Through the wood chipper at Chippewa Creek

So today's race was the Chippewa Creek Road Race in Brecksville, OH, just a little south of Cleveland.  It was about a 2 1/2 hour drive for me, and I got there with a decent amount of time to register and warm up.  At 10:30 they lined us up at the start/finish line, there were about 35-40 riders, and then we were off.

The course was very nice, a meandering road through a shaded park with short rolling hills and sweeping turns.  The only real factor in the course was a long gradual hill with a section that kicks up a bit, about three miles into the four mile loop.  At the top of the hill was the finish line.

We rolled through the park, and I made sure to stay at the front of the pack. I'm typically not a good climber with my 185 pound carcass, so to make sure I had a good position by the time we got to the top of the hill, I started it first to make sure that as people passed me, I would still be with the pack by the top. Unfortunately my plan fell completely apart.

I was doing alright until we hit the steeper section of the hill and then my legs just seized up. They felt like the were just filled with cement. I found myself being passed by more and more guys. Crap! I tried to dig as deep as I could to hold on, but the more I dug the more I just hit stone. Couldn't dig any deeper.

By the time we were at the top of the climb I was behind the pack with a few stragglers behind me. I could see the pack that just dropped me. They were strung out in a line with other guys just barely hanging on. Once the road flattened out again I put all I had into rejoining the group, all the while my legs were bloated with lactic acid pain and my sciatic nerve was shooting through my back, hip and right leg. I had to ride through it, I had no choice.

As soon as I was about to rejoin the group I found myself at the foot of the long hill again.  See ya group! They rode away from me, never to be seen again.  During the rest of the race I caught up to some stragglers, some I was able to drop and some stayed with me, eventually riding away from me too on the last climb up that stupid hill. I finished the race, but nowhere near where I wanted to be.

For the following two and half hours on the drive home, I contemplated what went wrong. Did I not warm up enough (it was extra chilly in the shade)? Am I not doing enough hill work in training? Did I not eat enough breakfast. I mean I know I'm not a good climber, but I can climb much better than the crap I did today. A bunch of questions. I'll learn from this, get it sorted out, put it behind me and be ready for the next one.

The race that was supposed to be

So yesterday, May 1, was another race on my sked.  Again, it was the Race At The Lake near Akron, OH, the same course as last week (The RATL is a series of races, four Saturdays in a row).  It was an opportunity to get another race in, and to better my 4th place finish from the previous week.

I got up and out of bed at 7:00AM and proceeded to my computer where I checked out the weather radar for the area.  Behold, there before me on my screen was a huge mass of dark green, yellow, and red moving, albeit slowly, right towards the race venue.  "Ugh, that's gonna be supremely miserable and potentially dangerous," I mumbled to myself in my head.  "Nah, I think I'll pass on this one."  After convincing myself that it wasn't a good day to be racing, I meandered back to bed and under the covers, being quickly lulled back to sleep by the hum of my window fan.

A little later I got back out of bed and went back to my computer and refreshed the weather radar where I noticed and realized a huge mistake.  The huge multicolored mass wasn't getting to the race area.  A high pressure system in front of the mass was making it drift northward and away from the race.  The race was going to be dry.  But by this time it was to late to get going.  I had my chance.  Ohhh... I was fuming a little at myself.  How could I be so dumb!?  So lazy!?  Putz!

For the next few hours I sat refreshing the radar, hoping I would be proved wrong and that the rain mass would lurch westward and flood the race.  Nope.  Shoot.  At this point I knew a punishment was in order.  I suited up, filled up the water bottles, and set out for a very hard 65 mile ride, to serve as both a flogging and hard training.

My 65 mile route from my house is one of the hardest routes I could devise with four big climbs in the West Virginia Panhandle.  So off I went, into a somewhat strong headwind from the W/NW.  I went strong and hard.  I was mad that I was riding well and not racing, so I rode harder, flying.

This lasted for about 45 miles when I realized I was out of water on a very hot day, in the middle of Nowhere, WV.  I stopped at a church and two cemeteries looking for a water source.  Nothing.  I slogged on.  At 50 miles into the ride I fell apart like an old shoe, soft-pedaling my way along.  I started wishing for some kids with a lemonade stand to be... around this bend... okay this bend... uh, this bend... crap!

This went on, SLOWLY, for ten more miles until I got to the next town where I was able to get some water and recover.  At that point I was only five miles away from home and knowing that made things better too.  When I started the ride I was a stout 186 pound man.  When I finished I weighed in at 178, eight pounds less.  That's pretty significant water loss.

So I didn't get to race, which still bothers me, but I did get a good, hard workout in, at least for 45 of my 65 miles, and I'll be sure not to let my wavering hold me back again.