Argh, Davis. My teammate pointed out that writing your report from a bad race is supremely difficult. I can't agree more. It's rare for me to be truly disappointed with myself after a race. Even when I place poorly I look on the brighter side. Racing has so many legitimate determining factors. The outcome of race goes beyond fitness, beyond decisions, and beyond position. The outcome is a random combination of all the above, like a lotto. Each racers individual abilities and split second decisions tumble around in a great big barrel. Finally, at the end, the placement emerges. This is how I perceive crit racing specifically.
I need to own up to a misconception of mine--which has earned me a big ole slice of crow pie. I used to think winning races on the road meant not working. I had a flawed understanding that the person winning the race does the least amount of work. NOT TRUE! It's only now, after a mere four crit races in my books, that I understand how much work it takes to be a protected rider. It takes smarts, speed, and bravery. To stay protected means feeling ultimately comfortable cornering in the pack, moving up in the pack, and being surrounded by god only knows who. The riders able to stay protected are working harder than most understand. The entire race they work for that position, and it is not static.
My goal for this race was to stay protected, stay out of the wind, ride closer to wheels. I'm still so new to riding in a pack and although I feel confident in my abilities, I am terrified by other riders. The starting line was perfect. I started in front {goal number two}. I clipped in fast. Then, I paused, I decided that instead of pedaling, I would brake and wait to fall in behind my teammates. I don't know why, it was a split second decision. Going into the turns a strange fear fell over me. In mountain biking I never let the fear of crashing control my riding. I usually shake these worries and hold strong. The first rider cut into my line in the turn. I imagined crashing. I braked again. This became the theme of the race {Joie braking through turns}. As my favorite cross country pro once said, "I proceeded to ride like a small child" {Adam Craig}.
On the F street stretch I jumped to move back up into the pack, holding steady in turn one, and through the next turn. I worked so hard on those stretches to get back onto a wheel. Then we entered the chicane streets and the fear overwhelmed me in each turn. I braked. I slowed. I let the pack zoom past me. Then I started chasing again. There are only so many jumps in these legs--I'm no Kermit. With ten laps to go I fell off the back and couldn't catch back on...I was so spent. My heart rate wasn't recovering. The hot air of a once cow town singed my throat. I went through the motions of inhale and exhale, but no oxygen could replenish my depraved muscles. I shuddered at the possibility of another dnf on my race results. I pushed through, and sat in the wind alone. With my one lap to go, Karena lapped me at the finish line. I finished my final lap.
It's hard to say just where my race went sour. Like I already said, the final placement in a race is a culmination of multiple factors. During my warmup my legs felt like jello, and I knew I wouldn't have the punch to race with the threes. I tried to ignore my premonition. I had such a hard time breathing during this race, it could have been my lungs. However, there is a single factor which I know had more impact than any other. My decision making. I made small decisions throughout the race, leading to a bigger outcome. A butterfly effect, of sorts. That's why I'm unhappy with my race. I had complete control over the outcome of this race and biffed it. Oh well. Another lesson learned.
p.s. I'm loving road racing.
