Kick In The Pants.
If I'm completely honest with
myself, I know I need a result.
It doesn't have to be a personal record. It doesn't even have to be near the podium. It just needs to be something that tells me all is not lost. That's really all I can hope for at this point.
The first race of the season is always a Moose Run time trial. Most of the time, it's a miserable affair. Time trials always are. However, time trials in southcentral Alaska in April are especially so. You see a lot of people (those with any sense) wearing warm cycling clothes like jackets and thermal tights. Idiots like me wear aerodynamic suits so our sweat freezes that much more quickly, hopefully reducing drag. Unless it's been a warm spring (and this hasn't been), there's snow lining the course, which makes it just a slight bit colder. Despite the best efforts of the course crew, the streets are rarely 100% swept. Sometimes the line through a turn is purely dictated by where the gravel isn't. Often there's wet pavement from the melting snow near the fastest turn, which doesn't make it too dangerous but has the potential of soaking your back in cold spray. That's always nice.
I'm not exactly sure why anyone would want to do such a race, but it's usually the biggest race of the season. The roadies are there, because... road. The triathletes are there, to train for whatever it is they do. Even some mountain bikers, kept off the trails by rotting snow and mud, show up. It's a big event. It's kind of a way to see where you are after a season of riding the trainer, a fatbike, or the couch. It's rarely my best time trial of the year, but it at least gives me an indication of how I stack up rolling into the race season.
I'm not sure what a decent result is for me this year. So many things can factor into the time (cold, wind, fat...) that I don't even want to focus on that ahead of the race. I'll only be disappointed. I think it will have to be evaluated and put in context after the race. That way I can build up a full head of delusional steam to concoct rationalizations that will be able to blow through an eight foot thick wall of reality.
Time trials are all about reality. Tick tick tick. Strategy is all about carefully metering out your efforts so you don't blow up, and then blowing up anyway. For me, it's all about making thousands of little bargains with myself along the way, just so I don't sit up, pull off the course, and climb into a warm car.
There was a time when I liked them, because I was better than most of the people I raced against in the discipline. That time has long since passed. A lot of it has to do with racing much faster people, and another part of it is losing the pig-headedness required to ride yourself into oblivion. I just don't have it anymore.
A good day could turn things around. A bad day could lead somewhere else. The only way to find out is pin on a number and line up.
Reality. Tick tick tick.
It doesn't have to be a personal record. It doesn't even have to be near the podium. It just needs to be something that tells me all is not lost. That's really all I can hope for at this point.
The first race of the season is always a Moose Run time trial. Most of the time, it's a miserable affair. Time trials always are. However, time trials in southcentral Alaska in April are especially so. You see a lot of people (those with any sense) wearing warm cycling clothes like jackets and thermal tights. Idiots like me wear aerodynamic suits so our sweat freezes that much more quickly, hopefully reducing drag. Unless it's been a warm spring (and this hasn't been), there's snow lining the course, which makes it just a slight bit colder. Despite the best efforts of the course crew, the streets are rarely 100% swept. Sometimes the line through a turn is purely dictated by where the gravel isn't. Often there's wet pavement from the melting snow near the fastest turn, which doesn't make it too dangerous but has the potential of soaking your back in cold spray. That's always nice.
I'm not exactly sure why anyone would want to do such a race, but it's usually the biggest race of the season. The roadies are there, because... road. The triathletes are there, to train for whatever it is they do. Even some mountain bikers, kept off the trails by rotting snow and mud, show up. It's a big event. It's kind of a way to see where you are after a season of riding the trainer, a fatbike, or the couch. It's rarely my best time trial of the year, but it at least gives me an indication of how I stack up rolling into the race season.
I'm not sure what a decent result is for me this year. So many things can factor into the time (cold, wind, fat...) that I don't even want to focus on that ahead of the race. I'll only be disappointed. I think it will have to be evaluated and put in context after the race. That way I can build up a full head of delusional steam to concoct rationalizations that will be able to blow through an eight foot thick wall of reality.
Time trials are all about reality. Tick tick tick. Strategy is all about carefully metering out your efforts so you don't blow up, and then blowing up anyway. For me, it's all about making thousands of little bargains with myself along the way, just so I don't sit up, pull off the course, and climb into a warm car.
There was a time when I liked them, because I was better than most of the people I raced against in the discipline. That time has long since passed. A lot of it has to do with racing much faster people, and another part of it is losing the pig-headedness required to ride yourself into oblivion. I just don't have it anymore.
A good day could turn things around. A bad day could lead somewhere else. The only way to find out is pin on a number and line up.
Reality. Tick tick tick.
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