|Brilliant! Socks and Caps to come!|
I’m not high. However, if I used your bathroom this morning, I may be more inclined to ransack your medicine cabinet looking for pain killers, eye drops and Q-tips. It hurts to lift my arms. I have a friend that when exhausted will joke that his skin hurts. It’s sort of like that. Between the numerous bike carries at the OVCX Lexington cyclocross race yesterday and pulling on my bars to dig the rear wheel into the cross-arhea mud, I feel like I did the Muscle Beach curling workout. “I work owwwwt!”
|Malissa, Terri & Gerry courtesy Sherri T.|
|Courtesy Steve B.|
At the start, the official said lap times were running about 12 minutes for previous races and getting slower. Granted I took what we called “Math for Creatives” in college, a 100 level course officially titled Elements of Math in the UW system, but I calculated with certainty we’d do 6 laps tops. I’m still trying to figure out why the cards at the start/finish read 3 to go at the 45 minute mark. As I mashed my way back into the hairy mud, stiff crab grass with ice cream soup mud underneath, I kept saying that can’t be right. I assured myself I’d get the bell the next lap. Maybe I messed up my computer out there, but I swear I was on the bike and in the mud for a good hour and twenty minutes and still on the lead lap.
|Adam courtesy Lindsay R.|
“Everyday I’m Sufferin’.” I parodied the LMFAO song in my head the moment I felt the effects of the pre-race GU wear off. I was naked inside and running on empty with 2 to go. Uphill U-turns, rideable in early laps, became peg-leggers in the Saag Paneer mud. I’d plant my foot at the stake and fling my bike around. Rideable climbs disintegrated into dabs at the top which morphed into hoofing it from the bottom. I’m not sure I used my brakes most of the race. Like driving a river boat, you just slow the paddle wheel. Even on the slickest steepest descents, the mud at the bottom would scrub enough speed to keep you from going into the tape.
|My Best CX Season p/b Pearl Izumi|
It’s comforting, the feeling of letting go at the end of a race, first ending the pursuit and then putting our defenses down. While I can’t put an exact time on it, I distinctly remember switching my focus from chasing my teammate Nate and turning it toward keeping the guy behind me…well, behind me. With two turns left before the finish, I churned through the peanut butter and cat snot. Sam Dobrozi was nearly two turns behind. Done. Pavement. Nirvana. I rode into the light.