Return to the Suitcase of Quit™
It's been a few years since I participated in the Tour of Anchorage, much less competed in it. Injury, lack of form, and other reasons kept me away. I knew as soon as I heard about the stages that I wouldn't be participating this year, either- even if I was in town at the time. Even at what I would consider peak form, it wasn't my cup of tea. Given my current sad state of fitness, the climbing-heavy TOA was just wasn't something I am capable of.
As it turned out, I was home during this year's event. I chose to go camping with the family and ride the hills around Homer instead, missing the first three stages. After driving 5 hours, I made it home in time to shower, change, and load up my bike for the crit. As the only flat stage, it sounded like fun. After hanging with the pack during my last foray, I figured I would follow some wheels, jump for a prime or two, and get in the race intensity I've been missing the last year. That was the plan.
I got there early and watched the women's races. Always nice to see full female packs out there mixing it up. Then, in the first lap of the second race, a rider clipped a pedal and went down. Hard. It was my teammate, Rose. She was the first person on the scene when I went down at Kulis a couple years back. She's a tough, aggressive rider, and seeing her on the pavement with a cracked helmet and what was diagnosed as a concussion just wasn't a pleasant experience. She was carted off in an ambulance. In the Open race, three women in the open pack stacked up on the last lap, but managed to walk away from it with minor injuries.
I was wondering why I insisted on coming back early from Homer, but I pushed the negative thoughts aside and got ready for my race. I needed my ass kicked, and the field that lined up was more than qualified to do it.
For the first half of the race, I stuck with the plan. I hung near but not on the front, did a half-hearted jump for the first prime and coasted into third, and was feeling pretty decent (all things considered). Then it happened.
Most times something so routine in crit racing wouldn't have affected me. I would have shrugged it off and made efforts to avoid another incident. This time, however, it was all it took to end my race.
In the middle of the first turn, I clipped a pedal. My rear tire moved laterally slightly. That was it. It was enough. Once the thought was in my mind, it was over. I dug deep into my Suitcase of Quit™. I was scheduled to travel in two days, and a wreck could jeopardize my ability to support my family (if I'm hurt, I can't work, and I don't get paid). I had no GC aspirations. Rose's wreck knocked me off my game. I built a whole laundry list of excuses, but I probably would have ignored them if I was in race shape. I'm funny that way.
I drifted to the back of the pack, then drifted off the back. I was done. I kept making laps. I was lapped. I lapped other dropped riders. I stayed away from the action, although I was hoping for a break to make it clear so I could help them make it stick. The dwindled pack stayed intact, more or less a Kaladi team time trial.
The last few laps, I realized I could avoid being lapped a second time if I time trialed it a bit, and that was enough motivation for me. Even with me pushing all 50 of my watts, Bill Fleming almost caught me as he went on a long flier for the win. What this meant was that I had to do another lap. I coasted it, because it really didn't matter. I had no GC aspirations.
I ended up 6th. I might have done better if I had hung with the pack, but it really doesn't matter. I had quit. I was weak. Physically, mentally... I beat myself up about it for a while, and then decided to get over it.
Maybe next year I'll be in better shape and have a better shot at mixing it up with the old gang. Maybe not. Maybe I'm done.
I have no idea at this point.
As it turned out, I was home during this year's event. I chose to go camping with the family and ride the hills around Homer instead, missing the first three stages. After driving 5 hours, I made it home in time to shower, change, and load up my bike for the crit. As the only flat stage, it sounded like fun. After hanging with the pack during my last foray, I figured I would follow some wheels, jump for a prime or two, and get in the race intensity I've been missing the last year. That was the plan.
I got there early and watched the women's races. Always nice to see full female packs out there mixing it up. Then, in the first lap of the second race, a rider clipped a pedal and went down. Hard. It was my teammate, Rose. She was the first person on the scene when I went down at Kulis a couple years back. She's a tough, aggressive rider, and seeing her on the pavement with a cracked helmet and what was diagnosed as a concussion just wasn't a pleasant experience. She was carted off in an ambulance. In the Open race, three women in the open pack stacked up on the last lap, but managed to walk away from it with minor injuries.
I was wondering why I insisted on coming back early from Homer, but I pushed the negative thoughts aside and got ready for my race. I needed my ass kicked, and the field that lined up was more than qualified to do it.
For the first half of the race, I stuck with the plan. I hung near but not on the front, did a half-hearted jump for the first prime and coasted into third, and was feeling pretty decent (all things considered). Then it happened.
Most times something so routine in crit racing wouldn't have affected me. I would have shrugged it off and made efforts to avoid another incident. This time, however, it was all it took to end my race.
In the middle of the first turn, I clipped a pedal. My rear tire moved laterally slightly. That was it. It was enough. Once the thought was in my mind, it was over. I dug deep into my Suitcase of Quit™. I was scheduled to travel in two days, and a wreck could jeopardize my ability to support my family (if I'm hurt, I can't work, and I don't get paid). I had no GC aspirations. Rose's wreck knocked me off my game. I built a whole laundry list of excuses, but I probably would have ignored them if I was in race shape. I'm funny that way.
I drifted to the back of the pack, then drifted off the back. I was done. I kept making laps. I was lapped. I lapped other dropped riders. I stayed away from the action, although I was hoping for a break to make it clear so I could help them make it stick. The dwindled pack stayed intact, more or less a Kaladi team time trial.
The last few laps, I realized I could avoid being lapped a second time if I time trialed it a bit, and that was enough motivation for me. Even with me pushing all 50 of my watts, Bill Fleming almost caught me as he went on a long flier for the win. What this meant was that I had to do another lap. I coasted it, because it really didn't matter. I had no GC aspirations.
I ended up 6th. I might have done better if I had hung with the pack, but it really doesn't matter. I had quit. I was weak. Physically, mentally... I beat myself up about it for a while, and then decided to get over it.
Maybe next year I'll be in better shape and have a better shot at mixing it up with the old gang. Maybe not. Maybe I'm done.
I have no idea at this point.
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