Cross Season

I've lost track of how many races this year. I had good intentions of writing a post to recap all the races, but it is a race itself against the clock to see if I finish that out by the end of the year.

There is more stuff I didn't write about this year than stuff I did. I can't believe I haven't verbally fondled my mountain bike since I built it.

At least, not in front of you people. Anyway.

A couple of weeks ago Zoolander threw down the gauntlet: one week, three cyclocross races. This would quadruple my number of cyclocross races.

It's muddy here in the Midwest, and dirt trails have been closed. What did I remember about my first cyclocross race on the MTB? That it was a brutal beatdown and every cell in my body was horrified by what I was doing to it, and that it took me a few days to recover.

Naturally I agreed to all three races this week. It is hopeless to compete on a mountain bike. I have promised a plate of truffle fries and a beer to any woman who can lap me twice. I guess if one of the 11 year olds laps me twice I will donate to their college fund.

On Boxing Day I raced in the footie PJs. Sometimes you just want to look as ridiculous as what you are doing feels to you. Here's a picture.

Points for style, but fleece does not breathe. Would have been wise to remove the arm warmers and tights underneath, as it was a rare warm day! However, I was kind of happy not to be wearing my bike shoes through the mud on either side of the creek crossing. I came in 3rd out of 4 women in the category. That 4th woman must have had a heck of a time.

The footies and flat pedals didn't let me drive as hard as I might have, so by Wednesday night I was almost recovered for the Grote Prijs, a night race. Friends, it hurt so bad I wanted to cry. 2 laps and I was burnt through. I was just praying to stay ahead of some of the 8-11 year olds.

As I am learning, in CX you go to the point where everything burns and you don't back off. You keep going as hard as you can. It burns. I didn't mean to back off but I must have, because I had enough wind in me to remind Aubree Dock, "Truffle fries!" as she passed me.

Then I was sad because making any noise besides a gutteral moan meant I wasn't going hard enough. So time to put myself in the crusher. After about 20 seconds was right back in gutteral moaning territory. By the end of lap 3, life became incomprehensible. I started thinking crazy things, like, I could just throw my bike over the fence. I am NOT DOING THIS AGAIN. My cross season is OVER. I would have to be SICK to come back and race on this course again.

So guess what is happening tomorrow.

I mean, why not. Somebody needs to go home with those truffle fries.