(the compound- We comped Syd, I'll expect teh team Fugi check in the mail? Was that over the line? )

MY RACE:

Pretty much got smoked. I won a 5 up sprint for 61st place. Yeah that hurt. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t thoroughly disappointed with my result. I came in planning on finishing in the thirties, but feeling as strong as I have all year, felt a 20’s wasn’t out of the question. Hmm, guess I over estimated my abilities just a wee bit.

(the cuban place was awesome. www.cubanrevoloution.com)

The truth of the matter is this, I am not fast. Fast is not my style, it’s not my forte. I muck, I grind, I suffer, and I push myself as deep into the pain cave as I can, but I am not fast. The course this weekend and the unseasonably warm weather, well that came together to make a very fast race. I raced my heart out, perhaps I put my eggs in the wrong basket, and perhaps I should have entered the 35+ B race. But that wasn’t my plan, and truth be told there wasn’t anything I would have done differently in my race. I raced as hard as I could, I did my best, and I left everything I had on the course. Shit, I won a sprint. I threw up. In my mind I knew that the National Championship would be the hardest race of my season, and you know, I pushed myself, I killed myself, and I got 61st.

If I thought that I did things poorly, I would have entered Sunday’s race. Truth is though; I left my heart, everything I had on the course Friday. I 100% did the best that I could that day.

After my race, E-town hugged me told me how proud he was of me, Luxy put his arm around me and told me to keep my head up. Slick Rick told me I had nothing to be ashamed of, that I was in the most stacked field here, and I raced great. Looking at the 61st, I didn’t feel great. Zach told me 61st out of 180 is top 3rd, to cheer up. Tom (papa smurf) said, “you have an hour to sulk, then get some beer and snap out of it). I appreciated all the hugs and support. It meant a lot to me.

Monkey told me later she was counting back to me mid race, and was like “65, 66, 67 –fuck he’s not gonna be happy tonight…” I thought that was pretty funny.


Can’t say how proud I was to be a part of the Mid-Atlantic to get to share so many victories, and experiences with folks. Special props to our Juniors, they are playing a game that really is a master’s obsession, and all of them did so well. Zach, Morgan, Sam and Tyler, I was super proud of all of you. I owe Morgan an apology as my potty mouth got me in a little trouble. I ran along side of him up one of the rises during his race, cheering and it got the best of me as I yelled, “you kill those motherfuckers Morgan!!”

That clearly is a party foul during a junior race. I was lucky on 2 accounts here, first that with my trucker moustache and slightly hung over state, I looked pretty damn scary, so no one said anything to me, and second I didn’t scream it into the megaphone I was carrying. Zach wasn’t so lucky as I stalked him around the course with the megaphone, lovingly called the heckletron 3000.

(IRON MIKE CONAIR WITH A GREAT RIDE)