Shortly before starting this post I noticed that Steve Tilford had updated his blog, he began by saying, "...I hate indoor riding." Spoken like a true cyclist indeed. I guess that makes me an untrue cyclist though. I like indoor riding and I've openly admitted to that fact many times. Ok, I guess I don't like-like indoor training, I simply appreciate it for what it is. I remember my first fall to winter training transition. It was ugly. I hated climbing on the trainer during cold days, I hated not feeling the wind rush past and I pedaled, and I hated the fact that I was confined to a solitary room. However, after last year's preseason and all the extensive indoor trainer work that I performed, my feelings changed. What really put the trainer into perspective for me was my first season of racing. After last season I began to know a little more about what I was pursuing; and in that regard, I knew where indoor training fell into place. Trainer work is merely a tool in the toolbox, it's not really riding at all. Instead of thinking of it as a substitution for riding, I now classified it in a category all its own. It is trainer work, nothing else. It's kind of like the girl you grew up to next door, though the promise of something else has lingered for years, she's only going to be a friend, so you should probably stop inviting her to John Mayer concerts.
With that said, it's good to mix it up as much as possible, and yes, I'm talking about cross-training. Coming from the traditionalist camp, which I admit I fall into more out of ignorance that sheer preference, cross-training is a tricky subject. Jogging, lifting, and riding different disciplines all seem pretty viable options. Though I have experience jogging (my max run distance was 5 miles.. ha ha) and lifting (I used to weight train) both are considerably alien when put into the context of cross-training for road. The worry with lifting is that muscle will be developed where it shouldn't and I'll gain extra, unnecessary, weight. Any additional weight gain to an already 200lb frame would be bad. My upper body is a trouble area, as I used to do extensive arm and chest conditioning. Gaining more muscle there and I would probably have to abandon road for the velodrome. Obviously I would be careful about jumping in the weight room; which brings us to jogging. Out of all my options for cross-training, jogging seems the most realistic. It is financially accessible, simplistic, and efficient. I've also heard that jogging builds joint strength. After experiencing tendinitis in my left knee this off-season, my hope is that jogging would help to strengthen it up. I'm no expert however. I guess you just start running in a direction and see where that takes you. Come to think of it, I might need a jogging partner.
January is drawing closer and with target races in late May it's almost time to get intense. The early pre-season (October-December) is for endurance and base building, but late pre-season (January-February) is for speed and power gains. 1-minute and 30 second intervals, speedwork, and hill repeats are all on the dockett. I'm getting excited for the trainer sessions where I'm howling in pain and fighting to hold my lunch down. I'm looking forward to it for the challenge it will bring and the payoff come spring. The ability to attack and attack.. and attack, the ability to crush your competition both physically and mentally, in a race, is absolutely exhilirating. Waiting in the pack for 30 miles and the opportune moment to strike, when finally it arises and you launch a minute-long attack leaving the peloton in the dust. The feelings of victory both personal and in the race are incredible. For the past few months, when sitting in contemplation of what is to come, my heartbeat rises and I get that nervous handtwitch of an adrenaline rush.
In the words of the Spartan King Leonidas, "Prepare for glory!" Ten-four good buddy. I'm getting ready.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMGJP3b4rbg
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Our old friend the interval
At the end of racing, from March to August, I was toast. Come September I hardly touched my bike, save for the once or twice-a-week easy ride, which may not have been such a bad thing. Between classes starting back up, David and I working our asses off to get the KU Club off to a good start, and a myriad of technical difficulties with my bikes, it all worked out. Now I've got two bikes, an early 80's steel frame/down tube shift Bianchi commuter and a 2008 Colavita/Sutter Home SL pro frame.. not too shabby. In the words of The Lonely Island crew, during my first ride on the SL I almost ... in my pants. The thing seemed to hum with power, simply riding it you could feel the craftsmanship that goes into a pro level frame. Coming in at a respectable 15 lbs., light, and stiff, it is a sweet ride. Married with Ritchey components and Sram gruppo it is definitely the best bike I've ever had.
If you were to ask anyone who is around me on a daily basis, they would all tell you the same thing, "his life is the KU club." It's true. I have been working with David since the beginning of the semester to literally build the club from the ground up. We've been working on a new constitution, new team logo, new sponsorship program, new officer structure, new club structure, new team structure, new event structure, new-member recruitment, a new advertising campaign.. the list goes on. In short we have taken the club from a club of 4 members with no culture or future prospects to a vibrant organization of 20 members, 6 officers, and a culture that is, simply put, "work hard, play hard, and have fun." David and I have had conversations where we tried to figure out how its all come together, having this success can only be the product of real, honest, hard work and the true intention to do something right. Better things are sure to come from KU cycling in the coming seasons.
But what about our old friend the interval? He's back. Our club meets Sunday and Wednesday nights for spin session in the sport club training room at the rec facility.. and what's on the menu those nights? You guessed it, intervals. It's early in the training season, mind you, so we're not killing it.. yet. Already David has taught a killer spin session that included one leg drills and 8-minute intervals, definitely one of my sweatiest training sessions. So far I've taught three spin sessions, a 1:1 3-minute intervals session of 12 reps , a 2 hour spin, and a 12 reps 3min-3osec descending intervals session. It's pretty awesome to pass on the love of cycling in all its forms, and to see the exhausted, but happy faces of my students after each session is the best. Not a single person has come to a spin session and regretted it, most, however; have thanked me after class was over for a good butt whippin'. That's really special, working with a group of passionate individuals that are willing to do the nitty gritty and get down to business, they'll definitely reap the rewards come spring.
If you were to ask anyone who is around me on a daily basis, they would all tell you the same thing, "his life is the KU club." It's true. I have been working with David since the beginning of the semester to literally build the club from the ground up. We've been working on a new constitution, new team logo, new sponsorship program, new officer structure, new club structure, new team structure, new event structure, new-member recruitment, a new advertising campaign.. the list goes on. In short we have taken the club from a club of 4 members with no culture or future prospects to a vibrant organization of 20 members, 6 officers, and a culture that is, simply put, "work hard, play hard, and have fun." David and I have had conversations where we tried to figure out how its all come together, having this success can only be the product of real, honest, hard work and the true intention to do something right. Better things are sure to come from KU cycling in the coming seasons.
But what about our old friend the interval? He's back. Our club meets Sunday and Wednesday nights for spin session in the sport club training room at the rec facility.. and what's on the menu those nights? You guessed it, intervals. It's early in the training season, mind you, so we're not killing it.. yet. Already David has taught a killer spin session that included one leg drills and 8-minute intervals, definitely one of my sweatiest training sessions. So far I've taught three spin sessions, a 1:1 3-minute intervals session of 12 reps , a 2 hour spin, and a 12 reps 3min-3osec descending intervals session. It's pretty awesome to pass on the love of cycling in all its forms, and to see the exhausted, but happy faces of my students after each session is the best. Not a single person has come to a spin session and regretted it, most, however; have thanked me after class was over for a good butt whippin'. That's really special, working with a group of passionate individuals that are willing to do the nitty gritty and get down to business, they'll definitely reap the rewards come spring.
Last Wednesday's spin class in the middle of descending intervals, they were feeling it.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
The off season's over
This last season has been a very fruitful one for me. Collegiate North-Central B-cat road/crit champ, Kansas cat-3 road champ runner-up, second in the Missouri State cat-3 road champs, a top five finish in the cat-4 Joe Martin Stage Race, and a host of cat-5, 4, and 3 wins and podium finishes; all in my first season of racing. I know that I have been very fortunate to be a part of the KU Cycling and Team Colavita/Parisi Coffee teams. I have raced next to some of the best examples of class-act and character, in that of my teammates. I owe much of my success to them, and the support they've given me.
Ultimately, as every racer knows, their fate is in their own hands. The lonely miles put in on the road alone, the grueling hours spent during interval sessions, all the things that must be done when no one is watching. They're thankless, so why do we do it? Because they are the prerequisites to greatness come spring. It is truly the things you do when no one is watching that make a champion.
The off season's over.
Ultimately, as every racer knows, their fate is in their own hands. The lonely miles put in on the road alone, the grueling hours spent during interval sessions, all the things that must be done when no one is watching. They're thankless, so why do we do it? Because they are the prerequisites to greatness come spring. It is truly the things you do when no one is watching that make a champion.
The off season's over.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Bike Snob NYC Unmasked!
Our very own Steve V. is the one and only renowned cycling blogger Bikesnob NYC. From the beginning of Steve's postings on his TC/PC blog I noticed that his style of prose was impeccably close to that of BSNYC. Putting the baby to rest, I have amassed irrefutable proof of Steve's alter ego.
First is Steve's post from yesterday, notice his wording when describing America's healtcare system. He uses the uncommon adjective "labyrenthine."
Second is a post from Bikesnob NYC's blog last February. I used to frequent Snob's blog and find the fact that both Snob and Steve have a penchant for using "labyrinthine" a bit too ironic. Coupled with their incredibly sardonic style, the similarities between both bloggers is too great to be a coincidence. In summation: Steve V. = BSNYC.
I know. Shocking.
First is Steve's post from yesterday, notice his wording when describing America's healtcare system. He uses the uncommon adjective "labyrenthine."
Second is a post from Bikesnob NYC's blog last February. I used to frequent Snob's blog and find the fact that both Snob and Steve have a penchant for using "labyrinthine" a bit too ironic. Coupled with their incredibly sardonic style, the similarities between both bloggers is too great to be a coincidence. In summation: Steve V. = BSNYC.
I know. Shocking.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Tour of KC 2009
Friday June 26th:
This would be my first race back after a two week rest period. I had one thing going through my mind prior to the race, "guns up let's do this." During and after a rest period the mind and body are not quite in sync. The mind is earger, the mind is willing, but the body doesn't begin to approach the mind's level of intensity. All good training books describe levels of fitness as a line graph that increases, peaks, declines, troughs, rises again, and proceeds to a higher peak. The hardest thing of coming off of a peak fitness period is the memory of the peak itself. Your mind thinks that the body still has the razor edge it used to, it most definitely does not.
For the Longview Criterium Britton and I were careful to line up at the front of our field. From the gun the pace jacked up and the field turned into a paceline. Feeling mid-pack to be inadequate, I gunned my engines and raced to the front before turn one. Taking delight in my rested legs I led the group for a lap and a half at blazing speed. Near the halfway point of lap two the paceline behind me came around my left side and ramped up the pace. I struggled to match pace with the lead group and quickly drifted to the back. After a couple of laps of trying to hang on, and failing to recover from my previous effort, I fell off. Dropping back to a quarter of a lap behind the lead group, I began to recover and initiated a TT effort, I watched the field inch away from there. Deciding that justice for my stupidity would have to be self-administered, I stayed in the race for the remainder going as hard as I could. At the end I was busted up, ego bruised more than body.
Saturday June 27th:
It was business as usual. David and I got up around 10am and began planning our day pre-race. We decided on seeing the new Transformers movie and getting lunch asap. Massages sounded good too, so we were keeping that option on the back burner. As we were getting ready around 11am my stomach began to distend and I experienced sharp intestinal pains. It was kind of a joke at first, me explaining that I got gas pains from time to time, but that it would go away soon. 4 hours later it hadn't. Having downed the maximum limit of gas-x pills for a day, hours earlier, and failing to find any reprieve, we began to worry. Thoughts of appendicitis and ruptured spleens abounded. Thinking over the situation mom decided it best to drive me to the hospital. Two hours after that and having cpr done on my stomach I began to feel better.
Day recap:
1. didn't make it to lunch or a movie
2. experienced vomit inducing pain for 6 hours
3. nearly passed out at the hospital
4. was diagnosed with probable intestinal chloronic (necessitating surgery in serious circumstances)
5. watched Marley and Me with my mom and her husband Jim while recovering
6. missed the day's criterium
Summation: wtf, son-of-a-bitch
Sunday June 28th:
Yesterday was supposed to be redemption day, but considering the circumstances, today would have to do. Looking at my race record I realized that my last commendable criterium result was nigh on months ago, today I aimed to change that. Pedalling around pre-race with Britton, the legs felt decent. Taking Friday as a lesson I knew that my endurance was not what it once had been, hopefully my top end wasn't so diminished. Today's strategy would be to race with my head, since my legs weren't so willing. Waiting at the start line mom and Jim were there to cheer me on. Today would be the same as Friday, with my biggest supporter in attendance I wanted to pull out a great result. On top of that a dear friend of mine, Kristi Dillman and her boyfriend TK were coming to watch as well. Unexpectantly TK had brought his camcorder and had it trained on me each lap. The pressure was on, four people were watching that I wanted to impress and one had a machine capable of capturing undeniable evidence of my impending success or failure. Guns up let's do this.
Like most crits the pace was heavy. There were definitely some dudes racing that wanted to keep things moving. Knowing that my form wasn't good enough to contend with too many moves at the front I kept my position near middle of the pack. A few breaks went early in the race, but were always brought back. Near mid-race the group split and a lead six or so got off the front. Finding myself near the front of the chase and knowing that the break looked pretty strong, I moved to lead chase position and worked to reel them back in. In about half a lap I pulled the group back to the break and resumed my mid-pack sit in. At about this time Britton came up beside me and said, "be patient, everyone's getting tired." I believed him, and was thankful for the words of encouragement. As the laps wound down, they seemed longer than 1/2 a mile, I kept a watchful eye on the front, sizing up the competition and readying myself to spring if need be. Coming into the last lap, predictably, people started going nuts,both behind the barriers and in the peloton. For a reason unknown to me still, a racer to my right began merging onto my line. Riding in the gutter I had nowhere to go, but down on the concrete if he was going to continue. Putting my elbow out I fended him off as he tried to force me off the road. After a few moments of contact he twisted his handlebar and went down. Wtf. If you can't stand the heat get out of the kitchen I guess. From the crash I gunned it into turn one taking lead position, up the hill I rounded turn two with a rider in tow. He shouted, "let's go!" I looked back and saw a chasing paceline. I felt pretty cooked as he launched an attack around my right. He gapped me a bit before turn 3 and I used all my speed through the last two turns to make up ground. Coming up the finishing hill I laid down a good sprint, nearly closing the gap, but it wasn't enough for first. I'd take 2nd on TK's camera.
This would be my first race back after a two week rest period. I had one thing going through my mind prior to the race, "guns up let's do this." During and after a rest period the mind and body are not quite in sync. The mind is earger, the mind is willing, but the body doesn't begin to approach the mind's level of intensity. All good training books describe levels of fitness as a line graph that increases, peaks, declines, troughs, rises again, and proceeds to a higher peak. The hardest thing of coming off of a peak fitness period is the memory of the peak itself. Your mind thinks that the body still has the razor edge it used to, it most definitely does not.
For the Longview Criterium Britton and I were careful to line up at the front of our field. From the gun the pace jacked up and the field turned into a paceline. Feeling mid-pack to be inadequate, I gunned my engines and raced to the front before turn one. Taking delight in my rested legs I led the group for a lap and a half at blazing speed. Near the halfway point of lap two the paceline behind me came around my left side and ramped up the pace. I struggled to match pace with the lead group and quickly drifted to the back. After a couple of laps of trying to hang on, and failing to recover from my previous effort, I fell off. Dropping back to a quarter of a lap behind the lead group, I began to recover and initiated a TT effort, I watched the field inch away from there. Deciding that justice for my stupidity would have to be self-administered, I stayed in the race for the remainder going as hard as I could. At the end I was busted up, ego bruised more than body.
Saturday June 27th:
It was business as usual. David and I got up around 10am and began planning our day pre-race. We decided on seeing the new Transformers movie and getting lunch asap. Massages sounded good too, so we were keeping that option on the back burner. As we were getting ready around 11am my stomach began to distend and I experienced sharp intestinal pains. It was kind of a joke at first, me explaining that I got gas pains from time to time, but that it would go away soon. 4 hours later it hadn't. Having downed the maximum limit of gas-x pills for a day, hours earlier, and failing to find any reprieve, we began to worry. Thoughts of appendicitis and ruptured spleens abounded. Thinking over the situation mom decided it best to drive me to the hospital. Two hours after that and having cpr done on my stomach I began to feel better.
Day recap:
1. didn't make it to lunch or a movie
2. experienced vomit inducing pain for 6 hours
3. nearly passed out at the hospital
4. was diagnosed with probable intestinal chloronic (necessitating surgery in serious circumstances)
5. watched Marley and Me with my mom and her husband Jim while recovering
6. missed the day's criterium
Summation: wtf, son-of-a-bitch
Sunday June 28th:
Yesterday was supposed to be redemption day, but considering the circumstances, today would have to do. Looking at my race record I realized that my last commendable criterium result was nigh on months ago, today I aimed to change that. Pedalling around pre-race with Britton, the legs felt decent. Taking Friday as a lesson I knew that my endurance was not what it once had been, hopefully my top end wasn't so diminished. Today's strategy would be to race with my head, since my legs weren't so willing. Waiting at the start line mom and Jim were there to cheer me on. Today would be the same as Friday, with my biggest supporter in attendance I wanted to pull out a great result. On top of that a dear friend of mine, Kristi Dillman and her boyfriend TK were coming to watch as well. Unexpectantly TK had brought his camcorder and had it trained on me each lap. The pressure was on, four people were watching that I wanted to impress and one had a machine capable of capturing undeniable evidence of my impending success or failure. Guns up let's do this.
Like most crits the pace was heavy. There were definitely some dudes racing that wanted to keep things moving. Knowing that my form wasn't good enough to contend with too many moves at the front I kept my position near middle of the pack. A few breaks went early in the race, but were always brought back. Near mid-race the group split and a lead six or so got off the front. Finding myself near the front of the chase and knowing that the break looked pretty strong, I moved to lead chase position and worked to reel them back in. In about half a lap I pulled the group back to the break and resumed my mid-pack sit in. At about this time Britton came up beside me and said, "be patient, everyone's getting tired." I believed him, and was thankful for the words of encouragement. As the laps wound down, they seemed longer than 1/2 a mile, I kept a watchful eye on the front, sizing up the competition and readying myself to spring if need be. Coming into the last lap, predictably, people started going nuts,both behind the barriers and in the peloton. For a reason unknown to me still, a racer to my right began merging onto my line. Riding in the gutter I had nowhere to go, but down on the concrete if he was going to continue. Putting my elbow out I fended him off as he tried to force me off the road. After a few moments of contact he twisted his handlebar and went down. Wtf. If you can't stand the heat get out of the kitchen I guess. From the crash I gunned it into turn one taking lead position, up the hill I rounded turn two with a rider in tow. He shouted, "let's go!" I looked back and saw a chasing paceline. I felt pretty cooked as he launched an attack around my right. He gapped me a bit before turn 3 and I used all my speed through the last two turns to make up ground. Coming up the finishing hill I laid down a good sprint, nearly closing the gap, but it wasn't enough for first. I'd take 2nd on TK's camera.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Le Tour de Sainte Genevieve
Another one's in the books. Saint Genevieve was host to the Missouri state road championships today. The location was great, a charming little Missouri town, and the course was a blast. Each 33 mile lap was constituted by the perfect mix of rollers, flats, and climbs; really something for everyone.
The 3's race stated by rolling out neutral for the first few miles. Jumping on highway M we were allowed to race. There's pretty much two things you can bank on in a road race; if the distance is short enough the pace will be screaming from the gun, but if the distance is approaching 70 miles the pack is pretty content to putz along at 18mph. I'd prefer screaming, with a slow pace mobility in the pack is laborious indeed and wrecks are not uncommon. In the first 30 miles I heard at least two pileups behind me. Trapped on the shoulder I worked my way over to the yellow-line to find that there was nowhere to go from there either. The whole thing kind of reminded me of Office Space, as soon as I moved to the other side of the peloton the spot I previously occupied suddenly began gaining forward mobility. If I moved back, you guessed it, the other side would begin advancing spots on the front. In the heat of the moment it was quite frustrating, but in hindsight the whole thing is absolutely comical. I heard from Eric and David that there was a guy experiencing the same thing in the 4's race and he actually started yelling, "oh god, I'm boxed in. Great, great, I'm boxed in!!" Hilarious.
Once we started crossing some of the serious climbs the pack began to get itself moving. I made a ton of spots up on the first climb and positioned myself near the front. Still the peloton was a bit lazy and I found myself feathering the brakes a bit too much. Passing over a rolling section the peloton got a bit stretched and I took my opportunity on the left side to move to the front. The lead riders were in a single-file paceline on the right side, I came up to where the paceline ballooned out to three riders wide. Dropping quickly into the drops I stood on the pedals in a sprint, to my right a rider looked at me and yelled a warning. The moment seemed to last impossibly long, standing on the pedals and the tires' reaction to my effort. Once the moment was over I was off the front in a mid 30mph hour sprint slamming the pedals.
That's the key to an attack, you've got to kill it, and then you've got to keep killing it. Too many racers launch 10-20 meters off the front and look back, expecting the field to be a mile away. They try to shortcut the pain, but it's going to hurt, no doubt about it. Approaching the feed zone I tried to hold 29-30mph in a TT position to further my gap. I zipped through with an extra bottle in my back pocket, no time to stop. After a bit I looked back to see a lone bridger coming up behind. It turned out it was Matt Briar from Big Shark, I knew this kid could haul. Before I was a racer I saw him tearing the legs off of riders in the 4/5 Gateway Cup crits, I thought for sure he'd be pro by now. Together we traded pulls and linked up with the two racers up the road. From there the rest is pain and suffering, the way a good breakaway should be.
For close to 40 miles the four of us: Matt, Hub Bike Co., a racer in yellow, and I worked together until the K.O.M. hill. The racer for Hub Bicycle Co. definitely was the climber of the bunch and from the looks of it Matt definitely was not. This came as a relief because the kid could haul a massive TT and his sprint had to be something to reckon with. The rider in yellow was becoming less of a threat, and even after bumming some water off of the Hub rider, he was still fading. Cresting the K.O.M. climb Briar was way off the back and Hub was up the road. I focused on using every bit of my momentum on the downhills and transfering that into a quick power sprint on the uphills to gain on the yellow rider. After I linked up to him I pulled both of us up to the Hub rider. Thinking it wise to keep Briar dropped I moved to the front a gave a big pull, but after my turn was up yellow and Hub showed they were beat by squeaking out a a few weenie pulls. Briar killed himself to catch up and we resigned ourselves to ride as a bunch to the finish.
Somewhere around the K.O.M. hill I started to realized that my shifting was a bit off, gears were starting to miss. To tell the truth I was half expecting this. I had only ridden my new gruppo a handful of times leading up to this weekend and the cables were bound to stretch. Coming up the hill to the finish my shifting was automatic. I frantically shifted up and down my cassette and between small and big rings to find a gear ratio that wouldn't shift on its own. Each pedal stroke was interrupted by a "KACHUNK!" as the derailleur popped from cog to cog. The only thing that came into my head was "FUCK IT!" and I slammed the pedals down, still puncutated by kanchunks. I half-hobble/attacked past Briar and the yellow rider, but too late and in poor shape to catch Hub's long gone attack. 2nd place. Whatever.
It was great to see David sprint for second in the 4's race and then claim the Missouri state road title. I've been training and racing with David since February, after moving to Lawrence. When I joined Colavita/Parisi I pretty much demanded that he leave his current team. I knew David was going to be something special when riding with him in Lawrence. Despite a packed engineering schedule, where he would scrape for training hours, he was still putting up some stellar results at collegiate C races. His potential is really shining with Colavita/Parisi and this weekend was definitley proof of that. Our team is truly something special, it has a heart and a soul. We're all good friends and we support one another on and off the bike. After a long weekend (longer because of traveling than racing) who did we meet walking near Volker? Steve V., toting a six pack of brewskis! From our van we all hollered at him and the first thing he did was share his beer with us, no questions asked. After that we headed down to Minsky's and spent the rest of the night laughing and eating pizza. I've said it before and I'll say it again, that's what makes racing worth it, sharing the victory with your buds. I wouldn't want to do it alone.
The 3's race stated by rolling out neutral for the first few miles. Jumping on highway M we were allowed to race. There's pretty much two things you can bank on in a road race; if the distance is short enough the pace will be screaming from the gun, but if the distance is approaching 70 miles the pack is pretty content to putz along at 18mph. I'd prefer screaming, with a slow pace mobility in the pack is laborious indeed and wrecks are not uncommon. In the first 30 miles I heard at least two pileups behind me. Trapped on the shoulder I worked my way over to the yellow-line to find that there was nowhere to go from there either. The whole thing kind of reminded me of Office Space, as soon as I moved to the other side of the peloton the spot I previously occupied suddenly began gaining forward mobility. If I moved back, you guessed it, the other side would begin advancing spots on the front. In the heat of the moment it was quite frustrating, but in hindsight the whole thing is absolutely comical. I heard from Eric and David that there was a guy experiencing the same thing in the 4's race and he actually started yelling, "oh god, I'm boxed in. Great, great, I'm boxed in!!" Hilarious.
Once we started crossing some of the serious climbs the pack began to get itself moving. I made a ton of spots up on the first climb and positioned myself near the front. Still the peloton was a bit lazy and I found myself feathering the brakes a bit too much. Passing over a rolling section the peloton got a bit stretched and I took my opportunity on the left side to move to the front. The lead riders were in a single-file paceline on the right side, I came up to where the paceline ballooned out to three riders wide. Dropping quickly into the drops I stood on the pedals in a sprint, to my right a rider looked at me and yelled a warning. The moment seemed to last impossibly long, standing on the pedals and the tires' reaction to my effort. Once the moment was over I was off the front in a mid 30mph hour sprint slamming the pedals.
That's the key to an attack, you've got to kill it, and then you've got to keep killing it. Too many racers launch 10-20 meters off the front and look back, expecting the field to be a mile away. They try to shortcut the pain, but it's going to hurt, no doubt about it. Approaching the feed zone I tried to hold 29-30mph in a TT position to further my gap. I zipped through with an extra bottle in my back pocket, no time to stop. After a bit I looked back to see a lone bridger coming up behind. It turned out it was Matt Briar from Big Shark, I knew this kid could haul. Before I was a racer I saw him tearing the legs off of riders in the 4/5 Gateway Cup crits, I thought for sure he'd be pro by now. Together we traded pulls and linked up with the two racers up the road. From there the rest is pain and suffering, the way a good breakaway should be.
For close to 40 miles the four of us: Matt, Hub Bike Co., a racer in yellow, and I worked together until the K.O.M. hill. The racer for Hub Bicycle Co. definitely was the climber of the bunch and from the looks of it Matt definitely was not. This came as a relief because the kid could haul a massive TT and his sprint had to be something to reckon with. The rider in yellow was becoming less of a threat, and even after bumming some water off of the Hub rider, he was still fading. Cresting the K.O.M. climb Briar was way off the back and Hub was up the road. I focused on using every bit of my momentum on the downhills and transfering that into a quick power sprint on the uphills to gain on the yellow rider. After I linked up to him I pulled both of us up to the Hub rider. Thinking it wise to keep Briar dropped I moved to the front a gave a big pull, but after my turn was up yellow and Hub showed they were beat by squeaking out a a few weenie pulls. Briar killed himself to catch up and we resigned ourselves to ride as a bunch to the finish.
Somewhere around the K.O.M. hill I started to realized that my shifting was a bit off, gears were starting to miss. To tell the truth I was half expecting this. I had only ridden my new gruppo a handful of times leading up to this weekend and the cables were bound to stretch. Coming up the hill to the finish my shifting was automatic. I frantically shifted up and down my cassette and between small and big rings to find a gear ratio that wouldn't shift on its own. Each pedal stroke was interrupted by a "KACHUNK!" as the derailleur popped from cog to cog. The only thing that came into my head was "FUCK IT!" and I slammed the pedals down, still puncutated by kanchunks. I half-hobble/attacked past Briar and the yellow rider, but too late and in poor shape to catch Hub's long gone attack. 2nd place. Whatever.
It was great to see David sprint for second in the 4's race and then claim the Missouri state road title. I've been training and racing with David since February, after moving to Lawrence. When I joined Colavita/Parisi I pretty much demanded that he leave his current team. I knew David was going to be something special when riding with him in Lawrence. Despite a packed engineering schedule, where he would scrape for training hours, he was still putting up some stellar results at collegiate C races. His potential is really shining with Colavita/Parisi and this weekend was definitley proof of that. Our team is truly something special, it has a heart and a soul. We're all good friends and we support one another on and off the bike. After a long weekend (longer because of traveling than racing) who did we meet walking near Volker? Steve V., toting a six pack of brewskis! From our van we all hollered at him and the first thing he did was share his beer with us, no questions asked. After that we headed down to Minsky's and spent the rest of the night laughing and eating pizza. I've said it before and I'll say it again, that's what makes racing worth it, sharing the victory with your buds. I wouldn't want to do it alone.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Sweat. Blood. Tears.
In that order. That's the way it should be. Work your ass off, get knocked on your ass, lose your best-friend.
I started my [cycling] sporting career on a Trek mountain bike equipped with bull horns and a flipped upside down 30 degree stem. It was the most badass mountain rig I'd ever seen. At road group rides I'd kick it with the old guns and try not to get dropped. That bike kicked my butt in a good way, I trained on it for 3 months. Avoiding pain was never the goal. I enjoyed riding bikes, I always have; but when I saw what some guys were doing on the road I wanted a piece of that action. From the sidewalk at races I would see badass looking racers, who seemed to ooze confidence and prowess on the bike, tearing around criterium courses. The goal was always how to get from "intramural-softball-jersey-wearing-puke-who-didn't-even-own-a-pair-of-clipless-pedals" to that image of a road racer. I didn't have the slightest clue what I was doing on the bike. Most training sessions involved riding as hard and as far as I could (sometimes riding out of town and finding that I could barely make it back). On a more than a few occassions my breakfast, lunch, or dinner would litter the roadside.
It was love at first sight over and over again, building my Kona. The frame and fork, lifting it out of the box the first time, I marveled at its feather-weight. For weeks that f&f sat alone in my room waiting its wheels, gruppo, and components. I would come home and sit, staring at it, day-dreaming of when I would race on a real road bike. After months it came together, piece by piece. The chain was the last part to be assembled. Leaving my girlfriend behind I rode into the night, not caring about anything but the bliss I experienced riding my Kona for the first time. She was the product of months of dreaming, searching, and waiting. Unwilling to wait for every last bit of equipment I rode her without clipless shoes (to match her clipless pedals) and a lockring. Riding on rough surfaces my 12 tooth cog would jingle, as it bounced loosely on the cassette. Sooner or later it all came together and we were inseperable.
How many hours did I spend in her saddle? Hundreds. How many miles did we share on the road? Thousands. We came to know each other as I came to understand what made my life worth living, the joy that I felt in the pavement beneath her. Sometimes I hated the pain we suffered together, but when the day was done I always felt victorious. I didn't always know where we were going, rather only that we were going somewhere. The victory was about pushing my limit, about going to the edge and stepping off. Truly, I'd fall, but at the bottom I'd pick myself up, climb the cliff, and step off again. I got pretty good at it, taking the abuse; after a while it didn't hurt so bad. Then I'd find a bigger cliff, climb it, and repeat. That's how you sweat.
Most racers know what it is to bleed, on the inside or out. The former always accompanies the latter when the latter is experienced. On the surface, the casual spectator fails to see the riveting nature of cycling's mental game, but it's there. At a certain point in every racer's career it comes to the forefront of their racing, and is pivotal. There is a point where the mind can bring ruin to every second of training and bring vanity to every ounce of energy given to the pedals. You can bleed without falling.
How do you stop the bleeding? Keep riding your bike. Put yourself in a situation where you will bleed, forget your fear, and come out on the other side; unscathed or not.
I started my [cycling] sporting career on a Trek mountain bike equipped with bull horns and a flipped upside down 30 degree stem. It was the most badass mountain rig I'd ever seen. At road group rides I'd kick it with the old guns and try not to get dropped. That bike kicked my butt in a good way, I trained on it for 3 months. Avoiding pain was never the goal. I enjoyed riding bikes, I always have; but when I saw what some guys were doing on the road I wanted a piece of that action. From the sidewalk at races I would see badass looking racers, who seemed to ooze confidence and prowess on the bike, tearing around criterium courses. The goal was always how to get from "intramural-softball-jersey-wearing-puke-who-didn't-even-own-a-pair-of-clipless-pedals" to that image of a road racer. I didn't have the slightest clue what I was doing on the bike. Most training sessions involved riding as hard and as far as I could (sometimes riding out of town and finding that I could barely make it back). On a more than a few occassions my breakfast, lunch, or dinner would litter the roadside.
It was love at first sight over and over again, building my Kona. The frame and fork, lifting it out of the box the first time, I marveled at its feather-weight. For weeks that f&f sat alone in my room waiting its wheels, gruppo, and components. I would come home and sit, staring at it, day-dreaming of when I would race on a real road bike. After months it came together, piece by piece. The chain was the last part to be assembled. Leaving my girlfriend behind I rode into the night, not caring about anything but the bliss I experienced riding my Kona for the first time. She was the product of months of dreaming, searching, and waiting. Unwilling to wait for every last bit of equipment I rode her without clipless shoes (to match her clipless pedals) and a lockring. Riding on rough surfaces my 12 tooth cog would jingle, as it bounced loosely on the cassette. Sooner or later it all came together and we were inseperable.
How many hours did I spend in her saddle? Hundreds. How many miles did we share on the road? Thousands. We came to know each other as I came to understand what made my life worth living, the joy that I felt in the pavement beneath her. Sometimes I hated the pain we suffered together, but when the day was done I always felt victorious. I didn't always know where we were going, rather only that we were going somewhere. The victory was about pushing my limit, about going to the edge and stepping off. Truly, I'd fall, but at the bottom I'd pick myself up, climb the cliff, and step off again. I got pretty good at it, taking the abuse; after a while it didn't hurt so bad. Then I'd find a bigger cliff, climb it, and repeat. That's how you sweat.
Most racers know what it is to bleed, on the inside or out. The former always accompanies the latter when the latter is experienced. On the surface, the casual spectator fails to see the riveting nature of cycling's mental game, but it's there. At a certain point in every racer's career it comes to the forefront of their racing, and is pivotal. There is a point where the mind can bring ruin to every second of training and bring vanity to every ounce of energy given to the pedals. You can bleed without falling.
How do you stop the bleeding? Keep riding your bike. Put yourself in a situation where you will bleed, forget your fear, and come out on the other side; unscathed or not.
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