Mt Morris

Well, I've had time to think about it, and I have to say that race really was NOT fun.

As I prepped my bike that morning I noticed my cranks were turning REALLY hard. As I investigated further, I noticed one of my pulleys was barely turning (no, it wasn't the same one I had issues with last time - it was the other). I have a hard enough time pedaling WITHOUT extra resistance, but luckily we had enough time to take it off and clean it out so it spun nice and freely again. I lubed up the chain and was ready to go. . . . .or so I thought.

Nothing felt right this weekend. . . . .watching the elite race before me, trying to figure out what to eat and when so I would have enough energy to race, getting my gear on and having to wear a long sleeve shirt in the middle of August, racing on Saturday not Sunday, watching the rain come down. . . . .and down. . . . . .and down, watching the mud build up. . . . .and up. . . . .and up, having to switch out my seat post clamp with Bill since his broke and we were hard pressed to find a replacement . . . . .the whole weekend just felt wrong.

But I set out on a "warm up" none-the-less. As I hopped on my bike, I noticed my pedals were STILL turning really hard and now my bike was making this terrible noise, like the chain was going to suck up at any moment. I turned around and tried to find CK (aka "my mechanic") but he was no where to be found. I called Bill out of the warmth of the camper to investigate why the pedals were so darn hard to turn. Wrapped in his towel, fresh from the shower, he stood in the cold and told me something about it was likely my bottom bracket, or some bearings or something and said "well, there's nothing we can do about it now, just go race". Great. This should be fun. I'll probably suck the chain clear up to my SEAT the first time I try to pound, but whatever. I'm here, I might as well try it.

As we lined up on the start line I noticed some of my peeps decided to bag it. What a bunch of girls. They'd better darn well be hammered as I pass them spectating was all I had to say. And one of them surely didn't disappoint me as she chased me up the hill.

Don yelled go, I started to pedal and realized I was going no where fast. I stood to get my pedals turning and was already mid-pack. I tried to dump some gears going in the first climb, and dropped back a few more spots, I stood waiting for my turn to dump into the mud single track, yippee. Almost immediately my glasses fogged up. We're not even out of the first section of single track and I'm thinking "great, not only can't I turn the f&#king pedals, but I can't see a damn thing either and my chain is about to suck into oblivion any second." I ride past Bill on the flat stretch of gravel road, he yells at me, I mumble something about taking a DNF today, and he yells at me more. My chain hasn't sucked up yet, and honestly I'm starting to get good at riding when I can't see. . . . . .so I though well, I'll stick it out and see how bad it really is.

Yeah. It was bad.

Sport saw ruts that were SO deep you only needed to aim your front wheel SOMEWHERE near them and they'd suck you right in. I saw people yard sale it EVERYWHERE. I spent half the race trying to keep Athena upright and not yard sale it myself, and the other half was spent trying to wade through mud over my shoes in places without yard saleing it. As a conservative guess, I would estimate at least 1/3 of this race was spent walking/hiking for me. Either someone in front of me biffed, or my tire spun out somewhere, or the mud was so deep you'd be spinning and not moving, or you couldn't even SEE any tire marks because everyone walked, or I was afraid I'd crap my shorts trying to ride down some of those nasty turns . . . . .it was crazy.

As I rode past our cheering section and the crazy drunk people, I thought long and hard about pulling off. I was somewhere near the back of the women, having a really hard time doing ANYTHING, and TOTALLY wanting to be done. I had already chain sucked a few times, walked a TON and wiped the fog from my glasses at LEAST 30 times. But now, I was already 1/2 way there. Why quit now? I was already all muddy, whatever damage was going to happen to Athena was already done, why not burn off a few more calories so I could have that vodka lemonade without feeling guilty? So I hung in there.

My average heart rate for a "normal" WORS race is somewhere around 180. Yesterday it was 169. I managed to hold a few conversations, tell a few jokes, thank a few spectators and once I decided FINISHING was the goal. . . .not placement. . . .only THEN did I start to have a little bit of fun. Yes, a LITTLE bit of fun.

Now let's hope for a DRY Rhinelander. Marathon races are not my thing. . . . .but I welcome the opportunity for a DRY, technical race. Now THAT would be fun.

Tomorrow I'll share the high points of the weekend. . . . the food, and time with the peeps. But first. . . I need to DRY OFF.