Oh geez. That's the only way to describe this past weekend. I am exhausted, hungry, and my intestines are totally messed up, all thanks to the three-day Cherry Blossom Classic stage race. It was hard. Really hard. So hard that I cried. More on the crying thing later.
Four years ago, I did my first stage race at the Mt. Hood Classic. That race hurt like no other. And for some reason, four years do not dull the pain of stage racing. Yet, I keep doing it. I have no explanation other than the fact that yes, indeed, I am truly insane.
Cherry Blossom was four stages: a road race, a circuit race, a time trial, and a criterium. My performance went like this: poor, mediocre, STUPID, and average. To say the least, I am seriously doubting my stage racing attempts in 2011.
Stage 1: The road race. Last year, I met Jenn off the back as we struggled up and over the super windy hills together. This year? Well, this year I had NUTHIN'. No climb, no sprint, no get up and go, no nuthin'. It sucked. I was dropped early. I wanted to quit for most of it. I hated my bike. When I caught two other girls, they asked how long I had been racing. They were newbies and I am completely ashamed to admit that I actually said, "too long to be this far back." I am so sorry, newbies. I was in a very dark, very painful place. That was a really rude thing to say and I feel horrible. Oh yeah, and I cried for ten miles. Ten miles is a long time to cry if you are moving as slow as I happened to be. I just couldn't understand why my legs would not cooperate. I couldn't understand why I was even out there racing. I was down. Way way down.
Stage 2: The circuit race. I get a pep talk from pretty much everyone. It goes like this: Shut the F*** up and just ride your bike. Colleen from Sorella tells me, "If you want to quit, just quit. Nobody cares." Then Angela from Hammer says, "You can only ride the race you are prepared to ride." That was the nail in the coffin. I was going to have a good attitude. If I sucked, I was going to enjoy the sunshine and the scenery and for god's sake, my very expensive bike.
It kind of worked. It was a 5-lap hilly course, reminiscent of Banana Belt, with longer, more gradual hills and a hell of a lot more wind. I popped off the pack at the third lap, but I didn't feel so bad about it because the whole pack broke apart at that point. I beat some people up some hills, I caught some people. I felt better. Even the last finishing hill in to a brutal headwind didn't get to me. I just rode the race I was prepared for. Then I went back to the rental house and collapsed.
Stage 3: The time trial. I am an idiot and went the wrong way to the time trial start and missed my start time by 4 minutes. That's kind of a big deal in a 10-mile time trial. Surprisingly, instead of berating myself, I shrugged my shoulders, told myself "meh" and went as hard as I could for ten miles. My time was "meh", but for someone who never does time trial efforts, and skied all winter, it was okay minus the 4 minutes. I actually enjoyed it, which is saying a lot. I am not necessarily a fan of time trials because, well, BOR-ING, but I basically raced against myself at that point. I kind of liked beating myself to the finish line.
Stage 4: The criterium. I hate hate HATE criteriums. I am scared to death of them and I am a cornering wuss. Also, I am little. Little people are not always the best criterium racers. A strange thing happened during my race: I LIKED IT. I know, it was totally weird. Our group split in to two packs and I was at the front of the second pack. We never caught the lead group, but I didn't end up by myself and I fought like hell the entire time.
The end result is this: I am a crappy bike racer and an even crappier stage racer. Sometimes, I don't even know why I pay the money to get so beat up and demoralized. Then, reliably, the next day I am eagerly searching the internet for the next race. Yeah, it makes no sense to me either.
I had an hour and a half to contemplate all of this on the way home from The Dalles and I came to a few conclusions. The first is that stage racing is basically about beating yourself up, then picking the mangled pieces of yourself up off the floor and doing it again tomorrow. And if you can do that and make it through every stage and not quit, no matter your attitude or fitness or inability to find the time trial start, well then, good on ya.
The second is that I think that I bike race because...actually, I never came to a conclusion, which is worrisome to me. The reality is that I am unwilling to make the commitment to train hard through the winter because it's ski season. During the week, I have an hour to hour and a half max to train each morning and most of that happens with me, myself, and I, so it will never be as good as interval training with a group. Therefore, I have to accept that I will continue to suck and be happy with that or I need to find a new sport. I love cyclocross. I am thinking about mountain bike racing. And I am thinking about not road racing at all. Currently, I just want to climb rocks in the desert sun, but a certain toddler and Portland's location both make that a little difficult. I will get back to you.
On a final note, I had to laugh because when I posted on my Facebook that I cried during the first stage, people apparently noticed. Two separate people noted that it made them feel so much better to know that I cry sometimes too. Um, yeah. I cry. More than you would think. I especially cry at sappy movies and cute commercials. For real. Thanks, Ky and Lydia. You made me smile when it was pretty hard to do so.
Stage race 2010? Complete. Future plans? Uncertain.
The Cat 4 women's group on Stage 1, courtesy of Oregon Cycling Action.
Crit action, courtesy of Tim Shallberger (sp?). I'm in the white. I may suck at crits, but check out my awesome calves. Yeah, I'm pretty proud of them.
My number one race fan and I. I love love love her. She and Ky were best friends for three days while I raced. Ky is amazing. Thank you so much, Ky!
