We skipped out of an 8am soccer game early to make the David Douglas Cyclocross race. Although feeling guilty about this, as the coach I could not do much about the 0-8 scoreline. So P and I leapt into the Falcon and sped to the race. Just enough time to register pay and pay again ($5) to buy another number because one had already been issued to me. This pissed me ORFF! No time to pre-ride, just a few minutes to stretch the still-recovering calves – Betty and Draper (because they look good but are utterly dysfunctional).
Annywaaaaaay, back to the race. At around 10, the Mens Cat C field was surprisingly small. Oh well, all I need to do was hang with these guys and hopefully score an effortless top 10. They all looked like a bunch of lean fit racers and I was probably the oldest by about 10 years. My strategy was to keep pace with the group and reconnoiter the course on that first lap getting in a good warm-up in the process, and then strike on lap two.
The 2 mile course was challenging but incredible fun. After an extended speedy section on grass and pavement, the path turned to a fast single track descent into a forested canyon. The surface was pretty smooth and slick in only a couple of spots. Then there was the ‘short’ run-up. It was quite long but not ultra steep and definitely rideable. Unfortunately, at the top was a log that forced everyone who had ridden up to dismount – no reward for staying on the bike. Then it was through the soft bark of first playground, a barrier before another descent into the canyon – this time steeper and faster than before. Then it was the quad-busting, lung-tearing, calf-ripping ‘long’ run-up. Next was a bit more pffaffing about on the grass, another playground romp and the start/finish.
Ok, to the race. In keeping with my hastily constructed plan, contact was maintained with the leaders on the first lap. After a little bit of to-and-fro'ing I settled into fourth place, with third in my sights and a couple of riders about 100 feet behind me. Through the race fog that dims awareness to a pin-prick, I recognized Chris Miller on the sidelines cheering me on. I was also amused by Luciano talking-up my battle for third place at each lap at the start/finish line. However, it was not much of a battle and he steadily pulled away. I focused instead on protecting 4th. Like a delicate and nimble forest fawn I would accelerate on the faster, flatter sections and my ‘followers’ would recover all that ground in the forest.
It was going to be tough, but with 10 mins to go I started to believe that I could stay away. Then with one and a half laps to go disaster struck (there is ALWAYS a disaster, right?). The first, shorter run-up comes at you pretty fast and I did not handle the slowing and turning so well. Down I went. Bollocks. However, like an over-caffeinated squirrel I sprung up pretty quickly and began to navigate the run-up. The clinking of metal-on-metal told me that the chain had dropped. Annoyed by this development my right calf (Betty) complained, went pop and promptly took a cigarette break. As I remounted the chain the first rider passed. Double bollocks.
After this point, the barriers and run-ups were slow and painful. At one point, after a particularly clumsy remount, a second racer overtook. I tried to respond and kept him close for a while but I lost too much ground on the last two run-ups and soon he was beyond reach. Then it was a matter of simply finishing – which I did with the next racer a long way behind.
Overall, the course was hugely enjoyable – the fast open spaces suited my game. The single-track descents provided a technical challenge and the playground excursions were a novel twist that I had not seen before. In truth, the run-ups were not all that bad because they followed a descent that allowed for some recovery time. It was just a shame to aggravate the calf injury.
Can’t complain about 6th place in an open, if small, Men’s C field
Showing posts with label CCX. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CCX. Show all posts
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
Ouchy time - Pain and Suffer'n race report
Not wishing to sound like a whinny, cardigan-wearing, sissy but this race really (really) hurt. The course was a significant challenge – lots of climbing, 4 sets of barriers, deep, slippery gravel, and a long, long run-up. Combined, this layout pushed the boundaries of decent racing and collapsed everything down to a primeval battle for survival, at least it did for me. By about half way through I had ceased meaningful racing and was just hanging on for dear life.
After competing as a Clydesdale in cyclocross all last season, I decided to enter the Men’s C race and started alongside 24 other journeymen. After the whistle I was able to keep up with the lead group - for about a lap. Was feeling quite pleased about this. However, before I could reach around and pat myself on the back, the physiological debt demanded its first payment - angrily too. I had gone out too hard. From then on it was a battle to maximize recovery on the short downhill sections while trying to somehow overcome the uphill segments. By now some kind of racing survival instinct had kicked in – I had to do whatever it took to finish.
(photo courtesy of R. Rosko)
By the second lap I had lost contact with the lead group and was riding solo. I passed one racer the entire race - a poor chap who had obviously gone out waaaaaay too hard. He was done. Whimpering sounds could be heard as I passed. Later I was overtaken by someone who continued to steadily pull away. No response from me - I didn’t care. You KNOW that it is a complete and utter sufferfest when you don’t give one whit when someone passes you – it’s just a minor event in your tiny world of pain. Most tortuous was the gentle uphill section that followed the run-up. It was a couple of hundred meters of 2-4% of climbing. “That’s not so steep” you may snort. True, but it was bumpy and very difficult to maintain any sort of momentum and I was reduced to turgidly spinning the pedals in lowest gear, willing myself to the top. This lung scorching, quad-tastic battle for preservation continued for two more laps. The bell made me grin like a fool because it meant that the end was near. Spirits were lifted and extra energy was found to propel me through that last lap. Thankfully, no sprinting was required at the end and had the luxury of pedaling languidly across the line, quads all aquiver.
(photo courtesy of R. Rosko)
True to its name the event had extracted maximum pain and suffer’n. I suspect that a lot of other racers were similarly humbled. For me, it was akin to an episode of Man vs wild. Dropped into the Bald Peak wilderness with only one way out – and I had made it. The only thing missing was the chopper to whisk me back to civilization when survival was assured.
After competing as a Clydesdale in cyclocross all last season, I decided to enter the Men’s C race and started alongside 24 other journeymen. After the whistle I was able to keep up with the lead group - for about a lap. Was feeling quite pleased about this. However, before I could reach around and pat myself on the back, the physiological debt demanded its first payment - angrily too. I had gone out too hard. From then on it was a battle to maximize recovery on the short downhill sections while trying to somehow overcome the uphill segments. By now some kind of racing survival instinct had kicked in – I had to do whatever it took to finish.
(photo courtesy of R. Rosko)By the second lap I had lost contact with the lead group and was riding solo. I passed one racer the entire race - a poor chap who had obviously gone out waaaaaay too hard. He was done. Whimpering sounds could be heard as I passed. Later I was overtaken by someone who continued to steadily pull away. No response from me - I didn’t care. You KNOW that it is a complete and utter sufferfest when you don’t give one whit when someone passes you – it’s just a minor event in your tiny world of pain. Most tortuous was the gentle uphill section that followed the run-up. It was a couple of hundred meters of 2-4% of climbing. “That’s not so steep” you may snort. True, but it was bumpy and very difficult to maintain any sort of momentum and I was reduced to turgidly spinning the pedals in lowest gear, willing myself to the top. This lung scorching, quad-tastic battle for preservation continued for two more laps. The bell made me grin like a fool because it meant that the end was near. Spirits were lifted and extra energy was found to propel me through that last lap. Thankfully, no sprinting was required at the end and had the luxury of pedaling languidly across the line, quads all aquiver.
(photo courtesy of R. Rosko)True to its name the event had extracted maximum pain and suffer’n. I suspect that a lot of other racers were similarly humbled. For me, it was akin to an episode of Man vs wild. Dropped into the Bald Peak wilderness with only one way out – and I had made it. The only thing missing was the chopper to whisk me back to civilization when survival was assured.
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