SM100 didn't go that well. A rushed start in cold weather meant that the pistons weren't firing, making that first climb and a half pretty rough. I stayed positive, found my rhythm on the road, and started reeling in the folks in front of me.
The second climb went well, as I cleaned some stuff I hadn't in the past, though I lost momentum on the top and was caught by a few folks coming up from behind. I did OK on the descent, hitting it much faster than in past years, but staying slightly on the conservative side given the very dry conditions and the very sharp rocks hidden under the grass and moss. Made up a few spots on some folks who didn't take that into consideration, and about halfway down realized just how cold I was and that it was causing me to be a bit timid in spots where I shouldn't be. Hit the check-box on that and rode better for it afterward. Still and all, it was early morning on an eastern slope, and the sun going in and out of the trees made it difficult for me to see.
Back to the gravel, and grabbed some food while the guy just in front of me drilled it to catch a group up ahead. I probably should have done the same, but also knew it was mostly downhill, so I wasn't too worried. By the time we started the pavement climb, I only had about 10 seconds to make up, and it only took a couple of steep turns to get to the front of the group.
We rolled it for a bit, and that's when the locomotive came by -- Jeremiah Bishop had flatted on the very first singletrack, and was just now able to catch back up. I hopped on that train for as long as I could, as he dragged me and another guy clear from the group, but when he flashed an elbow and it was my turn, I had nothing. Well, not nothing, but not quite enough for him to keep his momentum going, so he and the other guy sped off. I sat up a bit and let myself get caught by a group we had just passed.
We rolled into aid station 2, traditionally my first bottle exchange. Only this year, it was so cold that I was good on fluids, so I waved a quick hello to the Ks and kept motoring. I was still trying to warm up, but it was tough -- even though we were climbing, my thighs were still cold. That sucked. But I was starting to come around, and the sun was beginning to get warm.
Left turn onto the fire road, and this is where it got fun. This climb is both number 3 and number 6 (last), and so I wanted to see how I would go, knowing I'd be back in a few hours. And I went well, keeping it in the 44 for the entire first two-thirds of the climb, turning it over and passing guys who were starting to fade. I stayed lock-step with another guy, always just a bit off his wheel, and was super-psyched when we hit the steep pitch at the top and I stayed with it. In fact, this is the first time I've cleaned that section, and Chris and his trail crew have done a lot of work up there to make it much more fun than in years past. It was still super-tough, but I didn't walk, and wow, is that Garth right up there?
Over the top, and some random woman is there telling us how much fun the upcoming downhill is. Yee-haw, let's do it! Back in the big ring, start to flow, down, around, up, over, and ohcrap -- can't see, sun in my eyes, whew, ohshitthat'satreeandI'mmissingtheturnshitshitshit ... BAM.
Sun in my eyes, I missed a flowing right-hander, locked it up and wrapped myself into a tree. Normally not a big deal, just a moment to catch my breath and regroup, only I sprained my ankle really badly on Kitsuma two months ago, and the forcible ejection twisted it again, enough that I couldn't stand on it. I limped to the side of the trail, taking stock, and considered my options. The bike seemed to be OK, so I rolled to the rocks-and-roots section of the descent, where I stopped to hike down. Only, I couldn't hike. My ankle was shot. Killing me. The nice EMS folks offered to help me down, but I was still entertaining thoughts of riding it out with no assistance, so I declined. We were in a small gap, so I borrowed their phone to call Kim, letting her know it was either going to be a really slow day, or not at all ...
I rolled the bench-cut to the aid station slowly, allowing anyone coming my way to pass me. This was supposed to be fun, but it wasn't, and I knew my day was done. I could pedal OK, but any sort of ejection or hike-a-bike would be bad, very bad, and with the PSR just days away, was it worth the risk? I made it to aid station 3, found a chair, and sat until I could catch a car ride back, watching my forefoot swell and begin to change colors.
(I may have said it before, but it's worth repeating -- collectively, the volunteers and EMS folks at SM100 are BY FAR the best of any race, ever. They are awesome, and I really appreciated all their offers of assistance! I tried not to be surly, hope I did OK with that ...)
So here I am, less than a week before PSR, dejected and feeling sorry for myself. It's not a good place to be -- I've previewed the stages, and I know how difficult they will be. I need to be in a better frame of mind if I'm going to tackle this thing. Instead, I'm questioning whether this is all worth it to me -- this is the third major-race disappointment in 15 months, and I'm in a dark, dark place.
I'm usually pretty good about taking even small positives from times that don't go well, but I'm struggling with that right now. I have put in a ton of smart training, I feel better than ever, and yet I was empty on the first climb. Couldn't even get in front of the 14-year-old singlespeeder on mustache bars who kept rubbing tires with everyone around him. My descents went OK, but still not where I wanted to be. Kim says I was further up in the field than I think I was, and I wasn't far off Garth on the second and third climbs -- he went on to finish 12th -- but overall my perception is that I wasn't any better than I was a year ago, and in fact might have been worse. And that's a hard pill to swallow.
As I sat in that aid station, watching the flow of riders and the beautiful dance of the volunteers, I started asking myself why I do this. Why do I race? When I was in Chicago, part of it was to get out of the city, exploring roads and trails I wouldn't otherwise ride. A lot of it was because I had this dream when I was a kid, and I was making it happen. Lately, some of it is to be a roll model for Kate, showing her that hard work sometimes does make dreams come true. Overall, though, it comes down to one thing: I race to challenge myself to be better than I was before.
There's a cost to all of this. And when you've paid the price, when you have honestly gone out and done everything in your power to ensure success, to ensure improvement, it's a tough pill to swallow when things don't go your way. Especially when there's really no explanation, or when you make a stupid mistake that derails all hope. Or when you just don't have it. Or -- perhaps more to the point -- when your reality (even if only in your head) doesn't meet your expectations. I put the challenge out there, year after year, and when you only race a few events in a season, meeting that challenge becomes that much more important each time. And when you don't meet it? It hurts. Bad.
So things are a bit cloudy now. Like all storms, this too shall pass, and there's a chance of sun ahead. Whether that sun is shining on the top of Pinnacle Mountain remains to be seen -- for now, at least, I've got a few other things to focus on, and in time we'll see which way the wind blows.
0 comments:
Post a Comment