I had been on my CX bike quite a few times, even a couple times in the gravel. It made perfect sense that I should do a 50 mile CX race, right? As the day loomed closer I figured eh, I'll survive. The day before I thought - huh - maybe I shoulda spent some more time on the bike off-road. The morning of I thought- what the hell was I thinking?!!?
Lets make one thing clear - while there were several hundred riders "competing", I was riding the event, not racing. So the race was...well, not so much a race but a 4+ hour ride that pretty much encompassed every emotion along with a plethora of random thoughts. I'm certain I resolved world peace around mile 27 but lost the train of thought shortly thereafter when I remembered that I had a cliff bar in my pocket.
Its a mass start unless you're racing the elites, like
Christine initially told me I was, which put me in a panic seeing as
I've ridden my cx off road all of 3 times -ever. To my relief, I had
correctly registered for the open, which put me back with the mass
start.
It was a bit chaotic getting everyone through the tight
staging area but Christine, Lauren (ncvc) and I managed to stay near the
back to avoid most of it.
I kid you not, within 10 mins of the start this happened:
still bunched up, two lines that were rideable. I'm in the left one
chatting with Lauren, Christine is right behind. Everyone is just going
with the flow until the road opens up, which is where natural separation occurs and groups form according to riding ability. Some
girl decides to pass me on the left (in the gutter, where all the gravel
and tree branches are) just as we were passing a spot where a tree had
gone down. I hear 'on your left'. What left? There IS no left. In the
split second I had to think that thought, my bike suddenly stopped and I
slid out.
The stupid girl had kicked up the debris in the gutter and threw a branch into
my wheel. I came up cursing like a sailor and trying to get out of the
road. She was trying to pre-emptively defend herself as Lauren and
Christine were yelling at her - her excuse? "I said on your left". I told her in no
uncertain terms what I thought and where to go -and to make sure I didn't catch her - as I picked myself off the ground.
I got on the bike as quick as I could and got some frustration out. I stuck with Lauren for a while (mostly while I was pedaling out of anger) but my lack of confidence
hindered me. Then I stuck with Christine for a bit and let go of that
group when we hit a huge mud-pit. I got off the bike to see if I could adjust my brakes and realized I couldn't put any weight on my right knee - when I wiped out, my top tube landed just right on the knee. I had blood dripping down my right leg and my kit was all dirty. Fabulous. Christine offered the parking lot we had just passed through but I was not ready to give in - I said no, I can pedal. Actually, I'm fairly certain I probably snarled that (sorry, Christine) as I was so angry to have been injured AGAIN on the bike and AGAIN not my fault.
Shortly thereafter I got off the bike again to try to figure out the brakes and let go of that group.Then I got over myself and turned on my iPod. I'm certain I was
mumbling to myself (only out loud) working my way around turns and
through the mud. The first creek crossing caught me off guard. I slammed on the brakes and got off
the path, wondering what to do... Walk through? Turn back? Sit down
and cry?
Walking wasn't an option since I was injured in the fall. Turning back was like accepting failure. I
had already cried so that would be redundant. A few others offered encouragement and advice as they flew through the creek. I watched a few others
go through and finally ponied up. I backed up to get a running start and ... It wasn't pretty
but I made it. Funny thing about creeks, they are at water level so when
you come out of it, it's a kicker of a hill. And it was already torn up and muddy from other riders. And I was having a hard
time pushing with my right leg so, yeah, that was terrifying fun.
I knew there was one creek crossing- the real surprise was that there were 4 - count them - 4 creek crossings. Which I mostly discovered after flying downhill into a turn and suddenly - screech - another creek!! I
proceeded along, gaining confidence (though it took me to the 4th and
final creek crossing not to hesitate - I rolled through that last one
like a ...well, in total fear but I did it). I had the thought around mile
30 that maybe I should have at least experienced a mud-ride or a
creek-crossing before this. Maybe?
I made some -we're
in this together -friends, exchanging random comments and twice getting
directions as I was about to go the wrong way. Anyone who's ever ridden with me will know that I have never claimed to
be anything but directionally challenged.
In the end it
was 4:16 or so in the saddle. I came across the finish line (read: mud pit) and the boy expressed immense surprise that I finished and a lot sooner than he thought. Sigh. I'm constantly underestimated. I couldn't walk when I got off the bike - a sprained adductor was the general consenus along with the bruised knee. Fun.
I cleaned up the superficial damage
and the knee eventually healed. Picture it this way:
I was toddering like an old lady with balance issue. But, there was no way this injury - less than 10 days out from departure to beautiful Mallorca - was going to keep me down (see my next post about Zurich, the city of stairs).
All in all, I'm kinda proud of
myself for toughing it out and not being dead last (I think 12th out of 28 registered?). It'll be a while
before I can honestly say I'd do it again (but between you and me, I
think I might).
