Back in the Saddle
I was tired a while ago, but somehow I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep.
Today I finally raced again. You always forget how much it hurts. It's exhilarating, scary, hardcore, and fast. And it hurts. Every second of the race you have the choice to stop; you have a million excuses running through your head, lines you could use to explain your standing.
I remembered two keys to racing, both of them things I need practice at: 1) Don't let yourself think up excuses for as long as possible, or if you can't help it, force yourself to imagine telling those excuses to somebody who will see right through them. For example, if I find myself thinking "Oh, I'll just say it got too fast" I imagine having to say that to Crosby Freeman... that usually debunks the excuse real quick. Rephrase: Sack up. 2) When you're tired, look around, because everybody around you is tired too. Rephrase: Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
The race, as predicted, was fast from the beginning. There were a flurry of attacks, people sprinting left and right off the front of the field. I got myself in maybe 1/3 of them, at Sam's recommendation, because that way you don't have to accelerate as much as you drift back into the back. Although I felt like I was in a break, I was really just in the main pack, but 20 guys had been shelled out the back within the first hour of racing.
It was fast on the downhill and flats, team time trial mode with some of the other guys. I swear we just stuck it at 35 mph. The funny thing is that I'm just barely fast enough to stay with some of the big strong guys over the hills. These are the guys that can't hang with the little climber types. They have monstrous legs and huge asses. So on the flats I have to be ready to pull through as fast as I can. One of the guys I was with is an Irish Cafemax guy that grew up in Spain; I learned later he had been a pro for 4 years before returning to the amateurs. He was fast and it was fun racing with him; it was quite apparent he knew exactly what he was doing.
Just your legs, lungs, wheels and will, nothing else matters.
It's great to be racing again. I ended up 19th even though I thought I was somewhere in the 30s. I think 60 started, but I think only 30 finished, and in very small groups. I am thankful to go to bed tonight in one piece.
Today I finally raced again. You always forget how much it hurts. It's exhilarating, scary, hardcore, and fast. And it hurts. Every second of the race you have the choice to stop; you have a million excuses running through your head, lines you could use to explain your standing.
I remembered two keys to racing, both of them things I need practice at: 1) Don't let yourself think up excuses for as long as possible, or if you can't help it, force yourself to imagine telling those excuses to somebody who will see right through them. For example, if I find myself thinking "Oh, I'll just say it got too fast" I imagine having to say that to Crosby Freeman... that usually debunks the excuse real quick. Rephrase: Sack up. 2) When you're tired, look around, because everybody around you is tired too. Rephrase: Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
The race, as predicted, was fast from the beginning. There were a flurry of attacks, people sprinting left and right off the front of the field. I got myself in maybe 1/3 of them, at Sam's recommendation, because that way you don't have to accelerate as much as you drift back into the back. Although I felt like I was in a break, I was really just in the main pack, but 20 guys had been shelled out the back within the first hour of racing.
It was fast on the downhill and flats, team time trial mode with some of the other guys. I swear we just stuck it at 35 mph. The funny thing is that I'm just barely fast enough to stay with some of the big strong guys over the hills. These are the guys that can't hang with the little climber types. They have monstrous legs and huge asses. So on the flats I have to be ready to pull through as fast as I can. One of the guys I was with is an Irish Cafemax guy that grew up in Spain; I learned later he had been a pro for 4 years before returning to the amateurs. He was fast and it was fun racing with him; it was quite apparent he knew exactly what he was doing.
Just your legs, lungs, wheels and will, nothing else matters.
It's great to be racing again. I ended up 19th even though I thought I was somewhere in the 30s. I think 60 started, but I think only 30 finished, and in very small groups. I am thankful to go to bed tonight in one piece.
posted by Unknown at 11:54 PM
1 Comments:
Legs, lungs, wheels and will.
Savage.
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