He's ok if he's not the fastest on the block, but that doesn't lead him to treat cycling like an adult kickball league as so many do. Cycling is important. It's ok to train for it. It's ok to want to be faster, because that's actually more fun than sucking completely. At the same time, being fast doesn't make you better than anyone else, and he knows that, too.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Diane getting ready for a ride, Ride still no hair on the belly...
Fool the dog's belly not Diane's What kind of Blog do you think this is ?
I kill myself in the front section. Sprinting up each hill. I feel the sharpness of a cramp coming on. I try to drink some Gatorade, but I'm breathing really hard. No place to really feed on the course. Half way through the lap I feel like I have some space on Topher. Maybe 45 seconds. At the end of the lap, I loop through the switchbacks and much to my dismay he is still there. He looks strong.
Time to get down to brass tacks. I am really suffering, and still not feeding. It's hot here, and the race feels like a cyclocross race. I'm on the rivet the entire time, I convince myself to attack the front section, hoping to solidify my gap enough to hold on to third. I punch it on each section, but I feel cramps coming on. Not good, I focus on the trail. Through the switch backs, I still can't see Topher. I think I'm in good shape. Over the quick up I glance back. The past 2 laps I had put time on him here. "Fuck" I think to myself as I see Topher charging. My legs are definitely cramping. I start drinking, but it's too late. I am cooked. I pick up my pace a little, if I can make it to the last section maybe I'll hold him off. I glance over around the switch back, and don't see him. "Good" I think to myself, maybe he's done. I look forward, and Topher attacks me passing on my left. "Fuck, I think to myself" Up a quick steep section I try to respond. The lights are on, but nobody is home. I start losing momentum, Topher is gone. I am struggling to turn the pedal at this point. I try to get it going again, focus on my spin. I feel bad, I'm dieing a slow death. "there's only half a lap, hang in there; keep pushing dig deep" Maurice (the gangster of love) latches on to my wheel. Though the loaming pine section he comes by he asks, "what the hell happened to you?" "I think I cracked dude, thanks for noticing" He starts to power away; I stand on my pedals in vane trying anything to get some power down. But the truth is I am done. I climb the steep little climb where fans cheer, "dude, you're the only single speeder to make this each lap." No solace as I have lost 2 spots in the last 1/2 a lap, and I'm sure I was sporting a mask of pain Something like this...