April 19, 2010 § Leave a comment
(Subtitle: Pity Party — you’ve been warned.)
You know those days, where you think maybe you ought to listen to your body & take it a little easier, rest up a bit and try again next week?
Those days where your brain tells you that’s the smart thing to do, but you go ahead and go to the race anyway?
And not very soon into the race you go to move up and realize that you’re carrying more speed than the front, so you have to choose between hitting your brakes & slotting in to see how long you can make it, or going off the front and probably shortening your race significantly (especially if nobody comes with you)?
Then when you’re alone in the wind a little way in front of the field and the announcers don’t bother to call your name as you come by them you think, well, with all these photographers here maybe somebody is getting a picture at least, to prove that this happened, to show that I did something.* And you really wish that somebody would come join you, until they do join you and it’s the whole field halfway up the hill and they’re going faster than they were the times before and you can’t quite grab the last wheel over the top so that when you recover on the hill you’re staring at a 200-meter gap that you just can’t seem to close?
So you pack it in and cheer for your teammates as they keep slamming it up the hill and get into two-woman breaks and the announcers call their names as they come through. (That part is awesome.**) You start thinking about the next day and hope your legs will come back in time. You sit in a bathtub full of ice water at a cheap hotel, put on compression tights and stick your legs up against the wall, and pray to the pedaling gods that you’ll be able to do something — anything — to help tomorrow?
Then tomorrow comes, and it turns out that it’s another one of those days? (But your teammate kills it and gets second with you cheering your brains out and that is awesome.) So you go home and try not to let one bad weekend on the bike define you?