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| Diary & Race Reports | |
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Sickness on the waves of early season ups and downs. Boulevard Road Race, Campo CA, February 1, 2003 Bike + gear + clothing: $4000 I'm tired. More tired than any human ought to be. See, I hired this coach to make me a better bike racer. I do what coach says. Coach says ride lots. I ride lots. Coach says lift weights. I lift weights. Coach says do intervals. I do intervals. Coach says race, but not to place. I race. Coach says, if I want to get faster, I have to get slower first. Considering how slow I am right now, if this holds true I'll be burning up the tarmac come July. SoCal racer chicks can seem a pretty elitist bunch. I get soundly ignored when I try to make nervous conversation with some of them before the race, and these are the women I have been riding with all winter long! Maybe they’re nervous, or just getting their race faces on. I feel like the outsider, the new kid on the block. Oh yeah, I am the new kid. Oops. A kind person from Colorado chats with me, though. Thanks Missy. The course: 22.5 miles, the first 11 are almost all downhill, the last 11 are uphill - over 1,000 feet each lap. I had pre-ridden the course the week before and am nervous about the descent - it’s very fast and twisty. I’m nervous about the wind. During the pre-ride, I almost got knocked down by the Santa Ana crosswinds. I’m nervous about the pain I am about to experience. This course is way too hard for February. As expected, we fly down the hills at breakneck speed. I try to
keep the legs spinning to stay warm and fight off the urge to feather
the brakes. The descent isn’t as bad as I remember, and we
hit the first hill together. First hill: gasp, gasp all around.
I keep up. I see Lynn Gaggioli, formerly Lynn Brotzman, up ahead,
not following the attacks. Nothing gets too far up the road, and
so I wait, thinking "I'll just follow Lynn. She's a pro, and
she knows the other racers better than I do." It occurs to
me that my legs hurt. I try to concentrate. A short flat section
allows some recovery, more climbing, more gasping. I'm at the back,
too close to women who are breathing way too hard. It sounds like
an emphysema ward back here. I need to move up. Second lap - group of 3. The pack is gone. We swap recipes. The teeny bopper 22-year old birthday girl rides away on the second to last hill. I drop my companion on the last hill, seeing some riders ahead I want to try and catch. They're just stragglers from the collegiate field. Darn. I cross the line, finally, but seem to get completely ignored by the referees even though I call to them. I'm certain they didn't score me. All the chicks from the front group are having a tea party on the side of the road and I'm not invited because I'm not fast, boo hoo. I ride back to the car with a nice woman from Mexico who got 5th. She's very modest considering she was on Rona in 2001. Race over. Time to pout. I wasn't last, but considering climbing is supposed to be my strength, I thought I'd make the front group. Disappointed, I question my sanity, my abilities and just about everything else. It’s not until a week later that I figure out who won, and looking at the list of names I don’t feel so bad.
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