Mañana, el tren...
My body is deteriorating. I am tired, my knee hurts, my throat is sore, my appetite left, my legs are cashed, my eyes burn.
Today was rough. Racing here is scary as shit. This "flat" stage was so fricking fast because people were attacking and the Cafemax team was defending to protect their leader. So things would just pick up all of a sudden, and if it was into the wind the peloton would immediately straighten out and you'd be in pain central, eyes on the wheel in front of you, for minutes of burning. Attacks would come up along the side of the peloton, teammates launching each other out front. I was flat out as hard as I could for several parts. We did 45k in the first hour of a 4 hour race. After about 65-70k, I got dropped with a few other guys and was able to weave in and out of the caravan of cars and motorcycles, pushing myself off of rearview mirrors and briefly holding onto bicycle racks and drafting inches behind cars. By 80k, I was officially dropped (symbolically noticed when the ambulance drove by) and left to do a timetrial home, a 60k solo effort, with only my motorcycle policeman escort for company. Oh man it felt hard. I joined up with another teammate for the last 15k.
I'm a lil tanky because I haven't eaten dinner yet, so I'll be in a better mood after that (and maybe even better after some anti-inflammatories for the knee).
A few things I've been meaning to write down. Racing life exists in three places: the hotel, the car, and the open road. The main excitements of the hotel for most racers include eating and catching a glimpse of the trophy girls. Some enjoy a massage or use of a Compex (electrical stimulation thingy). One of the most commonplace things is to see racers waiting for the elevator because they (I think) are superstitious about walking up stairs. Even if it's two flights, they'll stand and wait 5 minutes for their turn at the elevator. I don't get it. If you look around at people´s conversations about races, often times you´ll see them mimicking someone on a motorcycle, huddled behind their windshield, revving the engine whenever they describe a moment where they were really hammering.
I've been reading the Ender's Game series, which I have in full on my computer. Also, one thing rapidly eroding my patience is the GPS unit the old men use to (try and) not get lost, which invariably they do. It has a woman's voice that is constantly saying "rotunda, derecha, izquierda" and all that. And they're driving is atrocious; they have no concept of gradual deceleration nor the idea that curves are not successive straight sections of 100m pieced together.
After dinner: Careful what you wish for! Looks like I was outside of the (shortened) time limit by 3 minutes. I am not extremely disappointed because I know I did pretty much all I could. I am a little embarrassed in conversations with teammates and the Cafemax guys, because there's always an awkward silence and there's not much to say. You just weren't fast enough. You're not strong enough. You race like a little girl.
So, I ate a bunch of dessert. Mmmm... and I found out what one of the sauces was that was placed near the salad: Alioli, or something that sounds like that. It's like a spicy mayonnaise and it's awesome. I'm pretty sure it's what they put with patatas bravas.
I have another vuelta next week, so I hope that I can rest up enough between now and then to have this race put me in better shape for it.
All in all, I´m not too disappointed in the week, because I put in some good efforts. I just didn´t measure up that highly against these ridiculously fast guys.
Today was rough. Racing here is scary as shit. This "flat" stage was so fricking fast because people were attacking and the Cafemax team was defending to protect their leader. So things would just pick up all of a sudden, and if it was into the wind the peloton would immediately straighten out and you'd be in pain central, eyes on the wheel in front of you, for minutes of burning. Attacks would come up along the side of the peloton, teammates launching each other out front. I was flat out as hard as I could for several parts. We did 45k in the first hour of a 4 hour race. After about 65-70k, I got dropped with a few other guys and was able to weave in and out of the caravan of cars and motorcycles, pushing myself off of rearview mirrors and briefly holding onto bicycle racks and drafting inches behind cars. By 80k, I was officially dropped (symbolically noticed when the ambulance drove by) and left to do a timetrial home, a 60k solo effort, with only my motorcycle policeman escort for company. Oh man it felt hard. I joined up with another teammate for the last 15k.
I'm a lil tanky because I haven't eaten dinner yet, so I'll be in a better mood after that (and maybe even better after some anti-inflammatories for the knee).
A few things I've been meaning to write down. Racing life exists in three places: the hotel, the car, and the open road. The main excitements of the hotel for most racers include eating and catching a glimpse of the trophy girls. Some enjoy a massage or use of a Compex (electrical stimulation thingy). One of the most commonplace things is to see racers waiting for the elevator because they (I think) are superstitious about walking up stairs. Even if it's two flights, they'll stand and wait 5 minutes for their turn at the elevator. I don't get it. If you look around at people´s conversations about races, often times you´ll see them mimicking someone on a motorcycle, huddled behind their windshield, revving the engine whenever they describe a moment where they were really hammering.
I've been reading the Ender's Game series, which I have in full on my computer. Also, one thing rapidly eroding my patience is the GPS unit the old men use to (try and) not get lost, which invariably they do. It has a woman's voice that is constantly saying "rotunda, derecha, izquierda" and all that. And they're driving is atrocious; they have no concept of gradual deceleration nor the idea that curves are not successive straight sections of 100m pieced together.
After dinner: Careful what you wish for! Looks like I was outside of the (shortened) time limit by 3 minutes. I am not extremely disappointed because I know I did pretty much all I could. I am a little embarrassed in conversations with teammates and the Cafemax guys, because there's always an awkward silence and there's not much to say. You just weren't fast enough. You're not strong enough. You race like a little girl.
So, I ate a bunch of dessert. Mmmm... and I found out what one of the sauces was that was placed near the salad: Alioli, or something that sounds like that. It's like a spicy mayonnaise and it's awesome. I'm pretty sure it's what they put with patatas bravas.
I have another vuelta next week, so I hope that I can rest up enough between now and then to have this race put me in better shape for it.
All in all, I´m not too disappointed in the week, because I put in some good efforts. I just didn´t measure up that highly against these ridiculously fast guys.
posted by Unknown at 11:15 PM
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