smirk if either become true.

Belle Fontaine II Bubba CX:

This was my favorite course (because I missed the St. Vincent's Bubba which I was told WOULD have been my favorite course).

I was ready for this race.

It was technical and muddy.

It was a Cory CX orgasm.

I felt strong.

I felt stronger when I powered up the big hill off the pond on the back side of the course and passed some badass ladies who usually school me.

It felt awesome when the PBR boys hoot and hollered and went nutso with their cowbells as this happened.

The very next lap ended up being a killer.

"The Root" took me down.

I went down, I dropped my chain, and Gina was hot on my tail.

The PBR boys screamed at me to haul ass and I hopped on and took a look behind me trying to keep my lead.

I felt strong. I was having a fantastic race.

There had been times I wanted to slap myself because I was so happy...even after the wreck...

As we took the hairpin off the gravel-garnished pavement onto the track along the pond, I added my gears and took off.

Unfortunately, I look the wrong line up the hill that time and quickly dismounted to run it.

My bike rolled back fast and the stem slammed into me, hitting my incision which is still sensitive and sore.

The pain was like none I have felt before.

It took the wind right out of me and felt like I had just been sliced with a razor and then kicked in that spot with a steel-tipped boot.

I could not breathe and felt all my intake rising in my throat.

I dragged my ass off the course and hyperventilated while the sweat poured off me and the heaving ensued.

I began to strip off my skinsuit and was in sheer panic that I would pass out and Jay would not know where the hell I was.

I think it was Davis who came over to me and asked if I needed anything.

Not wanting anyone to panic, I told him to get Jay.

I'm pretty sure he was nervous that I was absolutely not OK.

He told some lady who didn't know either me or Jay to get Jay.

(He pointed at my kit and told her to look for a guy dressed like me.)

This actually made me smile and I had to pull it together.

She was never going to find Jay.

I am not sure if she is still looking for Jay or if someone told her that he had been found.

Possibly she is still at Bella Fontaine park.

I'm not certain.

Kate stopped mid-race to check on me and I yelled at her to get back in there and race.

Damn. She probably lost a few positions checking on me.

Uncomfortable and preferring to be like an old sick dog and away from people, I put my skinsuit back on and got back on the course.

This made the PBR/concerned citizens feel better, I think.

I rode off, but could not sit up straight in the saddle.

I got through most of the rest of the course and Cristel pulled me out and walked me to the car.

I could not believe this pain.

Jay met us there and they doctored me up and helped me take my meds and I let them.

I was freaked out by the pain.

I would later learn why...

State Championship:

It was a pavement start.

The whistle blew.

I took off in a way that surprised even me.

In mid take-off, I could imagine Jay's mouth agape as he watched something he has never seen...from me.

Those type of starts are like a dream.

You almost want to pinch yourself to see if it is really happening...even if it only lasts for a moment.

Mine lasted until right before we hit the grass when Aubree (Beat the Effing Bejeezus Out of You Without Breaking a Sweat) Dock rode up next to me and calmly said, "Nice start."

"Thanks, " I said as we hit the grass. "Here's where it ends," I laughed as we hit the uphill barriers and took the hairpin.

Crap...there was Stephanie McCreary right there to break up our social hour.

I jumped on Steph's wheel and was fine until the giant run-up.

I had to shake my head and smile as she took off when we got to the top...

Good lord.

I promised not to psyche myself out this race and I didn't.

I bombed down the hill and rode my race.

Throughout the race, I was able to gain a few positions at the barriers and on the pavement, but never enough to catch McCreary.

This was not a day when I would be fine with simply finishing.

With 2 laps to go, something snapped in me as I hit the pavement and saw the reigning State Champ ahead of me.

Me and Becky had been dancing the entire race.

She knew I looked up to her and that she scared the hell out of me.

I added gears like a psycho and went into my drops.

I felt almost guilty about the way that I came up on her, so when I got there, I rode next to her instead of being a dick.

"Don't you ever quit?" she asked.

Breathless, I replied, "Not today" and laughed.

We talked about who was in front and what we were or were not going to do about it.

We were off the podium and were not getting there at this stage in the race.

That being said, neither of us agreed to a truce in this race.

There was no "Chariots of Fire" music playing as we held hands and crossed the Finish together.

This was a race.

I saved my energy as we manuvered the backside of the course and at the run-up, I went.

As I came up on Margaret and another racer, I did something out of character for me...

I said, "Coming through the middle" and passed instead of recovering.

The male racer said, "Go BIG!"

I did.

As I went, I said out loud to myself, "Holy shit. That just happened!"

I then realized that 2 spectators were there on the hill and heard me talking to myself.

That made me smile.

When I rounded the turn toward the stairs, I looked back. I was clear.

I hit the stairs and Jay verbalized his shock about what had just happened.

(That's twice in one race that I shocked that boy with something bordering on pride in one race...and possibly the entire cross season...for those keeping count.)

This was somewhat of an energizer for me as I generally can do nothing to impress him in a race.

I hit the barriers and felt pretty darn alive.

As I hit the sandpit, I could see that Becky was with Suzanne and if I didn't stay strong, those VeloForce girls were going to beat the crap out of me.

I went.

Hard.

As I came through the Finish I realized that the race was over.

I threw my hands up like some super fantastic European racer (I'm so totally not but was so wickedly happy that I could not remotely help what happened at that point) and screamed...

...then burst into tears...

The male racer whom I had passed and who had told me to "Go Big" rode up to me and said, "You can thank me for pulling you through the sandpit."

I had to crack up.

That was actually funny.

I think I told him I love him, but it's all a blurr.

Later I saw Becky.

She said, "I heard you're happy you beat me."

(It's almost like she doesn't understand that beating her, even when she is injured, is sort of a big deal for a cx noob like myself.)

I thought before I answered and hoped that this would not be one of those moments in which my frankness awarded me a black eye...

"Yeah. I am. I hope you take that as a compliment."

She had a look on her face that I cannot explain and I know she wishes that she didn't get injured this year...and so do I...yet I know that woman is going to do her best to punish me/bring out the best in me next year.

I almost can't wait.

I closed the day with 6th (of 12).

I was happy.

I am still happy.

I was so happy on Monday that I actually cried on my way to work replaying the race in my head (but let's be frank, it was the 22nd day of my cycle so there could be hormones in play here people).

It has been a long year.

I immediately started my super-secret off-season training Monday night.

I was stoked.

Jay was amused but seemed to get my excitement when I gushed about how alive I felt.

State was the first race upon which I could look back and say that there was not one thing I could have done differently in that race except be stronger and faster.

It will come.

I will make sure of it...or die trying.

The Bittersweet Podium

At the last minute I had two race options for that Saturday.

Race in Columbia (MO) and see some friends, or race in IL and support a series I was super happy to have seen added to this year's 'cross schedule?

Circumstances had kept me from racing the previous 3 races in the latter series and this weekend would be the Finale.

I pondered and weighed my options for a while and finally decided that I really wanted to:

1. support all the hard work that Pride, Inc. had put into organizing this new series so that they did it again next year and maybe add even MORE races to the series; and


2. actually go for a podium instead of a mere finish.

(The latter was a fairly aggressive decision on my part and it might make you laugh when you find that I later actually stepped that goal up a bit as well...)

I had never entered any race aiming for the podium.

On that Friday, I joked with Tina and Judy that I was actually going to go for the win.

I could hear Jay blink over the phone when I told him.

I could feel him pat me on the head through the line like an adorable puppy.

I couldn't blame him really.

He hasn't exactly witnessed me being aggressive in a race but a handful of times.

Regardless, I had made up my mind.

(Wish I did this more often before races instead of the mind-fuckage I normally tango with...and I bet Dan will agree with this.)

Saturday dawned beautiful, sunny, and hot...for November.

The Sass and I drove out to the race singing loudly while lady bugs (or stink beetles) danced around the velowagon.

I can't lie, I don't know if they are lady bugs or stink beetles, but I detest those little fuckers. They bite and they were EVERYWHERE that week!

We pulled up to the park and the course was fantastically beautiful.

It was a magical place, this Glen Moore Park.

I threw on my skinsuit and registered.

I had a lady bug/stink beetle in my kit.

OUCH! WTF?!?!

We lined up to start and all was light and jovial.

The whistle blew and pretty much just like that, Stephanie dropped me like a bad habit.

Mentally I thought, "Dammit you *bleep bleepin' bleep bleep*!"

Outwardly, I groaned and had to hammer to chase...and make sure I held 2nd.

By the time we got to the steep hill, I was mentally ready to close the gap a bit, but when I dove into the descent and then started the climb, my IT band reached up and sucker-punched me right in the face and reminded me that I had run a few days earlier and how stupid that crazy-assed behavior is for a non-runner during cross season.

I could hear Jay screaming and my eyes got wide as saucers as I was suddenly unable to climb and had to run it.

FUTHER MUCKER!!!!!

This pissed me off.

Mentally, I had to battle my own stupidity and throw it away.

I came for a podium.

I am getting a dog damned podium.

Today.

This day.

And not just by a little.

I wanted a big fucking gap if I was going to take 2nd.

I did not want a close sprint with #3.

Screw that noise.

It was hot and it was a course that was tailored to a climber.

I was, for the most part, in my element.

With exception to what had become a run-up, I was pretty darn happy.

(Did I mention that there was a barrier at the top of that hill?)

Those are always super fun and not a place to bring small children whom you do not want to pick up $5.00 vocabulary words.

During one lap, I dropped my chain when I put down (read "dropped") my bike after a carry.

This wigged me because I knew that Nicole was now in 3rd and she is a runner.

Generally I will take her on the barriers, but not on this course.

All I had was my climbing and turning.

Gina calmed me down as I took off and hauled ass.

Matt D. told me which line to take in the back turn and I mentally got back on my game.

It was hot.

I was monitoring my water closely and without lap cards, I could not tell how far we had to go.

While racing, I yelled to Jay several times to see if he could find out so that I could pace correctly.

With 3 laps to go, I told Gina to tell Jay that I would need water as soon as finished the race.

I had 4 sips left and needed 6.

I had to quickly calculate my final recovery spots as I felt/watched the dehydration goosebumps cover my skin.

With 2 to go I got dizzy as I crossed the Finish and the course went blurry.

I had to shake it off and take the tiniest of sips.

Gina continued to cheer me on at the hell hill barrier.

(She rocks!)

...and had she been in this race, I would have taken 3rd...happily.

I was focused and could tell that I had widened the gap between Nicole and myself.

Something snapped in me.

The last lap was very different for me.

I could actually taste the competitiveness on my tongue.

It was a new taste.

It was not passive or bland.

It was sort of spicy and sweet all at once.

Like a cayenne infused dark chocolate truffle.

It was yummy and rich and I wanted to lick every last bit off my fingers slowly and chase it with a robust red wine...

Gina knew it was different when I made that last climb.

She could see it.

I was home.

I crossed the Finish and just to make sure, I actually made them say I was done before I would stop pedaling.

My head dropped and a small smile slowly crept across my quivering lips.

I rode over to my car and grabbed water immediately while The Sass jumped up and down about the magical stick bug she had found on the tree.

My body was not ready for the cold water and reacted less than gracefully.

I kept from puking and passing out.

(DOUBLE SCORE!!!)

I was high and sick and excited and sweaty (and I'm pretty sure stinky)...

...and I wanted to scream and dance and scream some more.

I mentally jumped up and down like an ADHD kid who just slammed a crack and Mountain Dew ice cream float...

(Red Bull ain't got shit on my energy at that exact moment!)

I hugged The Sass and Jay and grabbed my phone to text a few choice supporters (and/or anyone who might be shocked by the news) and was flying high...

Then it was time to focus on Jay's race.

It was a blast.

He got 2nd too and it was a pretty good day for Fulcrum Coaching.

As Jay was cooling off after his race, The Sass and I loaded the velowagon and waited to leave.

Just then, Tina (whom I had texted to tell her that I did in fact get the podium I had promised her the day before) called me.

I assumed she was calling to give me some playful ribbing about not winning.

I answered in my "I'm-so-happy-you-called-can-you-believe-this-shit?!?!" voice and she did not sound good at all.

"What's wrong, Sweetie? You don't sound well," I said to her.

"Cor, it's Kyle..."

I held my breath.

I felt my throat tighten and my eyes began to burn.

Her throat was raw with pain and devastation.

I could feel her green eyes burning red and swollen through the phone.

She didn't have the words out of her mouth before I knew.

I knew the sentence that was coming.

I tried to shut it out.

I tried to shut down time.

I tried to disappear inside of myself.

I looked in the rear view mirror at The Sass with her headphones on and knew I had to stay.

I had to hear it.

I looked past The Sass as Pride, Inc. tore down the recently beautiful 'cross course.

I watched the day vanish.

"...He didn't make it, Cor..."

I heard myself scream inwardly.

I felt the hot mess of salty pain running fast down my once happy face.

The day rolled backwards fast in my mind and I was standing on my desk and goofing off with her the day before.

Both of us happy and excited about the weekend ahead.

I knew I had to hold onto that image.

It will be a while before I will see my friend's eyes dance again...

I looked at my beautiful trophy and suddenly it all seemed so silly.

The next day, I raced Bubba for Kyle.

My only intent was to finish.

As I started day 2 of the November heat-wave cross weekend, I was emotionally drained.

I had cried all the tears I could.

I had relived all the pain tucked away long ago.

With 6 laps to go, I was done.

I was hot. I was tired. I wanted out.

Dammit.

I had said that I was racing for Kyle this day.

Kyle didn't get to finish.

He didn't choose.

If given the choice again, I'd put money on the fact that he would not DNF on his life.

What a slap it would be to quit right now.

Tears.

Tight throat.

Heat.

Panic.

I pulled it together.

I shut my mind down.

I somehow pulled it off and held my pace...and finished that race...

It hurt.

I was emotionally dead.

When it was over, I tucked it away.

Safe, where it could not hurt me for a few hours so that I could breathe.

I cannot bring myself to take his name off my bar tape.

I guess I will have to finish every race now.

It seems rather stupid and lame not to.

Thank you, Kyle. I am happy to share my first 'cross podium and every 'cross race with you, sweet boy.

In this small way, you will live.

You will finish.

Halloween Bubba-licious

Last week was Bubba #4, The Sprints of Darkness.

It was Halloween night. There would be costumes and mayhem.

It would be fantastic!

Because of all the rain in the week leading up to the race, the course was the muddiest of the season thus far.

The very thought of that made me giddy like a six year old on Christmas morning.

Kate, Cristel, and myself had decided to dress as Hooters girls, a separate idea of Kate's and Karen's (who had to miss the race due to being out of town).

We were like giggly school girls as we planned the irony of us tiny-titted ladies in the boob-friendly costumes.

Soooo, as the rain poured down that week, I got more and more excited about the race.

I was damn near beside myself as we pulled up.

My race at this venue last year did not go so spectacularly as it was effing cold, and my rear wheel feel off after descending the Green Monster and taking a sharp turn. (Honestly, it would have sucked for me without the wheel falling off since I had not yet embraced racing in 38 degree weather.)

This year was almost hot and steamy at 39 degrees.

39 degrees. Hooters uniform. HUGE blond wig. Lotsa mud.

*has mental 'crossgasm and continues*

My initial intent had been to simply have a blast with the girls and ham up the costumes...and finish the race.

Then I pre-rode the course.

Well HELLLLLLO!

Even going slow I had mud in my ginormous blond wig.

As I bonded with Christian, I could feel my confidence grow as my Fangos glided over the mud and I mentally prepared my game.

This would be no ordinary race for Cory.

You could not have smacked that smile off my face.

As we lined up at the start, I was relaxed and playful.

No stress. No anxiety.

(No, I did not do a bong water shot before the race.)

I was just completely zen.

The race went off and I worked my plan and held my pace.

Then we hit the chicane.

All mud and 180 degree turns, including one around a concrete light post.

(Good times!)

I would cringe at the light post imagining boys wiping out and hitting it. OUCH!

(Sorry, sometimes the gents tend to "overshoot" things a bit.)

*snicker*

Because I was at this point hanging with the boys, I didn't want them to wipe out. There was not enough space to get around them and I would have to barrier them if they wiped out and I think that may be frowned upon...but I'd have to ask an official...

*makes note for future clarification*

The barriers were a no-brainer in this race. 3 railroad ties after a muddy descent.

MMMMMM...I love me some muddy descent running dismounts!

Because it was a short course, it slopped up pretty quickly.

As the race went on (and the course conditions deteriorated), I was able to catch some people and advance.

This gave me what I had always heard about but considered a myth...an exercise high.

Something clicked.

The course became a dance.

On the sharp turns, I took the lines less chosen.

On the straights, I rode the less traveled grass unless drafting off a boy.

Cristel (MO State Road champion, time trial stud, and fellow "Hooter-crosser") and I stayed together most of the race.

As we finished this one particular lap, the lap counter read "3".

That "should" have meant we had 3 laps to go.

Cristel and I talked through the next lap, mentally preparing for 2 more laps to go.

However, when we came through again, the lap sign said "6".

WTF?!?!

I was confused and mind fucked for about 6 seconds and then decided to ride the lap and see what it said next time.

"5".

*sigh*

OK. It is what it is. That fucking sucked, but it is what it is.

I clicked the mind on again. (SOOOOO glad I found that button!)

I settled into my pace and advanced again in the muddy chicane.

Cristel was still with me...and then we hit the barriers.

I cleared them and as I remounted I heard Cristel behind me yell something about "losing her shorts".

I looked back and see the familiar orange and assume she is joking.

(She does that from time to time. The girl is silly!)

I hit the pavement and recover and speed up.

Then the hairpin back into the off-camber mud...

I add a couple gears and dig in.

I catch up to some men and settle back into a nice pace.

Literally every revolution of the pedals is a dance step.

Every shift of the gears calculated.

As I go through I see the sign.

1 lap to go.

as I make my turn off the first stretch of pavement onto the grass, I feel my gears slip.

"NO! Not now, dammit!"

(I think I actually said this out loud.)

I added a gear and it held.

I knew I could not drop back down.

As I exit the chicane and approach the muddy hill, the guy I am behind gets stuck in the mud and stops short on the climb.

I have *just* enough space to go right without wrecking him.

*wipes brow*

That was effing close. Wrecking in the last lap would suck super bad!

As I clear the barriers and hit the pavement again, I feel my body dance.

The hardest part of the course is behind me.

I am home free.

As I take my last muddy turn and climb, I see the dark pavement of the final stretch inches ahead of me and I am pure magic.

I add my gears and sprint it out.

The white of my Hooters uniform is splattered with mud and my legs are coated.

FUCK YEAH!

Suddenly all the hell...the surgeries, the recovery, the pain, the frustration, the suckage...is gone and I am pure disco ball and magic from the inside out.

I'm not the "girl next door" of the Hooters image...I am way dirtier...and that's pretty spectacular.