The Risk/Reward Ratio of Racing

 (The pack closing in at Liberty Crit)

"Risk = Reward" is one of several assumptions this racing season has called into question.  My fixation on risk-taking started from the admiration of my teammates' abilities bury themselves in a race, often achieving the team's goal in the process, and even in cases of failure, making the race exciting and getting a great workout.  Our friend Jess describes this as "going until you can't breathe anymore."  It was time for me to stop sitting in the pack and learn how to take a risk.

1. Risk = Reward.  The first attempt was Tour de Toona Stage 2.  By the time we finished the mountain climb, I had finally gone to the "can't breathe" place.  The result was a great stage finish and GC standing.

2. Risk = Loss, Pain, And Your Mom Having To See You Unconscious.  Here's the result of deciding to finish Toona Stage 3 in spite of a suspicious tire:

3. Risk = Booze?   After my recovery, CAWES raced Liberty Crit, and I buried myself off the front for 5 laps before being caught.  The goal was to wear the pack out for our sprinter, or to stay away til the finish.  I obviously failed on the latter, and I don't think anyone was worn out except me.  Becky and the team had a great sprint anyway, and I got nine zillionth place and a zinfandel prime.

 (Sarah, Ky, & Becky executing the perfect leadout train at Liberty)

 

 (We consumed the booze prime later at Rob's pool)

4. Risk = More Time Off The Bike.  Finally cleared to ride again, I went out for a morning workout and was hit by a car (thanks to Lance for stopping and helping!).  Another helmet broken and another bonk to the gourd, but I did earn the nickname "Dome Destroyer" or "Double D" from the team.  Alarmingly, that puts me just one D short of being this guy.

So, if cycling is a risk, the only wisdom I can glean from this racing season is Risk = Reward Risk. And in terms of injury recovery, When one door closes, another one opens closes too.  Some friends from QCW Cycling have also been hit at Memorial Hall recently, and it sounds like it might not be a safe place to ride in the mornings.  You know what they say: Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man woman healthy injured, wealthy lacking a helmet, and wise concussed.  Translated into jive: See a broad who get all booty-eyed, lay'em down and smack'em yack'em.  Well, I'm looking forward to the team laying the smack down in some late-season races.  Hopefully my booty will be better by then.

Wimbledon...I mean Lost River Classic

Oops, wrong sport.  What I meant was, this race actually elicited tennis player noises from me in the final sprint.  And although I brought my best Monica Seles (second best actually, but more on that later), I would never confuse the Classy with the Classic.  Let's look at the differences:

Wimbledon  vs. Lost River Classic

Ground Surface: Flat manicured grass vs.Chewed up asphalt+roadkill+hills
Customary Eats: Strawberries and cream vs. Clif Bars and VitaCoco given as podium prizes
Women's Attire: Mandatory all white + skirts vs. Choose your own spandex, provided it can get sweaty and dirty
Payout: 7-figure sum in British pounds vs. 3 digits worth of American bucks + aforementioned yummies (but hey, it's not the race promoter's fault that the dollar sucks, unless the race promoter is Alan Greenspan, but I digress)

Anyway, since I prefer the latter of most of those categories, I entered the Lost River Women's 123.  After winning the cat 3 race last year, I had high hopes for a result.  This was my first race since recovering from the 'Toona injuries though, so I tried to keep the expectations loose.  We took off, and Laurel immediately drilled it at the front of the pack.  I followed her cue and attacked on the long shallow uphill.  We quickly established a 4-woman break that lasted until the end.

I remembered the finish from last year being steep enough to be non-sprinterly, so I didn't give much thought to tactics.  As we approached the final 200m though, Mary took off like a rocket.  Crap.  I reacted slowly, finally whittling the gap down to a frustrating half bike length at the line, meanwhile uttering an awkward "Uhhhh!" as we sprinted to the line.  I've occasionally made such tennis noises in sprint workouts, usually on the best effort of the day.  In fact, the sprint+scream is so much faster than the sprint alone, that once I tried to improve my training by deliberately making the noise.  Turns out, however, that such things can't be faked, and the result was a meager sprint with an awkward little squeak.  So a spontaneous tennis noise in a race is an exciting achievement.  Another 2nd place finish though...well, I guess it could be an indication that the injuries are back to normal...

     

Tour de 'Toona: Frustratingly Awesome

The Wasabi Warriors set out for the lunar landscape known earlier this year as PomWonderful, accompanied by 2 guest riders, 3 feed zone helpers, 3 groupies, and 1 awkward loiterer. Stage 1 was a sub-3 mile time trial, with a couple of small climbs and 18 corners. I set my goal at 6 minutes or less and hoped the technical course would not put me at a disadvantage for riding Merckx-style. The stage went by quickly, and I felt like I had energy leftover. I was pleased with my 6:03 time and 25th place, but I wished I had gone harder. The TT was a great stage for the team, with all of our riders doing well. Our friend Charlie of Breakawaybikes.com/iFractal overcooked the S-turn on 12th Avenue, ending up in the ER, but thankfully avoided any head injuries. The Pistachio Princesses send their regards to Chaz's broken pelvis.

Stage 2 was a 74-mile road race from Richland to Blue Knob, with a mountaintop finish. Early in the race, a small group went off the front. Two sprints and a QOM later, we approached the final climb with the break reeled in. It was a 20-minute effort, the kind of suffering that requires serious motivation to keep going. I asked myself that burning question that every aspiring cyclist ponders now and again: WWLVGD? Word had it that Laura Van Gilder was using a 12-25 cassette that day, so my guess was that she'd shift into a big gear and make that mountain her bitch the old-fashioned way. Inspired by this confidence, I clicked up a few times on my 11-28 and stomped it out for 13th place, moving up to 15th in the GC. Woohoo!

(CAWES guest rider Jessica Chong making the most of the rest day)

Stage 3 began after a rest day of watching the Tour de France and recovery spinning on our trainers. The 91-mile stage involved 3 climbs and a flat finish. I was psyched. The first 40 miles were mainly flat, and a group got away. The race leaders weren't in the break so we assumed it was an effort to wear the pack out, and we didn't chase. My rear tire skidded a few times, and I thought I might have too much pressure. It became so bad that I considered dropping out of the stage, but I decided to proceed with extra caution. The next thing I remember, I was being revived in the same ER that I had just visited Charlie in. I later learned that I had skidded out when there was sudden braking on a descent. Thankfully, no one else was hurt, not even my bike The Green Weenie. The x-rays and CT scan came back ok, and the doctors were impressed enough with the articulateness of my refusal of a tetanus shot and staple in my head that they deemed my head injury to be non-serious (little did they know that my fear of needles could provide a moment of clarity in any situation involving sharp objects). Disappointed but grateful, I was discharged and returned to the course in time to see the stage finish. Colavita and Now & Novartis had the first riders in, with the other race leaders, including yellow, trickling in as groups of 2 and 3. Larger groups sprinted in, and team CAWES finished strong.

I'm disappointed that such a great race ended with an injury, but I enjoyed the first 2 (and a half) stages, and I'm looking forward to next year. Let's hope Tour de Toona continues to happen in 2012!

South Jersey & Rodale Crits

After the weekend's sprinterly races, I think it's safe to declare myself in need of A) the balls to take a risk in a race, and B) an 11-cog on my cassette. Since the weekend I've acquired one of those items. As for the other, I should probably mind my previous post and stop associating brave behavior with a specific gender.

Anyway, the weekend started out with stage 1 of the South Jersey Omnium, a 6-corner crit around Seneca High School. Teams CAWES, Kenda, and Sturdy Girls had the most representation in the pack. Stacey Jensen of Kenda worked hard to keep the pack on the rivet and string things out. The Wasabi Warriors' own Sarah Iepson drilled it on the last lap, keeping things fast and preventing any funny business from happening in the field sprint. I took 3rd and Becky 5th, while Kenda's amazing sprint power secured 1 & 2. I was impressed with the teamwork of both teams in green, and excited to keep working on my sprint. Sarah, Becky, and I took our winnings to a south jersey farmer's market and bought all sorts of plants and veggies.

(Our South Jersey spoils shared the back seat with the Green Weenie)

On Sunday, Arley and I rolled up for the Rodale Fitness Park crit in Trexlertown. The smooth, banked up loop had a gentle roller and no legitimate corners. Team Type 1 launched some strong attacks at the front. I tried to work in a break, but it didn't get away and/or my usual timid attacks weren't enough to get away. This was going to come down to a field sprint, with a lot of powerful sprinters.

Ironically, the corner-free course seemed to lead to a sketchy pack, because there weren't any technical elements to slow down the non-technically skillful riders. As the final jockeying began, the pack swerved from side to side, and I launched off of Arley's wheel, then off of a zillion others who were shuffling around in the sketchiness, finally coming in behind Christine Fennessey for 2nd place. The smooth course had me wishing for a bigger gear as I spun out in my 53/12. I guess there's a first time for everything...

Q: Are We Not Women? A: We Are Wasabi Warriors

In light of the upcoming Tour de ‘Toona’s gender-equitable policies, and recent allegations of sexism in local training races, it seems like a good time to examine the status of gender in cycling. The sport certainly has trended towards equality since the days of women's top tubes being sloped for their skirts, and Quaker City Wheelmen being just men, but lingering issues of inequality lead me to believe that women’s cycling is stuck in a state of what I’ll call “Bachelorettedom.” There are a lot of similarities between women’s cycling and the cheesy reality TV show that separates the sexes from each other and forces them to compete amongst themselves, all the while perpetuating gender stereotypes. Let’s look at some similarities:

1. Wussy suffix:

Well, in cycling’s case, a prefix. The original dating show about a man, The Bachelor, came first of course. The 'ette came along later. In cycling, race promoters still often list the men’s races as just the “races,” while specifically distinguishing the women’s fields, sometimes with a “W” prefix. Check out this current registration page, where women, kids, and handicapped riders are distinguished, while the men’s fields are just assumed to be such.

2. More is expected of men than of women:

Both The Bachelorette and cycling require men to be courteous and brave. The current Bachelorette recently asked one of her suitors to “be a man” and break up with her. On the cycling side of things, I'm definitely part of the problem. I've recently tried to relieve my own "wussiness" by entering men's races. A more controversial example is the infamous -woman elbowing a man- incident at a recent training crit near Philly. Check out the comments, where the alleged elbower suggests that the elbowee be a “real man” and let a woman go first. If a “real man” is a brave or courteous person, then I think the popular excuse of “it’s just bike racing,” precludes all of us cyclists, male and female, from being real men.

Besides being courteous, men are expected to do more work. The Bachelorette's suitors have been tested with competitions in boxing, dragon boat racing, and performing manual labor for charity. When the current bachelorette was competing as a "suitor," the hardest work she had to do was look better than her competitors in a swimsuit.

Look familiar? Liz Hatch, anyone?

Cycling also requires men to work harder. At Fitchburg last year, the women's amateur field competed in half as many stages as the men's amateur fields, and the women's pro field had only a fraction of the distance and payouts of the men.

3. The women get serious sooner:

Women on dating shows are constantly "falling for someone," finding a "connection," and even saying the L-word before their male counterparts, and women cyclists seem to get the racing bug with the same kind of urgency. I suspect this has to do with field size. Someone might enter several Women's Cat 4 races, all with fields half the size of their Cat 4 counterparts, and easily dominate all of her races. She'll quickly ascend the ranks to cat 3, maybe cat 2, and suddenly be racing with pros. At The Tour of Somerville, for example, a cat 3 woman had a single choice, which was to enter the women's combined 123 field and race against the likes of Laura Van Gilder and world champion Giorgia Bronzini. There wasn't a sign-up sheet for cat 3 men to race with Thor Hushovd. The difference in field sizes presents awesome opportunities for women to win small races, and rub (or throw?) elbows with the pros in others. Consequently though, it tests women's L-word for racing by forcing them to be competitive with elite and pro riders, even as amateurs.

What can we do to save cycling from plummeting further into Bachelorettedom?

We could start by revising our naming conventions. Let's start listing men's races specifically, and while we're at it, how about this: Instead of printing separate KOM and QOM jerseys, why not use the gender-neutral “Monarch of the Mountain?” Who wouldn’t be proud to earn the title of MOM after laboring intensely up a hill? Having equal payouts and distance will be tough until women's racing becomes more popular, but the Tour de 'Toona has the right idea. The only stage race in the country that has equal payouts and distance for the pro men's and women's fields, this race is sure to be a really challenging (and hopefully fun) event for CAWES. Stay tuned next week to hear how it goes.

Air Force Cycling Classic/Crystal Cup

(Coming into turn 1)

Way up my ass somewhere is my head. The Internet says it's about 8.3 inches in diameter and controls my behavior, but no one has seen it for weeks. I came into Crystal Cup letting recent crises get the best of me, but the excitement of NRC racing made me want to get my act together. Before the race, my legs could barely feel the previous day's 70-mile/6000 ft climbing extravaganza, but my mind was mired in stress. The kind of stress that makes you want to drown yourself in lame behavior, like eating soup in a bread bowl, skipping your planned training ride in favor of a zillion junk miles, and listening to The The's entire Soul Mining album alone...in the dark...with a cat. Ok, I've only done 2 out of 3 of those things, and for the record, I don't have a cat.

Anyway, our director Mike eeked a warmup out of unwilling me, and Sarah provided a pep talk as we previewed the course. It was a 2-mile barbell shape with a square on one end and a hairpin turn at the other. The race was fast. I even enjoyed it a little, but potholes, cornering, and an aggressive pack kept my brain on the rivet and led to some bad choices. Always getting nervous at the first corner, I'd give up 10 or so wheels on every lap, then make up for it on the little kicker hill around the corner. I found a wonky but comfortable line to take through the hairpin turn, but I was constantly in the wind on the straightaway. Since this part led into the finish, I knew I would blow myself up. I found Jocelyn and tried to put my inevitable destruction to good use. She got on my wheel, but I think my line through the hairpin disrupted our xi. We came in on opposite sides of the pack, taking 14th and 15th in the field sprint. I feel like there's hope for me to do better in these NRC races. The speed is fun, unlike anything I'm used to. I left this race wanting to try harder, and it's been a while since I've felt that way. I know I have the strength it takes, maybe a little bit of the quickness, and for the first time in a while, the desire to try.

Conservatism + (Lack of) Ethics = A Wussy Win

Tour of Mt. Nebo, climbing to the start/finish

I’m the most conservative rider I know. This is kinda weird for several reasons: sprinting is not my strength, so there’s not much incentive for me to hold back until the finish, I ride for a team that often works hard in races and sees the risks pay off, and I know from training that it’s not until I’ve buried myself in pain that I can become “comfortably numb” and really do my best. I don’t know what keeps me from racing more aggressively, but Tour of Mt. Nebo was no exception.

The 123 field had 3 laps of a short but hilly course (the Garmin said 850 feet per 9-mile lap), and on the first lap a young rider tried to get away. I thought it was too risky to break away, but I didn’t want to let her get away either, so I kept bridging the group back up. The rider got frustrated and turned to me and said, “you call yourself a bike racer?” I figured that pretending to not speak English would be pretty transparent in the middle of shoo-fly pie country, plus I think I had just talked to her in line for the portapottie. I grinned like an idiot and continued to suck wheel until the hills whittled the small field down to just the two of us. With half a lap to go, I took off for the win. Was it ethical of me to ride so conservatively and let another rider destroy herself? I generally don’t use the terms “conservative” and “ethical” in the same sentence, but I think I demonstrated about as much concern for others as the dude at the gym this morning who left 200lbs on the Smith machine in 5lb increments. I admire the young rider's aggression, and I think that willingness to work could do me some good.

Anyway, after that first race, I was feeling pretty guilty and wussy. A hairshirt under my skinsuit might have addressed the former, but I thought hanging in a men’s race might assuage my guilt, make me less of a wuss, and address the training volume predicament posed by the short race. Hanging indeed. I was dropped on the first lap and took 37^th place. Still feel guilty and wussy, but got some training volume (albeit at a self-determined intensity once I was dropped and riding with a couple fellow stragglers). Ho hum.

TD Bank Liberty Classic: Kacy takes her first bottle feed

My home field "advantage" for Liberty Classic probably led to more misspent energy than advantages. Three years of being a spectator built the race up as something untouchable, and the thought of actually being in it evoked that pants-peeingly scary feeling that I get before big events. Although my pre-race fears are rarely specific (the thought of giant green monsters on the course seems just as legitimate as crashing or failing to get a good result), I tried to figure out what potential outcomes freaked me out the most: 1. suffering at my lactate threshold for two and a half hours, 2. starving/dehydrating to death after missing my first attempt at taking a feed, and 3. becoming completely paralyzed in the biggest field I’d ever seen. The best preparations seemed to be Manayunk Wall repeats, a bottle-grabbing session with the Gursk, and local practice crits.

On the first lap I moved up to the front comfortably and stayed there until Main Street. The swarm came around as riders jockeyed for the Wall, and fear #3 came true quickly. I was overwhelmed and lacking the skills to get myself back into position. By the start of the climb I had slipped to the back. I passed most of the pack on the Wall and made it to the QOM line maybe 10^th wheel. My ride data showed that it was my fastest effort ever, but because I started at the back and finished not quite at the front, it was worth nothing. Lex Albrecht soloed off the front for several laps, handily taking the QOM before being reeled back in.

Having given up on any result-related goals, I shifted into survival mode and prepared to attempt my first bottle feed. Maybe I got cocky from my 100% success rate!! in the previous day’s bottle-grabbing practice, or because our buddy Justin was by far the tallest man to ever work a feed zone, but I thought this would be an easy target. I batted at the bottle, swerved, and ended up giving Justin an awkward high five. Oops. Our other feeder, Coyle, was further down the line. As fears of dehydration and starvation swept over me, I successfully grabbed the bottle. Wait a sec, the sweet taste of *not going to die* wasn’t my familiar fruit punch sports drink. I had stolen my teammate Jocelyn’s bottle! I tried to justify the theft by knowing that if I were to crash and die, she could pry the remaining energy gels off of my lifeless body and finish the race. What? No seriously, my brain was totally gone at that point.

We approached the finish, and I saw that the pack was still disappointingly large. A race that finished with a group of 18 last year would come down to a 60-woman field sprint in my first Liberty Classic. I started near the front, heard the familiar swarm behind me, and salvaged 32^nd place (going up the the side of the pack as usual). World champion Giorgia Bronzini blasted across the line, just yards ahead of the rest of us.

If I could go back and trade my many Wall repeats for weaving through a field of angry monkeys, I would. I wish I could've done better in the sprint, but I’m relieved to have survived this intimidating race without starving, major physical suffering, or being attacked by green monsters. Jocelyn didn’t die either, BTW, but finished strong in a great race for the Wasabi Warriors.

Tour of Somerville: Racing at 90% errr...9% is ok

I have a friend who always says he wants to race, but that he’s not feeling 100% at the moment. He hasn’t raced in 3 years. For me, racing can only be at maximum form a few times a season, and the rest of the time I’m building up to or winding down from a planned peak. And even the planned peaks can only reach the ultimate zenith of maximum peaktastic real ultimate power if non-training things are going smoothly too: work, health, finances, personal life, etc. So when I was up to my ears in crises, both real and perceived, I couldn’t be a hypocrite and skip Somerville, right? Errr…right? No seriously, I’m really not sure it was a good idea, but whatever, I schlepped by phlegmmy self over to Sarah’s, and Sarah patiently listened while I whined about personal problems all the way to the race.

We got there and I remembered that everyone races with issues; half the field was bandaged up from crash at Kelly Cup, and our teammate Arley Kemmerer was on a neutral bike due to bottom bracket woes. I forced myself to the start line and tried to keep it together.

(Kelly Cup crash)

Result: Meh. My first NRC-esque (Somerville lost NRC status this year) race was not nearly as fast as I had hoped. Team Colavita’s teamwork controlled the pace, presumably saving their team’s amazing sprint power for the finish. Meanwhile, the pack kept stringing out and then bunching up, causing weenies like myself to take the windy route up the side, then get immediately spit out the back. It’s a repeating cycle, but I didn’t have the mental wherewithal to challenge myself to stay in the middle. As the pack jockeyed for the final sprint, I took my usual wussy path along the outside, burning precious matches and taking 13^th place, far behind Theresa Cliff-Ryan's fantastic sprint for the win. I’m frustrated that I couldn’t push myself more, mentally or physically, but I finished in the money and got 2 important reminders:

1. 1. 1. Everyone races while compromised.

2. 2. 2. Pack handling can be a bigger limiter than fitness

So to conclude, I think I need to get my head out of my ass and remember that I don't have to be at my absolute best to race. Next time I should just listen to this important advice about getting pumped.

CAT Scan Reveals Dog

(Chooch's real name turned out to be Baby)

My race reports are almost caught up since I only did 1 race in the month of May (more on that below), but today’s post is a brief divergence from race reporting. After Bennington Race Weekend’s coughing episodes, I thought I could just rest a little and kick the apparent cold I had acquired. Things got worse. I missed Jefferson Cup, then Poolesville, then I had to add unscheduled rest days into my training plan, but I continued to think I could fix it. Finally my coworkers told me to take my disgusting cough home. Wasting time is one of the few things I hate more than unnecessary doctor visits (I have enough of them already with the insulin issues), so I decided to make myself useful and get this cough checked out. A chest X-ray showed a mass in my right lung, so my doctor ordered a CT scan. At this point everyone was freaking out: my parents about cancer, my teammates about recovering in time for Liberty Classic, my coworkers about who’s gonna pick up my slack on the construction documents, and me…well I was just freaking out about getting an IV in my arm. I hate needles. Even more than I hate wasting time actually. I tried to convince everyone that there was just an adorable puppy in my lung, and to leave me alone.

The day of the CT scan and needle doom arrived. I was in a drug-induced haze, so my teammate Alaina Gurski schlepped me to and from the hospital. Before the Gursk and I even got back in the house, the doctor called with mostly good news: no cancer, no TB, but oh yeah, now there are masses in both lungs, and they still don’t know what they are! The next thing I knew, an unattended dog wandered up to the front steps.  I had told everyone they would find a puppy when they scanned me! I named him Chooch after my favorite Phillies player, and he moved in with me for a week until we located his owner. Chooch is now home, I’m cancer-free, and I'm cleared to ride until they can do more tests.

Bennington Race Weekend/Tour of the Dragons

The weekend began with an 11-mile time trial full of climbing, descents, and sharp corners. The technical aspects of the course made me feel like my lack of TT bike wasn’t a major disadvantage, and I knew Marshmallow Colnago Wander wouldn’t let me down on his last race before being disassembled to build up my new team bike. Tom and the guys at Twenty20 Cycling hooked me up with a sweet pair of loaner wheels, and I felt confident that a stage win was within my grasp. Turns out, however, that I took 5^th in the ½, and Ky 6^th in the ¾. Knowing that time trialing was a strength for both of us, we both feared that this would be our best result of the weekend.

The TT course resulted in lots of different equipment choices

We shook off our disappointment and fatigue with some delicious Vermont cheese and a nap. With all expectations deflated by the morning’s stage, I went into the crit feeling like I had nothing to lose and decided to go for some sprint points. I surprised myself by taking 2^nd in every intermediate sprint and also in the finish for the 1/2. Ky used her pent up TT frustration to solo away and win the 3/4 crit, snagging the green sprinter’s jersey along the way.

The apparent change in our strong events left us bewildered as we prepared for the next day’s road race. 62 miles and 4000 feet of climbing awaited, and I woke up the next day hacking up a lung. After the previous day’s surprises, I decided to pack my jersey with clif bars and cough drops and hope for the best. I flatted at the start line and was set up with a neutral wheel just as the whistle was blowing. Marshmallow’s campy drivetrain was confused by the Shimano wheel, but there was no time to look for alternatives. The climbs were short and steep, and they dug deep into my capacity for 3- and 5-minute suffering intervals. One of the early climbs shattered the group, and I found myself in a breakaway of 5. A break that early in the race seemed like a risk, but I could move up 2 places in the GC by getting away from the group. Maybe the maltitol in my sugar-free cough drops gave me just the right amount of gastrointestinal discomfort to haul ass to the finish line, but something allowed me to commit. The breakaway stuck, and the boulevard finish finally came into sight. I took 2^nd in the stage, securing 3^rd in the GC and a massive phlegm ball. Ky took 6^th in the ¾ road race, 5^th overall in her field, and a lot of points toward her 2 upgrade. A solid last effort for the Marshmallow.

Ky and I sported Twenty20 tattoos on Sunday

First Attempts at Teamwork: Partially Successful

The Wasabi Warriors of CAWES rolled into DC for Chantilly Criterium and Carl Dolan "Road Race" (it was more of a crit with a little hill).  Chantilly was my first team race of the year, and the first time I'd ever participated in a team race plan. I didn't know what to expect, and I was nervous that I would fail to execute my job. We started by launching attacks and responding to others. Ky and I got in the most promising break of the day, but it didn't stick. We worked with the windy conditions to keep the pack strung out all the way until the final sprint. Sarah and Nikki began the CAWES leadout train, and I wiggled up to Nikki with our sprinter on my wheel. Mitch came around me with perfect timing and secured 2nd place for the Pistachio Princesses. I managed to salvage 4th place without completely going into cardiac arrest

The next day's weather seemed perfect to reveal our new white kits without the risk of rain. The weather report didn't mention blood! Several laps into the race, a bad crash caused us to be neutralized while an ambulance came. With the remaining laps reduced, the outcome was sure to be quick and sprinterly.  Ky started to string things out with 2 corners to go. I came next, pulled like hell up the little hill, and then Mitch came around me and told me to sweep. Not being very good at responding to developing situations, I was elated to receive such specific instructions and tried to protect her wheel. The next thing I knew, I was hitting the pavement in a field sprint crash. Mitch took 3rd place and the 2nd CAWES podium of the weekend, and I emerged with my first DNF, a busted kit and helmet, partially intact self-confidence, but still some satisfaction with the teamwork.

White is the new green

Determined to regain my confidence and salvage some training volume after the shortened race, I borrowed a helmet for the Dolan men's 123. The field of 100+ was big and squirrely, and I was spooked. After crashing just an hour earlier, I forced myself to stay in it and learn. I took a glorious...er...um...45th place, but most importantly, learned some handling lessons and got *slightly* more comfortable in a pack.

Here I was the next day at work, drafting skills compromised and design skills suffering from the bonk to the head...

Return to Race Reporting...

OK, so after not writing for a year or so, I'm returning to blogging, this time with a focus on race reporting. Hopefully there will still be time for the occasional post about training in the Illadel PA, how exactly an athlete resolves her 34-bottles-of-ketchup-a-year habit with her financial and caloric limitations, or how to create a totally sweet time trialing machine out of a used road bike, an ipod cord, some duct tape, and a gel wrapper used by a stranger.

I'll be retroactively posting some early-2011 races until I get caught up. I'll try to go in order. As usual, my apologies for the lateness.

Battenkill 2011: Chocolatey Delicious

(Lex Albrecht 1st, Me 2nd, Melissa Ross 3rd)

Race Goal: Top 20 and finish in the front group.

Plan A: Let the course whittle the pack down. Don’t go with any break unless strong riders are in it. Plan B: If the pack stays together, sprint like hell.

I expected the mileage and climbing to break up the field more than they did. Specialized/Mazda/Juvederm had a bunch of riders at the front controlling the pace and occasionally launching failed attempts (or bluffs?) at breakaways. Lots of people crowded the yellow line, and I had to give a few riders the ol’ stink elbow to defend my space. There was an attack on the 3^rd hill (paved road), but the group came back together on the descent. The next hill was a dirt/gravel stair step in 3 sections. It was easier to spin up it in the saddle to keep traction. I hung on a strong rider's wheel and hoped she would attack on the dirt descent. Yes! She went screaming down the dirt with me and another rider in tow. We had a gap and I was committed. We each pulled through several times, but one lady blew up. It wasn’t going to stick so we sat up and waited for the pack. The final dirt sections whittled away some of the strong riders, but the swarm behind us was still bigger than I expected.

The last 10 miles and final climb were really slow. Juvederm kept attacking and then sitting up. Crap, this was going to come down to a field sprint. I sat in somewhere around 8^th wheel, took the inside corner on the final 2 turns, and passed everyone but Lex Albrecht (Juvederm) to take 2nd. Holy crap. P came rushing up with a hug and kept telling me that I sprinted like a missile. Finally when I asked how his finish was, he was all like, "Oh yeah, I won." Holy crap. Congrats to P on winning by 40 seconds as a newly minted cat 4!!! Did I mention I've been coaching him since November?

Finally, instead of trying to TT away like a hyperactive monkey on coke, I accomplished the goal with the secret weapons of 1. Elbows, 2. Brain, 3. Sprint. I can't believe how much I'm already learning from my teammates the "Wasabi Warriors" of CAWES, and our awesome race director Mike Birner.

Keeping D.C. out of the red, in the pink

As I sit here nibbling on my Starbucks panini sandwich, Washington DC's plan to host the opening stages of the 2012 Giro d'Italia is taking shape. To host one of cycling's Grand Tours is to bring tourism and all of its associated fame, fanny packs, and revenue to a city. But surely there are challenges in going intercontinental with one of cycling's biggest races and all of its associated athletes, equipment, and fluffers. The major hurdles surrounding the first non-European stage of a Ground Tour would include a six-hour time difference for the athletes as they fly to Italy, funding for DC's preparations, and generating interest in a sport that doesn't register on most Americans' radars. As for the transport issue, I say HTFU. All the riders will be exposed to the same challenges of jet lag and stale mini pretzels, so it seems equitable. And with the US's unmatched strength in both reality-defying finance and creating overnight celebrities, our country should have no trouble turning the Giro d'America into one hot panino.

First, American corporate juggernauts have a long, proud history of dominating international sporting events. The Giro's promoters will simply have to decide who to team up with. Let me make a few suggestions: an obvious financier of this epic display of manliness would be a male enhancement drug, one of whose name is only one letter off from a middle-of-the-line Shimano groupset and sounds vaguely Italian. However catchy the Viagra Giro d'Italia may sound though, Pfizer's coffers are surely sealed as they brace for another attempt at a healthcare bill. No go. Let's switch our focus to the undeniable fact that -Amurica- does Italian bigger and better than Italy does. The Giro and the District will be seeing green when they announce the 2012... Once the corporate sponsor is secured, DC will just need to stir up some good old American hype. It's easy to recruit fans to an unpopular athletic event with reality TV on our side. Personally, I think Mark Cavendish would make a fetching Bachelor, and perhaps Cadel Evans' next fist fight should be sorted out publicly on the Dr. Phil Show. Most critically though, I urge all Texans to write in Lance Armstrong for governor this fall. DC 2012: Yes we can, cycling fans.