First Race and a Relevation

After a year of riding, I bought a decent road bike. I gravitated to the road much like I gravitated to ski racing. Maybe it's because they're probably the most tradition-bound in their respective worlds, tied to an Euro-centric history. As with skiing, I figured racing was the logical route to go, so when my son's speech therapist suggested I enter a race, it didn't take much convincing.
 
My first race was actually part of multi-stage race. This was a time trial, a solo effort against the clock. The strongest cyclist that rides the smartest pace wins. The rest of the competitors had done a few stages before this, and the race season itself was several months old. This stage race was what many of the competitors structured their whole season around, and were in peak form. I, on the other hand, was not.
 
When I pulled up to the parking lot, I immediately noticed that I was one of the fattest guys there. All around me were hatchet-lean, rippling muscles on shaved legs. I looked like a puffy wookie in comparison. I was surrounded by a sea of carbon fiber and cutting-edge technology, and was more than a little intimidated, but I plunked down my entry fee and lined up with my class.
 
Since my league is not affiliated with USA Cycling, and our fields are relatively small, our race classes are a bit different. The fastest racers are in Expert, the mid-level racers are in Sport, the people over 40 can choose to race Masters, and the juniors have their own class as well. That leaves the guys that are new to the scene, the Beginner Class. That can mean anything from fat guys on mountain bikes to extremely fit guys who are just new to road racing. I fit somewhere in the middle of that description.
 
All I remember of that race is that I burned myself out in the first two miles and paid for it during the next eight. I was used to alpine ski racing, where you need to be 100% on right out of the gate. Road cycling is an endurance sport, and you need to meter out your energy. I knew this (at least in theory), but when I was told to go, all of that went out the window. The picture I have from that race captures exactly where I was as a bike rider, because I was far from what I now consider a cyclist in shape or intent. When all was said and done, I finished right in the middle of the small field, about four minutes behind the stage winner in my class and nearly nine minutes down on the overall winner. In a 10 mile time trial, this is an eternity.
 
Still, I was hooked. That same rush I got from alpine racing translated, and I had a new motivation to push myself to improve. The somewhat vague "lose weight and get healthy" goal was replaced by the more concrete world of the clock and results sheet. I had the overwhelming, type-A desire (but not the ability) to crush souls and grind the competition under my wheel. The same impulsive nature that led me to buy my first bike at REI propelled me to spend thousands of dollars on a specialized time trial bike, a decision that I question to this day. Let me put it this way: I was a fat guy, who had done grand a total of one race, spending thousands of dollars on a bike that couldn't be used in the majority of races on the calendar, while my only other bike was better suited for touring and commuting. I've never been blessed with an abundance of common sense or restraint.
 
The path in front of me was defined. At age 38 I was going to transform myself into a cyclist.