Mediocrity

This probably comes as no surprise to most of you, but I'll say it anyway:

I don't do "mediocre".

I don't do things half-way. I'm either so terrible at something that it's best to just not try (like with golf, which I quit after one and a half humiliating holes) or else I totally kick ass and take names (like with dirty dishes - no joke, I am really good at washing dishes).

But mediocrity? No. I don't do that. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind if other people are mediocre. I see nothing wrong with that. At all. But if we're talking about me, well, it basically comes down to this.

Go big or go home.

If I'm going to wash dishes, they better shine like they're new. If I'm going to race my bike, well...

As you can imagine, heading into the first race weekend of 2010, I was all kinds of stoked. After joining the team at the end of last season (just in time for the Washington State Team Time Trial Championships, which is a very unique - not to mention painful - introduction to road racing) I only had two "conventional" road races under my belt going into this season. And well, there was nothing really conventional about either of them.

Before the Gig Harbor circuit race, I accidentally lubed my rear tire (um, trust me - for best results, keep the lube on your chain). Two weeks later, in my second (and last) road race of the season, I was pedaling next to a Group Health rider who suddenly went over her handlebars heading into the final corner.

You don't easily forget about that sort of thing (especially the sound of a helmet hitting the pavement). A week went by before I could sleep at night, and (thankfully) by then cyclocross season kicked off, and memories of slippery tires (and flying Group Health girls) were soon replaced by the lure of mud, cowbell and random, mysterious bruises.

As fall turned into winter, and winter turned into, well, more winter, cyclocross season came to an end, but my desire to ride didn't stop there. And with the first race of the 2010 season a mere 91 days away (gasp!), there was serious work to be done.

People, the battle against mediocrity never ends! Ev-ar!

Soooo, I joined my teammates for Tuesday and Thursday night cycle/core classes (ouch!) and spent my Monday and Wednesday afternoons in the weight room with Stef (double ouch) working on turning my slow-twitch runner legs into beefier pedal-mashers. Rain or shine, Saturdays were spent building endurance on team rides, and on Sundays we hit the mountain bike trails.

To be honest, going into last weekend's races, I felt pretty darn good (I mean, other than the fact that I was so nervous during the drive to both races that Karen almost pulled over so I could vomit). In the back of my mind, I knew I had put in the work (we all had) and I was ready to race!

Woot!

WARNING! If you were expecting great things from me this weekend (as I was) you might want to stop reading right here. The following isn't a story of greatness. I did not kick ass, and I did not take names. I showed up, I did my best, and last weekend, my best was mediocre.

Mediocrity Part I - Icebreaker Time Trial

With the exception of last year's team time trial (which I still lovingly refer to as the most painful 83 minutes of my life - yes, I rank it even above that 3:11 marathon I ran in 50mph sustained headwinds) I'd never really done the whole "TT thang". At least not as an individual. I mean, I had watched it on TV. Skinsuits. Weird helmets. Fancy bikes. Snot/drool hanging from faces wrought with pain.

Heh. So, um, yeah, sign me up!

I actually started preparing for this race about six months ago when I bought a third generation hand-me-down time trial bike from my teammate Michelle (who I believe originally purchased it from our other teammate, Dr. Jen, and at one time or another loaned it out to Sarah). The stickers have all been peeled off the frame, and it has been spray-painted black to cover the dings sustained over the years. There is an odd dent in the top tube (I'm guessing that came from Jen, because she likes to take corners fast...sometimes too fast) and it makes a clickity-clunk noise if I even think about cross-chaining.

It is not a perfect time trial bike, but I love it. I love that you get out of it what you put into it, which is what the individual time trial is all about. It's about you. It has nothing to do with break-aways, counter-attacks or bad positioning. It is simply about how hard you're willing (and able) to push yourself on a given day. And on Saturday morning, I was ready to push myself (and my little black, hand-me-down TT bike) to Cat 4 greatness.

Unfortunately, there were 50 other women (many of them triathletes who specialize in this particular discipline) who had the same goal. Only I...well, I didn't know this at the time (yes, ignorance is bliss).

Heh.

So, anyway, we got to Auburn early (note to self, next year I do not need to wake up at 4:30), which allowed more than enough time to hit the port-a-potty, warm up, hit the port-a-potty again (and again and again) and finally make my way to the start line.

At the professional level (as you have probably seen during coverage of the Tour de France) there is a start house (a little covered area with a ramp leading down to the course) for the individual time trial. In Auburn, Washington, there is a line taped to the pavement, and one man holding your bike up while another man with a clipboard repeats the same set of rules to each of the 400 racers (don't draft off the person in front of you, stay to the right, the road is not closed to traffic, countdown starts at five, don't leave until he says go).

Despite the fact that I can't really hear much out of my right ear, and the clipboard dude was standing to my right, I could hear his countdown like it was loudest and clearest thing in the world (okay, second loudest - my heartbeat was downright deafening at that point).

Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Go!

As the seat-holder guy released my bike, I pushed forward and tried to build up my cadence. During the week I had played with different gears for the start of the race. Unless you've got someone holding up your frame during your training, it's pretty challenging to simulate a start from a dead stop while clipped in. But I played around with different gears, and when I left the start line on Saturday, I was relieved that I had gone with the right one.

The first few pedal strokes were tough, but I quickly reached a consistent cadence and settled into my fancy lil' aero tuck (and started the mind games). I tried not to think too much, because if I was having coherent thoughts, I figured I wasn't pushing hard enough. There was at least one Cat 4 woman ahead of me (the starting times were not grouped by category but rather by registration order), and I knew I would see her at some point before the turnaround at mile five. I had chased her (Amanda of Group Health fame) all season during cyclocross, and in my mind I was chasing her now during this time trial torture test. Every time I thought I couldn't take the burn in my quads a moment longer, I tried to remind myself that she (and the rest of the ladies) weren't resting.

They were pushing, and so would I.

By mile three, I had drool rolling down my chin and snot hanging off the side of my face. I wore it like a badge of courage until I saw a photographer (at which point I quickly wiped it away). A few moments later I saw a Group Health kit whiz by in the opposite direction. Amanda is a tough cookie.

I shifted into a harder gear (and let out some profanity in Italian).

Other than a steady stream of pain, the individual time trial isn't all that eventful. As I passed the '1 Km to Go' sign, however, things did get a little exciting. A bunch of turkeys from a farm on the right side of the road were hanging out in the middle of my path. I didn't really know how to approach them. Crows would simply fly away if I rode towards them. I wasn't sure what turkeys would do if I continued along my path of destruction. Would they fly away? Would I run into one (they weren't exactly small) and end up in a heap on the side of the road?

Up to that point, I'd had a pretty awesome race, and I didn't really want to screw it up by going head over heels at the expense of somebody's Thanksgiving dinner. So I swerved out towards the yellow line and said some not-very-nice things to the birds in Italian as I went by.

Yes, when I am stressed, I resort to Italian profanity.
No, Italian is not my native language.
[I'm sure there is a long explanation here, but there is less than 1 km to go]

Anyway, I did finish the time trial on Saturday, rubber side down, even! In fact, when I crossed the finish line, I was really excited. I felt like I totally rocked that course (or as Ann would say, "Awesome! Totally shredded that!"). I was pushing myself (and my little black bike) as fast as I possibly could. I had ironed out my aero tuck. I had borrowed Sarah's fancy TT helmet. There was nothing to regret. I had done everything I could. Who knows...maybe I'd won one of the cash prizes that they were giving away to the top three finishers.

Or.....maybe I got 28th place.

Yeah.

I got home and checked the interwebs, and it was then that my shiny, little bubble burst into a heap of used bike parts. It wasn't that I didn't rock that course (I totally rocked that course). It was just that 27 other Cat 4 women rocked that course even more than I did.

What I learned was this:

A. I wasn't the only one training this winter.
B. Other women with stronger legs might be better suited for the TT than I am.
C. Despite my best efforts, mediocrity happens.

Time to move on....to Sunday.

Mediocrity Part II - Mason Lake #1

I actually woke up the next morning feeling pretty good. I honestly thought that I'd gotten all my nervous energy out the day before. Today I could just show up and race.

Yeah. Notsomuch.

About halfway to Mason Lake I started to feel "it". If you've ever done a bike race, you know what I'm talking about. It's the most useless waste of energy ever. You feel like you're going to hurl. Then you have to pee. Then you have to hurl. Then you have to pee. Then you warm up, and you have to pee again. And then just as you've made your way to the start line....yes, you have to pee yet again.

It didn't matter that I'd gotten my first race jitters out the day before. On Sunday, I had second race jitters. Rumor has it that these won't ever go away. Apparently they are the reason why we race.

As the Cat 4 women rolled out, I was actually starting to feel pretty good. I'd been in this position before. I knew what to expect. The last two circuit races of the season were slow as molasses for the first few laps. It would be miles before I had to kick it into gear.

Or, um, immediately after the lead car tooted its horn twice.

So much for a typical Zone 1 Cat 4 race. From the get-go things got a little crazy. Acceleration followed by half a dozen women yelling, "Slooooowing."

Repeat this 150 times, and you have the first lap of the race.

The pace wasn't unbearable (it was faster than I expected, but nothing extraordinary) but the constant speeding up and slowing down had me gritting my teeth. With a field of sixty women (many of them new to racing) this was a little....um....nerve-wracking.

I followed the Starbucks wheel in front of me for while. She seemed consistent, and my teammates were just ahead of me. Life was good. I mean, other than the constant braking.

As we crossed the finish line for the first time, the field had actually split (although I didn't know it at the time because I was too busy wondering if the women in front of me were going to suddenly slam on the brakes).

I tried to smile at the cameras as we went by.

As lap two began, I started to drift towards the back of the now-shortened main field. I knew this wasn't smart. Jen, Michelle and Sarah had all told me (repeatedly) how important it was to stay in the first third of the field. You can't cover a break-away from the back. You can't launch a surprise attack from the back. And if someone crashes....really bad shit happens at the back of the peloton. But at this point in the race, my legs started to remember the previous day's time trial, and hanging out at the back didn't seem like such a bad deal. Plus, they were still slamming on the brakes up front, and I was seriously tired of that.

Note to self: Ignore legs. Hanging out at the back is all kinds of bad. Do not do this. Ever.

Despite the fact that I drove to the race and warmed up without my teammates, I actually did know our game plan. In a perfect world, we would lead out Brandee or Ann for a sprint finish. Considering that Ann had spent the previous three days sick in bed, Brandee was our most likely contender. With six of us in the peloton (Brandee, Ann, me, Larisa, Andrea and Chris) I thought we had a chance to do some damage.

Of course, I didn't count on Group Health showing up with the equivalent of a small village, and I definitely didn't expect a field of 60 for a women's Cat 4 race.

Whatchagonnado?

The entire race was kind of a comedy of errors. As the lead-out car tooted its horn twice, the field sped up on the flat.

And then slammed on it's brakes.

Like I said before, this phenomenon repeated itself about 150 times during the first lap alone. All I could hear was "Sloooooooowing!" and the screech of brakes (and the occasional touchy-feely sensation of someone else's front wheel getting up close and personal with my rear wheel).

Over and over, accelerate and slam on the brakes. I kept asking myself if I really wanted to do this bike racing thing. And my answer was a resounding yes. Yes. I wanted to do this. I wanted to kick ass in Cat 4 and get out of there. I wanted to leave behind the bitching and whining about "slowing" and "hold your line". I wanted to race with girls who went full throttle, goddammit!

And then the Cat 4 field went full throttle, and I popped right off the back.

Um. Yeah. Whoops.

Hey, guys? Hey! Wait for me!

It was totally my fault for hanging out at the back. The problem with the Cat 4 race was that the field would roar down the hills and then stall on the forthcoming uphill. If you were stuck in the back (as I had strategically placed myself) you would still be trying to regain your momentum as the front of the field was suddenly accelerating again.

Lesson learned.

I had no one but myself to blame for getting dropped on Sunday. I knew this, and yet, I wasn't ready to give in. Another gal (Lorraine of bikesale.com fame) was right back there with me. And as I pulled up next to her and saw the look of doubt in her eyes, I shouted, "C'mon! Let's get them!"

The chances of us catching a 35-person high-speed train were slim to none, but I didn't care. I was more concerned about the fact that I was supposed to be leading out my teammate for a sprint finish, and I was nowhere near "in position".

So Lorraine of bikesale.com fame latched onto my rear wheel, and we busted ass to catch the main field. I don't know if I've ever worked that hard (hell, if I'd come up with that effort 24 hours earlier, I probably would have finished on the podium in Auburn). We got within reaching distance of the main field, and then....there was a hill.

Not a steep hill. Just a hill that was big enough to finish off my legs. I couldn't carry Lorraine any longer, and I don't think she was in any position to pull me along.

We were officially....dropped.

It's a pretty terrible feeling, especially when you've got teammates ahead of you who were counting on your effort. It doesn't matter that there were more than 20 racers behind you (waaaaay behind you, at that point). What matters is that you (and when I say "you" I mean "me") were supposed to deliver your teammate across the finish line, and you (me) didn't.

And now you (me) have a mile to pedal hard and think about it.

Seriously, that was one of the longest miles of my life. I wondered if I was meant to be road racer. I wondered if my goal of upgrading to Cat 3 was realistic if I couldn't even finish with the main field. I wondered how much beer was in the house, because when I got home, I was going to drink it all and forget this entire weekend.

And I did (and I have the headache to prove it) but the fact is, I can't forget. And I don't want to.

I don't want to forget that I was mediocre this weekend. I don't want to forget that I totally overestimated my own abilities and completely underestimated the rest of the field. I don't want to forget that I've got teammates who were counting on me to be there at the finish.

All I can do is keep pedaling. Keep training. Keep squatting and lunging. Keep talking with my teammates. Keep communicating with the other girls in the peloton. Keep on...keepin' on! Only better!

I don't do mediocre.

I'll see you all next weekend. Woot!

[and seriously, keep your hands off your brakes, eh?]

* * *

Oh, I forgot to add that photos from Mason Lake are HERE.