Sunday, October 18, 2009

race report: Casco Bay Cyclocross, 17. October 2009

So remember how my last post mentioned cumulative pain? Yeahhhhh, about that. After three weekends of Verge NECCS doubles, I was pretty beat... but then my coach sent me an email about a Wednesday practice race.

Have I mentioned my coach yet? No? Well, in a nutshell, working with my new coach this season has been great. Not only has my racing improved a LOT, but so has my 'cross fashion. Said coach has helped me realize that there is absolutely no shame in wearing GoreTex windstopper-type pants--the stuff one of my teammates used to make fun of me for because he said it was drug dealer garb, a.k.a. "smack pants"--while doing a rainy day workout or, hell, even while pre-riding a race course on a clear day... but I digress.

Anyway, so he emails me about this practice race, and I go, and so does Kathy, and we attempt to throw down, only it's, like, us, maybe two Cat 4 guys, and a bunch of Cat 3 guys, so this doesn't work very well. However, she and I suffer through the entire race, which is like 45 minutes or whatever, while a bunch of the other folks are jumping in and out... so there's that dignity, at least. The race is dark, but it's also pan-flat and mostly grass or decent dirt, so I spend the entire evening in my big ring--awesome for me as I am NOT a power rider. I also pretty much shred the barriers every single lap, which is double-awesome, but by the time I return home my eyes are all but rolling back in my head, and the next morning during my running workout my legs feel like they're carrying as many sandbags as a certain Cat 3 men's Verge NECCS leader. Ouch! Friday's short roller session doesn't completely get the lactic acid out, either.

So come Saturday, the lead is not yet out, and it is cold to boot (but thankfully, dry), and I am in the car stressing out over a number of other important life decisions, like music selection and when to crack the seal on my peanut butter and honey sandwich. The drive up I-95 to Portland is gorgeous, however--bright sunshine, changing leaves, the works. When I get to the venue, I pit my wheels, pin, throw my smack pants over my skinsuit, and check out the course.

It's a short asphalt uphill start that turns right onto some grass, then back onto asphalt. As I roll along the top of the park in my hoodie, jacket, and baggy pants, waiting for people to come ask me if I'm selling crack, I note that this is going be a power section. Course turns down again, loops, then back up onto some off-camber, blah blah blah. A lot of grassy corners (which, after my attempts to shred on Wednesday, I could probably do in my sleep from here on out), several steep run-ups, some bumpy doubletrack descents, some barriers, and then, holy hell, this gravelly, sketchy singletrack descent on the side of a hill, where if you slide the wrong way, you fall the frak off and plummet to your season's untimely end. I make a mental note to myself that I REALLY do NOT want to be behind anyone in this section.

After the perusal of the course, I stay warm by riding back and forth along the bike trail by the bay, which makes me look like even more of a drug dealer. I spot a docked cruise liner and, um, I must be burned out or something, because I begin fantasizing about not showing up at the race and, instead, sneaking aboard the liner and gorging myself on shrimp cocktail at the inevitable buffet. "Yeah... I could really go for some cocktail sauce... or perhaps some tartar": NOT what one wants to be thinking prerace, but I'm sure--no, I know--that I've thought dumber things. Hell, I have SAID dumber things. Um, anyway, where were we? Oh right--smack pants and shrimp cocktail, awwww yeah.

At long last, the dreaded/appointed hour draws near, and I roll my smack dealer ass on up the hill toward the staging area. There are only a handful of women racing--three in the 1/2/3 field, and five of us in the 3/4 field. I know, from my copious stalkage of crossresults.com, that Erin and Olivia are the ones to follow. Sure enough, 30s after the 1/2/3s are off and they start us, Olivia and I are jockeying for the hole shot and then I'm chasing her and Erin on the power section. I lose them for a bit, but then they have a hiccup or two at the top of a runup and I catch them again. Then my cumulative pain accrues as Erin and Olivia slip away from me in the corners. Ouch ouch OUCH. I hear one of Adam Myerson's mantras, "Gaps don't close in cyclocross, they only open" in my head, and there it is, happening in front of me. So I work harder to also make it happen behind me. I can still see Lauren from Colby coming through the turns about 15-20s behind me, but I want to gap her out and keep the final podium spot, so for two laps, I put my head down and ride my own race. By the end of lap 3, I see Steph Chase from IBC, who beat me to a pulp both days of Green Mountain and started with the 1/2/3 women, in the distance. I decide that, since I can no longer see Olivia or Erin, Steph is my rabbit/carrot/whatever, and plan to attack her on the final lap.

Unfortunately, when I roll up past the lap cards, no one's ringing bells at me. The USAC officials are sitting around and the lap count says 2 to go, not 1. Oh right... it can't be over already, because we were doing 40 minutes, not 30, of racing, owwwwwww. I mentally regroup for a second, and then look up at Steph at the top of the park and start going for it. All through that lap, I follow her and work on closing the gap between us. I'm still behind her as we go into the sketchy hairpin dirtclod turn. but immediately after that is the scary singletrack, so I sprint past on the grass because I wanted first dibs on the sketchfest. Once I get safely down, I power along the gravel, go hot into the turn before the final runup of the lap, and then... crash. Oh hai, right, gravel = nemesis, did we learn nothing in practice? Fortunately (?) I'm semi-upright and still clipped in, so, though Steph passes me and gets away on the runup, I'm still close behind.

The beginning of lap 5 was a lot like 4, with me following Steph. I'm almost caught up to her when we hit the first runup, and almost get her on the run, but she powers up. So I make my move on the remount instead, and zoom ahead on the inside even though I only have one foot in. I'm working on the gap and trying to clip in simultaneously--fun for the whole family!--but somehow, it works, and I keep her behind me for the rest of the lap, managing to neither fall down the mountainside on the singletrack nor crash on the gravel before the final runup. Yahtzee! By the final runup of the final lap, I've finally figured out to keep the bike in the big ring because there's a downhill right after the runup anyway, and since I'm not worried about THAT, I dull the pain of the runup by thinking of all the runups I did in practice to perky Michael Jackson songs. WHY DO THEY NOT FEEL THE SAME OMG? Whatever. I get to the top, blast cautiously back down (there's gravel at the bottom of the slope before the turn back onto the asphalt, and we knowwwww by now how I am with turns on gravel), then do the final climb, sprinting and wheezing.

I'm walking around still breathing heavily, and one of the marshals asks if I'm "going to die." I respond, "nah, I'm just being dramatic" and 30 seconds later, I collapse on the grass and wait for number 4 to roll in. Then I hang out with Erin and Olivia for a bit. Also, my vanity gets the better of me, and I opt to NOT wear smack pants during the podium presentation:


Putting the "um" in "podium."

In sum: this race was small, but terrific. The course was fun, the surrounding area was beautiful, and the organizers were total sweethearts. Highly recommended for anyone looking for local races next year!

3 comments:

  1. Oh wow - congratulations! You rock. :-)

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  2. congrats Christine! who is your new coach?

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  3. @Velokat Thanks!!

    @janetlorang Cort Cramer (he races road and 'cross for Svelte Cycles) is my coach.

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