Normal

Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.

--Theodore Roosevelt

I have to admit, there are times (usually at 4:30am on Sundays) when I really, really wish I'd never discovered the sport of bicycle racing. Each time that heartless alarm jolts me out of a wonderfully deep sleep, I ask myself why I can't just be "normal".

On Sundays, "normal" people sleep in and then put on fuzzy slippers and eat pancakes and read the newspaper. They don't get out of bed at 4:30am and go race their bikes with a bunch of other crazy people.

[and then blog about it]

Then again, "glorious triumphs" are rarely won with a mouth full of pancakes. So this weekend - just like the ones before it - I rolled out of bed at o'dark-thirty, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and got ready to race my bike. By 6:30am, the car was packed, and my OOA teammates Ann and Tim and I were off to Glenwood in search of glorious triumphs for the Oly Ortho Race Team.

Erik gives us the pre-race "scoop" (photo by RideITLikeUStoleIT)

This weekend's adventures began with the Michelob Ultra Gran Prix, a six-mile circuit that the Women's Cat 4 field would complete five times. Ann, Larisa, Debbie and I would be riding in support of Brandee, who was inching her way closer to securing an upgrade. With a relatively small field size and a hilly course that could potentially break up the group even further, we were pretty excited to see what we could come up with.

As we started the first lap, it was clear that Team Group Health had their own plan (and their own teammate in search of points), and they worked pretty hard to control things up front and keep their rider out of trouble.

As the laps went by, and the field continued to shrink with each hill, it was obvious that this race was going to come down to a sprint finish. Larisa rode up next to me at the start of the last lap and suggested we try to attack and see what happens.

Actually, when I thought she said, "...we should attack now..." what she really said was, "...you should attack now..." Apparently I hear what I want to hear (my mom can confirm that I've been this way since I was a child). When I looked over my shoulder, it wasn't Larisa on my wheel but Mirna from the Starbucks team. I swung left to see around her. "Are they there?" she asked, wondering if we'd been able to create a gap. "Yep," I laughed, "every single one of them."

So much for that attack.

But the good news was that Brandee was still right there in the mix. We just needed to figure out a way to give her a bit of an advantage over the other sprinters. You know, like throwing in another attack for good measure.

With about two miles to go, I was sitting second wheel as we were heading down a mild descent. I kept having to tap my brakes as the girl in front slowed the pace, and I knew that it was a perfect opportunity to sling-shot around the lead wheel. If I didn't do it, certainly someone else would have.

I think.

So I shot off the front and could hear gears noisily changing behind me as I took a few people by surprise. I forced myself into time trial mode and didn't look back until I could hear another person with me. All I could hope at this point was that I didn't blow up Brandee in the process.

There were three of us who approached the base of the final hill with a small gap. I slowed to let Rachel and Karen of Group Health work their way up the hill and looked back to make sure Larisa and Brandee were still there. They were. And so was everyone else.

They just had heavier legs.

And, erm, so did I.

When we made the final turn and passed the 1-kilometer sign, the pace picked up, and the dozen or so riders who had managed to stay together for five laps of "punchy hills" (that was how the race promoter described the course) started to get aligned for the final sprint.

I was following Larisa's wheel with 500 meters to go, but she snuck through a small gap to move ahead, and it was a little too dicey for me to attempt (oh, to be a fearless fifteen-year-old again). So I tried to line up on the left and prepare to move out wide after the 200 meter mark. Unfortunately, a couple of girls bumped shoulders, and I ended up pulling to the right to avoid getting caught up in their chaos.

This put me right where I absolutely did not want to be with 200 meters left in the race. Brandee was up near the front with great positioning (just no one to lead her out). Jodie of Old Town was in front of me and slowed suddenly just as I was accelerating. I hit the brakes, pulled to the right, dropped back and then swung around to the left to try to salvage the rest of my sprint.

Jennifer of Bikesale was sprinting in front of me, and it was her wheel that I was desperately chasing when I noticed a flash of green over to the far right. The previous Saturday, Mirna of Starbucks beat me in the time trial by two tenths of a second (or exactly the amount of time I spent wiping the snot from my face before facing the cameras at the finish line).

Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, I left the snot exactly where it was and mashed the pedals as hard as I could. For dramatic effect, I did one of those forward leaning maneuvers that the pro sprinters do to try to nip their rivals at the finish line.

Nothing doing. Mirna beat me. Again. Probably by one tenth this time.

But there was still more glory on that particular day than I ever would have found in a plate full of pancakes. Brandee crossed the line in second place, and is now just one point shy of a Cat 3 upgrade. And me? Well, let's just say I had a lot of fun racing my bike and leave it there.

Glorious triumphs come in all shapes and sizes.

Assessing the situation at the start (photo by Laurie O'Brien)

In fact, this is exactly what I learned during the Washington State Masters Road Race Championships the very next day!

Yes, Ann and I are apparently now old enough to race in the Masters field with a couple of scary-fast 50-somethings. We really didn't know what we were in for on Sunday. It was a unique opportunity to race with some of the more experienced riders, and so we went into the race with the goal of trying to stay with them as long as we could.

What we didn't expect was that we would have to climb a hill that looked like it went straight up into the sky and then another one that was not-so-lovingly referred to as "the wall". Did I mention we would do this twice? Did I mention there was a fast 50+ in our field? Did I mention that our legs were still feeling like lead from the day before?

Yeah, this was going to be interesting.

Our Masters B field was made up of fourteen riders, although it broke apart as we climbed the long hill at mile 11. A group of four put some distance between themselves and the rest of the riders, and we never really saw them again till the cool-down. I climbed the long hill with Brenda in tow, but I didn't see her again after the descent. It was at the base of "the wall" that I caught up with Sharon the Blue Rooster. She was enjoying some lovely hamstring cramps, so I went by to see if I could latch on with the two time trialists ahead of us.

I worked with them for a short period, but I knew that I was going to have to back off a little bit if I was going to have half a chance of making it up the hills a second time without tipping over sideways. Deenie of HB went on ahead of us, but I managed to keep Kris of Team Fastt in my sights for the remainder of the 32-mile torture session.

It wasn't even a race at this point. I wasn't going to catch anyone ahead of me. And I was pretty sure that I'd created a pretty sizable gap behind me. At this point, all I could think about was surviving. This race hurt.

A lot.

It's never a good thing when you try to shift to an easier gear and suddenly realize that you've got none left to give. And that's exactly what happened about half way up the big hill that went straight into the sky. My legs struggled against the resistance, and the bike rocked back and forth as I ever-so-slowly weaved my way up the hill. I could see Kris ahead of me doing the same thing. We were all in this together. I hoped that she was hurting as much as I was.

Because I was.

As I finally climbed over the top of the beast, I looked back at the wheel car that had been following me for the entire race and just threw my right fist in the air, celebrating my victory over that bitch of a hill. I would have shouted for emphasis, but I could barely breathe. Instead, I focused my energy on shifting into my big ring and not dying on the descent.

When it was all said and done, I finished in 7th place. If this had been a field of 100, then I might have had something to celebrate, but in a field of 14, well, I had to find another reason to be happy. Like simply surviving (and knowing that I wouldn't have to do it again for another year). Like being able to race my bike with a group of friends who just endured the same pain that I did.

And knowing that next Sunday's race calendar is empty....and that I will find glorious triumph (or at least a temporary sense of normalcy) in the form of fuzzy slippers and a big plate of pancakes.