6-15-08 Housatonic Hills Road Race Report – 3rd Place Cat 4

To my competitors: Sunday was your chance. I was going through hell and felt worse. The battle on the course was not against you. It was against myself and my desire to be anywhere else on this planet except on a bicycle riding 60 miles up, down and around the hills of Conneticut. I wasn’t fit to start the race much less finish on the podium.

Like a wounded cat I kept my weaknesses hidden. I put on a face that mocked what I was going through.

I was suffering from the side effects of a disasterous two weeks where every that could go wrong did. Everything finally boiled and I was cooked.

I slept for less than an hour the night before the race and woke up with a fever and a massive headache. I couldn’t fathom surviving the upcoming day.

But excuses are for those who loose. I refused to be defeated before the race began.

Lining up for the race I didn’t feel any excitement or anticipation.  I made myself numb to the upcoming task.  I was approached by many competitors all of them asking the standard “how you feeling today” question.  I tried not to show any sign of weakness.  I figured they would know soon enough.

The race started immediately up this huge climb (it was neutral) and I was already counting down the miles.  The mental fatigue during the race was as bad as the physical.  I could keep up with the race’s attacks but I kept questioning whether or not I wanted to.  Over and over my legs would stop spinning.  I kept scanning the side of the road for a place to pull off and quit.   I kept promising myself just one more hill.  The moment of truth came when I convinced myself that if I didn’t make it over the big climb at the start of the second lap I would turn around and head (downhill) to the car.  I (unfortunately at the time) made it over with the leaders.

Aside from my personal misery most of the first lap actually progressed to my advantage. My state of mind forbade me from expending energy beyond what I had available (which felt like zero). I stayed extremely calm and sat in the field and let things happen as they may. I had no jitters, no anxiety, no plan to shake the race up with multiple attacks. Unlike Bear Mountain I wasn’t going to drive the whole field up the steep climbs. I followed as a spectator.

My attitude plummeted further on the second thirty mile lap.  I realized the fastest way back to the car was to be in the lead group.  I tried to hang on not to place or win but to get it over as soon as possible.  My fatigue robbed me of any motivation.  I felt pathetic.  I gritted my teeth and drove on.  I strained a muscle in my neck from clenching the handle bars so tightly (I could barely move it the next day).   My stomach began cramping painfully and my legs were seizing up.  I felt my body shutting down.   I made a pact with myself to take a break from racing as soon as this was over (yeah right).

As we battled over the mountains (hills actually) the pack dwindled (mirroring the race dynamic at Bear Mountain).  On the final climb it was down to about 20 guys (out of 125 starters).  The race winner had already attacked and gone solo away from us (which I was fully aware of but apparently no one else in my field was).  I hit the final KOM climb near the back of the group and easily moved to the front. My inner demon (the one responsible for competition) had somehow rustled up a pocket of energy from deep within my reserves.  I attacked over the top of the climb and opened up a gap over the group.  The faster riders caught me quickly and we started to work ferociously hard to keep the field strung out.  I rode my eyeballs out for the last five miles and came into the finishing in the top five. The finish line was slightly technical, perfectly suiting my handling skills and giving my skinny legs a fighting chance. I leaned my superbike over hard, sweeping across the final right hander with my knee nearly scrapping the tarmac. I passed the apex of the corner and like a fighter throwing the first punch, shot off the front. My sprint, came a long way from home but the timing was (nearly) perfect. The sound of spinning carbon wheels echoed in my oxygen depleted tunnel vision induced brain. My launch faultered ever so slightly towards the line and a certain Colin Prensky nipped me for second.

I didn’t feel any joy after the race.  I was wrecked, simply relieved it was over.  A week later I feel satisfaction that I was able to survive, I know that for better or worse I’ll be at the front of the peloton.