Wrecked..

For me Tulsa Tough sucked. Before the weekend even started I had already put in over 40 hours at my summer job, starting work each day at either 4:30am or 7am in the morning. Getting off work each day I would feel mentally exhausted, more ready to crack open a cold one rather than get on the bike. The week's training did me good though. Each day it would clear my mind and rejuvenate my body. Though training was beneficial, the combination of it and work were stressing my rest periods to dangerously low levels. Each day I felt a little weaker, but I didn't want to give up a minute on the bike. By Friday I had pushed myself as far as I could go, both working and training to the limit.

Taking Friday off and using it as a travel day to head down to Oklahoma with Steve and Britton, I felt surprisingly good on Saturday. Physically that is. Mentally and emotionally I was a bit used up, and it cost me to be sure. Saturday's crit suited me well. After taking some easy turns the course headed up a moderately long and steep hill turning left and descending before turning to a long finishing strait. Taking an opportunity to talk to Steve about the day's crit, prior to my race, I ended up getting to the line a bit late. Just like Iowa I was back of the pack at the start, and so was Britton to boot. Regardless I set off at a good tempo looking to make up spots quickly. The front is where I like to be.

Using the first lap to feel out the group I felt unexpectantly comfortable. Coming around for the second lap, of our 60 minute crit, I knew it was time to make a move. Taking the outside of a corner I attacked up the side of the group advancing almost to the front. Realizing that I was already dehydrating I took out my bottle and drank. It was a bit risky, considering the short strait afforded me before the turn to the downhill, but I did it anyway. The risk paid in shit spades. Though I drank quickly we were moving fast enough to put me off my line coming into the turn. Correcting myself I attempted to rejoin the group into the turn, but decided to pedal as well in order to maintain speed. Somehow my pedal struck. The whole thing happened incredibly quick. As I sat in the road, my rear wheel resting in front of me, the tube blew in my face, a final fuck you added to the massive road rash injuries I sustained up my left side, two torn gloves, and a ripped pair of new bib shorts. All because I got sloppy.

After limping off the course I set my bike on the side of a nearby building and sat behind a parked car. Where the road-rash had claimed my skin what laid underneath was white. So much adrenaline had, and was still, pumping through my veins that I couldn't feel the slightest ounce of pain. After a few minutes I picked up my bike, slung it over my shoulder cyclo-cross style, and walked towards the medical tent. As I walked I could hear the announcer calling a $100 prime lap.. son of a bitch.

Saturday's crit was my race and I had let it slip away. Readying myself for Sunday I felt less convicted than I should have been when looking for redemption. I had heard that the course was hilly. Riding the last section of the back stretch to get to the finish I wasn't impressed with what I thought was "the hill." Until the first lap of I had no idea what kind of challenges that the course actually posed. To add to the mess there was a bit of a mixup and Sunday's 11:30am start time was mistaken for previous day's 3pm start. By a chance conversation Britton learned that we had to race in less than 30 minutes. Shit. Steve missed his start by a long shot, we were still eating breakfast when the cat 4's headed out.

In less than 20 minutes Britton and I were dressed and had a few miles under our belts for a warmup. I joked that I was so not ready that I was ready. Britton laughed a "yeah right." Between Britton and I, I arrived at the line first, and in typical fashion was at the back of the pack. At the gun the group exploded and I met the real climb of the day for the first time. The 10% grade wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the number of racers who would almost come a complete halt on the incline. Losing almost all of my momentum behind those riders made that hill hell. Following the party on the hill a second incline led to the steep descent and the 120 degree turn to the finish. Each time I took the turn at the bottom of the hill I felt like my wheels were going to slide out. One time I actually managed to hit a rock and sketched my wheel. After 5 or 6 laps of this shit I decided to call it quits. I sat up and let myself slide off the back of the group. Britton looked back at me puzzeled, I waved my hand across my neck signifying my intentions. It would be my 4th DNF in a row. First a technical, then 2 crashes, and one pull-out. I watched Britton sprint to a 6th place finish. He killed it.

Instead of leaving things up to interpretation I'll just come out and say it, there is a lesson here. Before I've talked about facets of the sport, and without blatantly stating that this whole experience is one, I've explained the episode of its experience. Massively oversimplifying the sport of cycling I'll endeavor to say that there are two things any cyclist must learn to do in order to have enduring success; that is to learn how to win and to learn how to lose. In my opninion learning to lose is the more difficult of the two. If losing is accepted in full, a racer runs the risk of relegating himself to failure more and more easily. Furthermore, losing also compromises future successes by demoralizing with doubt. Therefore it is avoided at all costs, but is inevitable on a long enough timeline. Thusly, if it will undoubtedly occur, then it must be accounted for unless it derails a racer. For an intensely competitive person who has become accustomed to winning and fears failure the culmination of defeats is devastating. It derailed me. The simple understanding that I could not win all the time and that periods of low time are opportunities to grow brought me a great sense of ease. These past weeks, consisting of a massive victory followed by cascading defeat, have granted me wisdom as a racer and made me better for it. To dwell on the subject or to become embittered about the cost of my education I would run the risk of missing the point altogether.