Thursday, June 25, 2009

Working Man's Crit - Night 3

Unfortunately Wick "Nasty", or as the ladies call him, "Mr. Clean" had to leave last night to study for his last exam.



That meant I was going to be rolling solo in tonight's race. This was to be the third and final night of the Working Man's series here in Richmond, Virginia.

My legs felt pretty good today, meaning I hadn't done much racing over the past two nights! I was determined to do better.

Kyle and I got to the park with plenty of time to spare. Tonight the course featured the "corner of death."



Not to mention, leading up to that there was a giant pothole. I took a good warm-up and then it was time to race.

I went really hard on the front the first lap. There were two guys up the road and I was determined to make it hard on myself. I almost caught them before the prime on the first lap. After that I worked with one of them for a lap, then the field caught us on the second time across the line.

At this point I was pretty weak because I had been working hard on the front. I started to fall back into what I've now deemed "fodder hell." That's mid-pack with plenty of draft, pack fodder. I didn't recover from that, at least not noticeably. I stayed mid-pack for the rest of the race. Now I just need to work on staying in the front longer.

I realized, though, that if I go really hard early on it helps. I get straight into racing. I'm not sitting there for the first half worrying about expending energy and bs-ing myself into not going hard and sitting in the draft. I went really hard at the beginning tonight and within seconds I wasn't worried about the lap cards, my power, the southern belles cheering "Go Cali boy"-none of that. All I was worried about was breathing.

Lesson: go hard, really hard, until you stop thinking "Oh, I should be going harder." Until you're no longer worried about getting a free granola bar from the registration table. Until you stop worrying about your tires, your brakes, that guy swerving all over the road, whether or not your calves look big, if your jersey is too tight, if your vernice Sidis look pimp, what your stupid blog is going to say. All that stuff, until there's just the sound of your lungs gasping for air.

So tonight, if only for those first two minutes or so on the front, I was really racing.

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