Blink of an Eye.
A few years back I was at Disneyland with the family. Of course I brought my bike, thinking I would get some miles in along the ditch (Santa Ana river) after log days walking around and standing in line.
Of course, I did my homework and found group rides and races happening in the area. I jumped at my chances when the family wanted to hang back at the house around the pool or were just worn out from standing in line.
One of the chances almost didn't happen. I saw a race was happening a mere 30 minute "sporty" bike ride away, but until the family threw in the towel early that afternoon, I didn't think I could make it. Then it was just a matter of quickly buying a one-day license, signing up online, and hauling ass through Southern California traffic to get there. No problem.
Surprisingly enough, I made it on time to catch my breath, pin on a bib, and line up. I bled my eyes out that race, barely holding on and sprinting for fifth after some local young hammerheads rode everyone else's legs off. I think they were playing with us, using their vast stores of testosterone to throw attack after attack.
Before and after the race, I noticed how cool the environment was. I mean, the venue itself (a park) was one of the safer crit courses I've seen, with plenty of room to maneuver and no sketchy turns or weird curbs to get pinned against. The people were friendly. I was talking and riding with one guy afterwards for a while, and after a few miles he mentioned his home was actually in the opposite direction. He was just being welcoming to the new guy. Honestly, it was everything I want in a crit.
That was the El Dorado Race Series, one of the oldest continuously run races in the US.
Friday I surfed to Wanky's blog to find this article.
It hit home. Hard.
I can't imagine what the family, friends, and local racing community are going through right now. All I can do is hope that they do come through it OK. \
Nobody would ever pin on a number if they knew this time the decision would result in serious injury or death. They'd go for ice cream or watch South Park reruns instead. Yet, every time the line up they are spinning the wheel and taking a chance. You push that thought to the back of your mind. The odds are overwhelmingly in your favor, until they aren't.
Life is a risk. You take chances every day, whether you acknowledge them or not. Some people are better than others in not letting the risks get in the way of a good time. After a few years of injuries, I'm not as good at it as I used to be. Once that thought enters my consciousness during a race, I'm done. The cost-benefit ratio that once seemed so favorable no longer adds up.
That kills me.
Maybe if I was in better shape and had more miles under my wheels I would feel differently, but without the mental hardening that comes from successful repetition, all I have left to fall back on is doubt. I see it when I'm descending Potter, grabbing brakes where I used to let the wheels run free. I see it when I'm doing a long climb, and I back off because I don't believe I can make it. I see it a lot these days. Doubt.
All I can do is try to rebuild my brain calluses, those defenses that prevent the self-defeating thoughts from entering my mind. Some might call it self-delusion, that the risk, whether acknowledged or not, is still very real. I disagree. I think it's something else. I think it is something positive. Belief in yourself. It's a powerful thing. Used properly, it allows you to flow past dangers and reap untold rewards (like prime socks).
Life can end in a blink of an eye at any time. I used to be ignorant of that fact in my younger days, but my own mortality has been hinted at several times by fate. So, I'm left with the choice of how I spend however much time I have left.
I choose fun. Bikes are fun.
That's the direction I'm working in, anyway.
Of course, I did my homework and found group rides and races happening in the area. I jumped at my chances when the family wanted to hang back at the house around the pool or were just worn out from standing in line.
One of the chances almost didn't happen. I saw a race was happening a mere 30 minute "sporty" bike ride away, but until the family threw in the towel early that afternoon, I didn't think I could make it. Then it was just a matter of quickly buying a one-day license, signing up online, and hauling ass through Southern California traffic to get there. No problem.
Surprisingly enough, I made it on time to catch my breath, pin on a bib, and line up. I bled my eyes out that race, barely holding on and sprinting for fifth after some local young hammerheads rode everyone else's legs off. I think they were playing with us, using their vast stores of testosterone to throw attack after attack.
Before and after the race, I noticed how cool the environment was. I mean, the venue itself (a park) was one of the safer crit courses I've seen, with plenty of room to maneuver and no sketchy turns or weird curbs to get pinned against. The people were friendly. I was talking and riding with one guy afterwards for a while, and after a few miles he mentioned his home was actually in the opposite direction. He was just being welcoming to the new guy. Honestly, it was everything I want in a crit.
That was the El Dorado Race Series, one of the oldest continuously run races in the US.
Friday I surfed to Wanky's blog to find this article.
It hit home. Hard.
I can't imagine what the family, friends, and local racing community are going through right now. All I can do is hope that they do come through it OK. \
Nobody would ever pin on a number if they knew this time the decision would result in serious injury or death. They'd go for ice cream or watch South Park reruns instead. Yet, every time the line up they are spinning the wheel and taking a chance. You push that thought to the back of your mind. The odds are overwhelmingly in your favor, until they aren't.
Life is a risk. You take chances every day, whether you acknowledge them or not. Some people are better than others in not letting the risks get in the way of a good time. After a few years of injuries, I'm not as good at it as I used to be. Once that thought enters my consciousness during a race, I'm done. The cost-benefit ratio that once seemed so favorable no longer adds up.
That kills me.
Maybe if I was in better shape and had more miles under my wheels I would feel differently, but without the mental hardening that comes from successful repetition, all I have left to fall back on is doubt. I see it when I'm descending Potter, grabbing brakes where I used to let the wheels run free. I see it when I'm doing a long climb, and I back off because I don't believe I can make it. I see it a lot these days. Doubt.
All I can do is try to rebuild my brain calluses, those defenses that prevent the self-defeating thoughts from entering my mind. Some might call it self-delusion, that the risk, whether acknowledged or not, is still very real. I disagree. I think it's something else. I think it is something positive. Belief in yourself. It's a powerful thing. Used properly, it allows you to flow past dangers and reap untold rewards (like prime socks).
Life can end in a blink of an eye at any time. I used to be ignorant of that fact in my younger days, but my own mortality has been hinted at several times by fate. So, I'm left with the choice of how I spend however much time I have left.
I choose fun. Bikes are fun.
That's the direction I'm working in, anyway.
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