Quad Cities (aka Advil Commercial)

1:30 am I wake up on Saturday morning in the race hotel in Burlington with a hundred thoughts going through my head. How was I going to do? Who was strong? Blah Blah Blah. I turned over different strategies and possible outcomes in my mind, but I never went back to sleep. So with espresso in my left hand and a Cliff Bar in my right, I slipped on my Mesa kit and set up my bike. Dazed and confused, I trekked to the Start/Finish line among women from all over the Midwest. POW! The gun went off and I noticed the racers around me were heading in the forward direction so I followed. I was in a bad position around the first corner heading up the hill leading to the Snake Alley Torture Climb. I stood up as I kept grinding my feet into the pedals, strangling the snake. Slowly but surely I was climbing past racers. Last lap to go, one woman was in front of me and I kept getting nearer and nearer to her but with each climb, I was feeling less like a Snake Strangler and more like a snake charmer. 200 meters to go, I stand up and sprint while Number 1 sits up and puts her hands in the air. I get close, but no cigar - about 2 yards too short.

Later in the day, I went to go get my prize. I received a cash envelope and a silver medal. The silver medal said Junior Olympics (Do races ever have the correct medals?). Then I slid my finger in the envelope, expecting a $10 at most. 1 twenty, 2 twenty, 1 hundred dollar bill = $140! HOLY ---! I turned the envelope over and saw 2^nd place: Womens Open! Nuts. I went back and returned the envelope in exchange for 2^nd place: womens 4s for a much smaller sum .

 

5:30 that evening, I went to the hotel room, took an Advil PM. When I woke up 6 I had to check if it was AM or PM. AM! 12 and a half hours of sleep! Eureka! That morning we were in Muscatine for the Melon City Crit. This race had a few attacks (many from me) but pretty uneventful.

4 laps to go, on a descent, a girl in front of me braked. It was the strangest sensation in the next few seconds. Next thing I knew I was on the ground as girls flew over me. It was kind of beautiful in slow motion (in a sick kind of way).

First rule I had ever learned in cycling was always keep the rubber between me and the ground but I broke it. OUCH! I looked down and I had torn my brand new skinsuit (I had been so excited for it too L). Blood and dirt were plentiful as I stood up examining my bike to make sure I hadn’t hurt it. An ambulance came to pick up one girl whose head had been gashed and was still lying on the concrete. Both hoods of my bike were turned inward, facing each other, my chain was off, brakes were rubbing, and there appears to be a new scratch on my top tube (I’m taking it to the shop today to get it checked – pray that it is only cosmetic!). And of course there was NO FREE LAP! I walked my bike back to the Mesa tents. After I had changed, cleaned my battle wounds, and was lying down, a teammate pointed out that I had broken my helmet. Adrienne kept checking my eyes to make sure I was still conscience. Now my pink helmet has a new home in a trashcan in the Muscatine Holiday Inn.

I have never said as many four-letter words as I did in the shower that evening. I took another Advil PM so that I could sleep through the night. I think all the medicine had gotten to me because I had a dream that my cat, Peek-a-boo, turned into a demon, had only one orange, huge eye, and was scratching through everything and then he went for my leg. I woke up to feel a painful sensation on my leg/hip. The sheets had dried to my leg. Rip! I held my tongue as I ripped the sheets off my wounds. I rubbed them with more ointment and tried to sleep.

 

The next morning, we went to the Quad Cities Criterium, a completely flat, corners kind-of race. I had been debating whether to race or not. I put Icy-Hot on my neck (it was sore), took Advil, put on my kit, and borrowed Tim’s helmet. He was hesitant to let me borrow it, saying that I would stink it up. “Don’t worry, girls don’t sweat,” I reassured the Aussie.

I rode to the line and chased down attack after attack from this one team who had a skeleton joker on their kit (scary) whose teammate had won Snake Alley. I was fed up I had told myself that if I didn’t get podium, I was going to get the Most Aggressive Rider. I attacked after the racer in front of me; I realized that the momentum was taking me past the racer. I love free energy. What better time to attack? Peace out Jokers! The next 10 or so laps I was off the front, grinding the pedals, wanting to make dents in the concrete. Sexy pros began cheering for me and yelling my name, and I just couldn’t let them down. As I crossed the Finish, I threw both hands up in the air and beamed my pearly whites. What a great weekend.

 

Now I am writing this blog, popping an Advil, complaining from just a little road rash. I know many a cyclist has experienced these wounds, much more deep and severe than mine, and had stoic faces; however, I’m just not that tough.

 

More Quad Cities pictures to come! Stay tuned folks

Beware of …

“Watch out for dogs – there are a lot of them at the top of the hill: they’ll come after you,” I thought about what I had been told before the race. I tentatively hung in the middle of the pace line because I figured I would be safe there – I hate dogs. Fortunately, we were the second to last group to take off so the dogs had probably gotten the Pro 1,2 guys and so I never saw dogs.
The womens 4 and womens masters started together so we were allowed to work together. Suzanne was riding masters women so I leaned over to her and we agreed to work together and attack on the final hill. Yes! My first planned strategy.

At mile 10 I got pretty bored leading the pack at 17 mph so I attacked right from the front with Suzanne on my wheel, we stayed off for a little but I was mostly wanting to break up the pack. Mission accomplished. But as someone came around my left side, I went into a gravel-y part of the road and head straight into the ditch. Great… I got off my bike and ran with it up to the road again. DOGGONIT! I sure was pissed I had just drove the pace up. I kept seeing them but couldn’t catch them.

Hey, move pace vehicle! The group was right there but a truck was in the middle. “Yo man can I get around?” I screamed to the open window. (I have never said yo and man together before so I was obviously pretty Gu-ed up).Finally 5 miles later at 27 mph, I caught them and I hung on the back. Unfortunately, I realized that Suzanne had crashed.

Bonkers!

Mile 20, the major hill was approached. Cristal, a masters woman, climbed up the hill and I got on her wheel. As we reached the top of the hill, I turned my head and expected to see the rest of the women behind me. However, they were still climbing the hill. So Cristal and I decided to work together. We roared past juniors, some men 5, and even a group of Womens Open (they still had another lap to go though) at a pace of 22 mph on the rolling terrain of Rolla for the next 15 miles to the finish. Yes, finally we both took the finish! I sprinted for the end just because I have a bit of a competitive nature but we both won. I won the Womens 4 and she won the womens masters! I stood on the highest podium with a 4th place 2008 Juniors Men medal around my neck.

I’ve learned to be more afraid of Kaboom than dogs. I had been so good too! Not having crashed since Froze Toes! Ahh!

J*hned on the Spot!

My first time trial ever was last weekend during the Tour of St. Louis. I don’t have any of the fancy gear (i.e. aero, bars, skinsuit, aero booties, crazy helmet, or aero-wheels). But the most unaero part of me was my parachute of a jersey --- Mesa needs a womens fit!

Joe offered to let me borrow his aero bars, but I knew me + aero bars (not have practiced on before)= bad news bears! I threw my leg over Sasha Fierce (my little sister named my fire red Specialized Tarmac Pro…) with an ever so non-aero upright stem. (Adrienne, I’ll get my fit eventually…) and headed out into Death- pure death. Flat, but way windy! I looked at my heart rate monitor – Jumpin' Jehoshaphat!! 104% of max. I’m quite pleased that I didn’t have a heart attack that day.
Next day was the Carondelet Crit. Nothing was too exciting during the crit. Jacquelyn is a junior from who knows where who is pretty strong and attacked the first lap! I caught her and she knew she wasn’t strong enough to hold us Cat 4 women off (okay, I'm a junior too but not for long)! Then, last lap arrived, she attacked early, way too early (about 400 meters to the finish). I got on her wheel and sprinted for the finish. Yes, my first deserved win!

But none of that is all that important… I stayed to watch later races. My mom went home, taking the car and my purse. I put my cellphone in the strap of my shorts. Then right before the Cat 4/5 men, I went into the Johnny on the Spot. *Plop* - I heard it, I was way to nervous to look down. But I had to. There it was, my red cellphone in a well-used Johnny. I considered my options: pick it up or leave it! God, leaving it sounded so good at that time but I want Oakleys more than I want to buy a new cellphone. In that moment, I gave away all my pride, and reached into doom to pick up my cellphone. I truly got sick. I sanitized the phone and my hands with the sanitizer the Barbeque people had at their stand but I couldn’t stop feeling nauseous. I called my mom to pick me up two hours earlier than I had told her to. To this day I wash my phone every day but still gag picking it up and I didn’t start feeling clean until a couple of days ago finally. I think it probably would’ve been worth it to just leave it…

This past sunday was Sylvan Springs Crit, I was way dead but I tried my hardest anyway. In winning the prime and the race, I got $65!! So I guess that means I'm a pro now..

On a rest week now. Peace Out Cub Scout

Racing Up till now

Mesa is a male dominant team of cyclists. When I began training with the boys – I was lost, so I kept my mouth shut. Bikers are a different race of people who speak a totally different language: SRAM, Campy, Mavic, Zipp and then you have words that are off of those that you’re just supposed to know like dura ace, record, red, 404s. There are about a million expressions that mean tired I’ve come to realise: bonked, wasted, toasted, tanked (Can’t we all just say tired?? - no that would be uncool). I see more guys in pink than I do women….Oh but it’s so euro to have pink… okay… First ride with joe and martin, martin says "I just put Red on my bike" and I'll tell you I looked up and down his bike, all I saw was black and white… where’s the red… okay he’s nuts. All I have to say is somebody could make a lot of money on a “Cyclist’s dictionary”. But.. after months of hardcore studying, I can actually hold a conversation with cyclists.

Racing...
Froze Toes: the first racing event of the season, and of my life! I had it on my calendar and had been waiting for it. That February morning, a blissful 27 degrees, I packed my winter bib and headed for the race. When I arrived at the starting line, I had my number upside down. After a quick change, we left for the 30 mile journey we were all embarking on. 20 miles into the race, I crashed (probably my fault), bringing down an innocent pedaller behind me who obviously did not know that this was my first race. She quickly caught up with the pack as I hurriedly tried to put the chain and rear wheel back onto my bike. I hopped back on but I couldn’t see the pack anymore. I used all my energy in that 30 minutes (much to the people around me’s disgust and my own dismay) to catch up with the breakaway pack. Not five minutes later, I crashed again (definately my fault) and by this time, I was not going to let a little crash stop me. I caught up with the pack again. Hurrah! For some reason, I won. Crazy. That’s how I earned the nickname “Kaboom” for some mishaps (crashing and the such) – thanks BR :)

However I’m proud to announce that I’ve not crashed since!

At the Great Forest Part Crit, my legs weren’t feeling too fresh because I had run the day before for the first time in a while. I was told I can’t be a “tri-geek” by my coach and that was the last time I ran…

Last month I was in the Tilles Park Crit. The beginning pace was slow and I was getting nervous because the Kaboom-esque qualities always are at there strongest when going slow in a pack so I attacked again and again. But just as I was caught, BR shot off further and further. I realized that the rest of the crew wasn’t going to catch her so I blasted after her. 8 laps later I was creeping closer and closer to her. As I came around the corner for the last lap, I kept hearing “This is it! This is it!” I sprinted around her and crossed the finish line! YAY! I sat up on my bike and soft pedaled my victory lap. As BR passed, I tried to make conversation with her to soften her hate of me, but she just kept on pedaling. “Okay?” I thought. Once a Kaboom, always a Kaboom, I guess. As I was finishing my cooldown lap, I realized we had still had one lap to go… !

Well, I’ll never make that mistake again. *Cheers to BR (with sparkling grape juice, of course)

Crossing over to the dark side

So I’m out of school; I should be studying for an AP Calc BC exam I have to take tomorrow but I’m already in college so I don’t actually care. I’m thinking what better time to conform and write a blog. Somebody should’ve warned me that cycling becomes a sick obsession that if I’m not in the saddle, I’m thinking about it and I’ve been brutally pushed into “gear wars”.
Through the months, I’ve been un-easingly seeing the transition from scrawny runner chick to beefy biker chick. DAMN YOU THUNDER THIGHS! I’ve been faced with the ultimate question in every girl cyclist's life: is it worth compromising the skinny jeans???