As many of you know, I haven't raced my bike in over 6 years. This week, I decided to enter a local race in Downtown Longmont.
Thanks to my riding partners at work, I've had ample opportunity to training with some really strong riders. We basically race every day at lunch. I've been working really hard to get in shape for the Cyclocross season this fall.
This race was intended to be a test; a test of my fitness, ability to duke it out (with people that will be my peers this fall) and my ability race - plain and simple.
So, some race stats first:
Race Type: Criterium. From wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
Course description: A flat 0.7 mile "L" shaped loop in downtown Longmont with wide streets and 90 degree corners.
Category: Masters Men 35+ Cat 4. (AKA Beer Drinking Dads or guys with jobs and families). A word about categories for those that don't know. There are many categories largely based on Age, Sex, and years of racing. At the top, there are the Pros, which is what you think it is; Professional athletes riding at ludicrously high speeds. Then there are the 1's (not much different from Pros), 2's(not much different that 1's), 3's and 4's, Women, Juniors, etc. 35+ Cat 4 tends to be guys like me; those that used to race or only do so occasionally, but have families, jobs etc. In other words, those that are really fit, but not at the cutting edge.
Race length: 40 minutes. You basically race for a set amount of time and then the Officials tell you that there are 2 laps to go.
Start Time: 9:45 AM.
I went down to the course a few hours before my race to sign in and get my number. I was scoping out the rest of the 35+ 4's group seeing what I expected: some much more fit-looking than me, some much less. I felt OK about it.
I had resigned myself to the fact that I might come in dead last, or get pulled because I wasn't fast enough. I just wanted to finish safely. I decided that even though I paid money to race, I'd withdraw if it got too scary, etc. I had no illusions of winning or even placing.
At 9AM, I left the house for 30 minute warm-up with a few hard efforts to get the blood pumping. Once I felt good and warm, I headed to the course to line up.
At this point, the first inklings of doubt set in..... These guys looked really strong. And there where 63 of them was going to have to fight for the next 40 minutes. At 27 mph. With no more than 18 inches between us. Around 6 corners.
Boulder Colorado is home to literally thousands of bike racers and it's where pro's come to train. To race here is, to say the least, competitive.
A back of the pack finish seemed inevitable if for no other reason than for my lack of confidence at that moment.
Bang! Go the Official yells. We where off.
Immediately it was FAST. In all my previous racing, I had never been in as large a field going this fast.
I tell you honestly that for the first 10 minutes, I was gripped by complete and utter abject terror. I do plenty of riding at race pace with groups and have no problem screaming down a twisty canyon road at 40+ mph, but this was different. It had been 6+ years since the last time I did this kind of thing.
My heart rate was pegged near 170-180 beats per minute and we where averaging 25-27mph. I purposely did not wear my heart rate monitor because it would have only been a positive reinforcement of what I already knew; that I was red-lined.
I was in about 55th place, which was just fine. I was pretty sure I could defend 55th place, which is better than dead last.
At 12 minutes in, something happened. My heart rate dropped 15 beats, I settled in and my hibernating skills awoke.
For the next 3 minutes, I just sort of stayed put. Then I moved began to move to the constant sounds of "Go Poppa, Go!!!" coming from Graham as the 64 of us sped past his favorite park. Dale, a coworker and fellow cyclist was more realistic in his advice. "Come ON! MOVE UP!".
So I did.
For the next 15 minutes I worked hard, powering through corners at speed, sometimes accelerating much faster than my neighbors, drafting a wheel here and there to grab even 3 seconds of rest.
I felt great! And was having fun. I had totally changed my mentality. The terror hadn't exactly left, but it was now beside something else.
A visceral, competitive hunger was now there too, right beside the terror.
I moved up about 30 places in the field until I could see the leader about 15-20 bike lengths in front of me.
There I sat for a few minutes contemplating what to do. I was within striking distance of besting my goals and at least finishing top half or even top 20, maybe even top 15 which would have put me "in the money".
10 minutes to go or about 6 laps.
The field swings wide through the corner on to the long stretch that would be our finish and chaos erupted. About ten riders bunched up and the unthinkable started to happened.
I had gone through the corner on the inside line, which where you want to be to sling-shot past the group, but on my left riders began dropping hard to the pavement. On my right, through my peripheral vision, I see a rider launch into space, tumbling, all while I am jerking my bike to the right to avoid the mayhem that's unfolding and about to gobble me up.
Phew! How did I make it through that?!?!
I didn't.
That is the moment I felt a thump followed by a jolting slam into the pavement.
It was either a body or a bike that sent my flying.
In a second, I hopped up and gathered my self and picked my bike. If you've raced you have this instinct that is to first check your bike to see if you can finish the race. I spun the wheels; straight ... At least enough to finish. I straighten my handle bars enough to ride and only then did I check in with my body; which now looks like hamburger.
"I am going to finish this *expletive deleted* race" I said, probably out loud.
I got back on my bike clicked in one foot preparing to take my allotted free lap granted for mechanical problems and crashes. I placed both hands on the bars and knew I would not be finishing this race.
I right brake lever had snapped clean off from the impact. With no functional rear brake, continuing would be suicide. There where other mechanical issues too, but none registered at that moment.
It was over.
My helmet was cracked a little and my gloves where unrecognizable. Surely I was in shock, but mostly just bruised up.
I went to look for my wife, tail between my legs, dazed in an a adrenaline high from the race and crash.
After getting patched up from the EMTs, Dale relieved me of my bike and we sat for a while watching the race because despite my aches and pains, the Family was still enjoying the race.
More than anything, I was angry. I was angry that someone caused this mayhem, angry that I had so far passed my goals only to be brought down like that, angry that my sexy bike is damaged (hopefully only superficially so) and angry that I wouldn't get to finish.
When I was walking home, bleeding and icing a sprained wrist, with the kids and Wifey, I said to her that I had worked so hard to get that far. At that moment I choked up and teared a bit, not from pain, but from the disappointment and let down. I was far more invested in the outcome of this than I realized.
I turned out to be a huge personal achievement to get that far and a huge disappointment not to be able to go any further.
Back home, I ate, showered (painfully), threw my helmet and gloves in the garbage and got ready to take my son to the race to watch a little more. Dale knocked on the door to deliver my bike.
The boy and I got there just in time to watch the under 7 kids race. Junior said he was disappointed he wasn't doing it but that he's be back next year to race.
