Colorado Racing

Colorado racing, just like Colorado riding, has a way of wearing you out (and occasionally wearing you down).  It doesn’t necessarily feel warm and fuzzy.   It gives off a certain vibe, that your place has to be earned.  At the same time, it’s welcoming, electric and you feel the love of cycling, the love of bikes, the love for the sport. The season is coming to an end but I’ve only done 3 races (I have my reasons). At each one, I completely feel like the new girl (which, I am) and for that reason, feel that much more intimidated.  It takes me back to my first few races and I feel like just that, a rookie. The racing is so different here, that it’s new. For one, it’s more than four corners. The ladies, they show up to race.  There isn’t the option to sit in and half ass it.

This weekend, I lined up with 31 other ladies (cat 3 & 4) for the Littleton Crit. This is the largest field I’ve ever raced and it’s been a while since I race with anything other than cat 4’s. It was so great to see the number of women in the sport growing. On a very good day, we had max 20 in Florida. What was even more exciting were the spectators and their cowbells, not just family of racers there to support. A lot of people there to see bike racing.  The nerves were real, like first race real. It wasn’t good nerves, it was make you jittery on the bike nerves, hit your brakes when you don’t have to. The odd thing is the race two weeks before, I felt great, settled and it went very differently. Mentally, this race, I had already set myself for failure.  I couldn’t get out of my own head.

In each of the very few races I’ve done, it starts off at the whistle. There’s no few easy paced laps as everyone settles. Whistle, go, fast, turn, turn, turn again. Unfortunately, turns aren’t as smooth as one would like, especially at the back. Meaning, gaps open and after each turn, it takes a toll having to close them. Myself, I haven’t nailed down turning at fast speeds in big groups just yet. About 18 minutes in, I just couldn’t close gaps anymore. The women are fierce and aside from the usual race attacks the pace is kept high, consistently. The pace did not settle and catching them on my own with the storm winds became pretty much impossible. So there I was in no man’s land. Your mind either goes to pushing your pace or wondering why you race in the first place.  Mine went to, why race in the first place when I’m doing this poorly.  I made sure the cat 4’s that had dropped before I did, didn’t catch up but there was no fire in my pedal.  It was finish and get this over with and I did.

This was definitely not my best race. I am still getting the flow of the many aspects of crit racing (it’s a science) and it will take a while for me to get it. There were a lot of negative thoughts that came with this race, including no longer racing crits, but they were pushed aside once I passed that line.  I know I am being impatient, I’m well aware of that.  I need to see my racing in Colorado as being new to racing. My training has to be consistent, I need to be in it 100% or the results won’t change.  Next race, 12 days. ~ AddingMoMiles

DK100

Before I get into the race, I want to talk about those that finished DK200. I have nothing but admiration for those that not only finished, but just had the courage to line up and start.  A special congratulations to my friends, who just left me in awe with their courage and will to finish.  So proud of each of you and your level of badassery.

This race, it has so many level, it needs chapters to break it out properly.

First Came The Storm

Up by 4, out by 5.  That’s the rule. So we geared up and listened to the wind howl. The plan was to ride to the race and we did, in what felt like something out of The Wizard Of Oz.  I was waiting for the tornado, the witch, toto, all of it. We navigated through storm winds, watching the pieces of trees fly by infront of us. At the race start, 30 minute rain delay. Then off went DK200, then DK100 lined up and we were on our way. The first couple of miles of gravel felt like either quick sand or sliding on ice it was so slippery.  Rubber side down, that was my focus. We made our way through the massive amount of people, working our way through groups.  The first 30 miles just flew by. There were cows, horses, wide open ranges, it was absolutely beautiful. I felt great (altitude doping at its finest). Made sure I was taking in calories every 30 minutes, passing people along the way.  Mile 50 approached and as I looked at my time, I thought of the possibility of making under 8 hours. Into the check point, they were quick to give us our bags, clean and lube our chains, and give us ice packed in panty hose (lifesavers).  A huge thank you to the support group of 3 Feet Cycling.  They went above and beyond to get us out as quickly as possible. My first half high didn’t last much longer.

Lions & Tigers & Bears, Oh My!

Lions, the mud.  Tigers, the heat. Bear, the Flint Hills. Oh My! The wind. As I started to settle in after the check point, it felt like the start of the infamous Flint Hills.  Each hill taking a little bit out of your legs with each pedal stroke. The mud had done a number on my gearing and getting to my easiest gear was becoming a problem.  Just mash it out on whatever gear was working at this point. The rollers came to an abrupt end when we ran into a whole lot of mud.  You couldn’t ride through it, so you had to hike with your bike. I wasn’t sure exactly how far we hiked but it was a 45 minutes to an hour. After we cleared the mud, the terrain got seriously rough.  It felt more like mountain bike trails than gravel.  I was taking descents that I would probably never take on a normal day.  Come to think of it now, one wrong twitch of the handle bars and I was face planting into a pile of rocks.  Some areas had mud at the base of the hills forcing you to walk through it and up the next hill.  The hiking a bike started to take a toll. My legs and mental state took a turn at about 75 miles.  From then on it was 20+ mph head wind. On a rare occasion we took a turn and got crosswind but it was short-lived.  No matter how hard I pedaled I couldn’t keep anything over 12mph. It didn’t help that the last two hours, taking down anything to eat or drink was becoming a problem, my wrists and shoulders were killing me.  With tears of frustration, at mile 90, I stopped and was ready to quit.  Trying to work out in my head how to get back to the finish. Yes, with only 8 miles to go, I was ready to quit. Jorge didn’t let me.  So, I climbed back on my bike and just made the crank turn, one pedal stroke at a time.

There’s No Place Like Home

Civili-f’ing-zation! With one last uphill on mile 97, we made it into town.  Covered in mud, grit, dust I saw the finisher shoot. The energy of the small town cheering you on, crossing the line with Jorge, the stress of the day, it made me all tear up. This was totally out of my element and my first gavel event.  In hindsight maybe I should have started with something a little easier (yolo no?).  This race took an incredible amount of mental strength but I’m so glad I signed up. Would I do the 200? Probably not. Would I do the 100 again?  With a little convincing. Another adventure checked off. Jorge, thank you, thank you, thank you. The Dirty Eight, what’s next on the list?  Coach, thank you, so much. This was definitely one for the books. It’s days like this that build strength, resilience and courage for everyday life. ~ Adding Mo Miles.

State Road Race

It was the race I set my eye on a few months ago.  The race that got me up to ride alone at 5:30am (the struggle).  The race I like to call bittersweet.  The race that finished the year of me dipping my toes into road racing.  I made the not so smooth transition from triathlons to road races at the beginning of this year.  Not so smooth because for the most part I felt like a fish out of water, flopping around.  I went into this race haunted by my lack luster performances at the beginning of this year.  Race 1: dropped in the first 5 minutes.  Race 2: Dropped in the first 10 miles.  At that point, I didn’t want to race until I felt comfortable with my ability to compete.  One of the best decisions I made was to find a coach that fit me, not me trying to fit my coach, and I couldn’t be more grateful for him.  He pushed me to a lot of my limits, both physically and mentally, those few weeks leading up to the race.

Florida state road race for my category was two 16 mile loops and luckily cat 4 women had their own start.  I surprisingly started the race relatively calm, which is the opposite of how I start any competitive event.  I’m usually going through 564 scenarios, overthinking life.  With the first few uphills, I just observed the girls, keeping an eye on anyone coming up on the sides, going over all the words of wisdom.  It’s the first race I observed versus just trying to survive.  On the first major climb I noticed a gap start to open.  Thanks to the advice of a friend, I didn’t freak but kept my pace and closed the gap on the downhill, saving legs.  It was here that I realized I needed to start the climbs at the front of the pack.  This way I could either control the pace or fall back into the group.  Going into the second lap, I was in the front of the group.  For the first time not in the back, not chasing the group down, not riding past the start/finish alone.  I settled in and prepared for it to get harder and it did.  Up…down…push the pace…a few miles to go, mentally preparing myself for the downhill finish.  On the second to last climb is where the race took a turn and the group split.  We worked and caught them on the last climb.  At this point I gave it all I had, anything I had left to keep with the group.   Legs shaking, lungs burning, teeth grinding, wait is that throw up? There are few things more discouraging than getting to this point and still watching the group creep away.  What is even more defeating was knowing there was only 3K to go.   I came over the top and with the last bit left I made on more effort, but just couldn’t close the gap into the next small climb.  It was a rush of disappointment and anger.  I came into the finish line frustrated, I don’t think I can properly put into words how I felt.  My mind flooded with just brutal negativity.

I grabbed a burger, followed by a cold beer and reflected.  I’m sure I did about 27 things wrong and paid for it at the end but it was the first time I didn’t feel like a rookie that didn’t belong.  It was the race where I actually strategized.   Sparing the details of the numbers, it was some of the best riding I’d done all year.  There was massive progress from race 1.  I didn’t get the results I wanted, but there was a lot of be happy with. Preparing for this race taught me so much about myself, this sport and did more for me than anyone will know.  So a huge thank you to Patrick from Pinnacle Coaching for drawing the map, taking on this rookie and getting me as ready as possible.  The men of Outcast for the advice, tips and laughs.  Momma duck for the constant support from day 1. Time to go from dipping my toes to diving right into cycling and prepare for next season.  ~AddingMoMiles

What the #Fakawi

This weekend I embarked on what for me was a bit of an adventure.  Let me start off by saying I have a perpetual fear of technical trails (hitting a tree) and of starting a ride in mob like fashion.  So it would only make sense that I would agree to join in the festivities of the Fakawi Bike Festival with hundreds of other riders.  It’s a fairly organized, non-official 30 or 50 miles ride through trails and a levee.  For whatever reason, I had an impulse feeling to buy a mountain bike a while back.  I’ve been on it a total of 4 times, including Fakawi and a stroll in the neighborhood.  Meaning I’ve been in the trails a total of two times in the last 2 months that I’ve had the bike.  With my fear of trees, I had refused to put clips on the bike.  Well, the day before I said why the hell, put clips on and bought a pair of mtb shoes.  Kind of having this screw fear, try new shit attitude lately.  So far it’s working out well.

So I show up the morning of the ride and see car after car with fancy mountain bikes.  I’m here thinking, great, totally out of my element.  Little by little, I find more people, friends show up.  Nerves start to trickle away.  Once everyone started to bunch together for the start, I noticed one of the best thing about the ride is the amount of different kinds of riders.  It didn’t matter whether you were a roadie, an elite triathlete, an instafamous triathlete, a die-hard mountain biker, a CX pro, or a weekend recreational rider.  Everyone was there for one reason it seemed, to celebrate riding.

Hundreds of riders starting at the same time, you think there would be total chaos, but it was quite the opposite.  Given, you had your “pro” riders jumping over medians like there was money the line. But boys will be boys.  I had to continuously remind myself I was clipped, tumbling over would have been a little embarrassing. After a few turns, I really had no idea where I was and just kind of followed the crowd, sneaking by barriers, hoping I didn’t miss a green arrow.  It would alternate between easy trails (thank god), rocks, and pavement.  In true Miami fashion, it was hot and humid.  You kind of met people along the way, made friends.  At least I did, mostly because I didn’t take it that seriously. At one point it felt like I was on a first date. Went kind of like “Hi, what’s your name.  What do you do? Ride often? More than I should. Will you marry me? I heard Vegas is kind of nice this time of year.” I left him behind, every man for himself mentality. So Mike, if at any point you read this, I’m still up for Vegas.

I was your usual slow in the trails, but on the road and levee, I would say my time on the road bike came in handy.  I had to start rationing water because I had no computer.  Strava was tracking me from my pocket, so I never really knew how close I was to the 22 mile point, where the rest stop was.  Pretty much just roaming.  Wait, were those inflatable Alligators?  I got there with just enough water to spare, filled up, talked a bit and then headed out.  At this point I wasn’t sure what was going on, I was on a highway.  No idea how I got here.  Figured I just attach myself to a group and draft cause the wind was starting to pick up.   So I got to the point where I see some heading off to the levee and others staying on the highway.  Good thing I stopped to ask what was going because I was on the divide for 30 and 50 miles.  Giving it some thought after, I should’ve kept going.  But I’m perfectly capable of getting lost, so I picked the safer route.  Up on the levee you could oversee the highway, see across to the fields.  It was great view.  Of course this was a perfect photo op moment.  With the exception of the man who didn’t want his ass photographed (it was a pretty nice ass). Before I knew it, I was back at the park, alive in one piece and uninjured.

There were so many reasons this was just such a great ride.  For one, it was way out of my comfort zone.  So far gone out of my comfort zone and it was a total trip.  There was no stress, no computer to track power, no speed to watch or cadence to monitor, no group to keep up with, no wheel to chase down, no dropping, no sprint, no real finish line, no breakaways, no worry of some idiot clipping my wheel, no loud mouth men!! I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t know what my heart rate was.   I could go as fast or as slow as I damn well pleased.  Just the dirt and I.  It was possibly the freest I felt a real long time.  I met new people, laughed with old friends, talked to strangers.  The entire experience was just fun.  Funny what trying something new could do because right now, I can’t wait to do it again. ~ AddingMoMiles.

#TeamThumbsUp

There are some decisions we make that are possibly the most simple, without any thought, but impact our life more than those decisions we find most challenging.  Several weeks ago a friend asked if anyone would be interested in participating in the South Beach Triathlon as part of the ThumbsUp Organization.  It would be the bike leg with an adaptive athlete.  Without any thought, I said yes.  Little did I know how much this experience would help and change me.

ThumbsUp is an organization that teams able bodied and adaptive athletes through different sporting events.  They are expanding attitudes about possibilities one event at a time.  I was lucky enough to witness their first race last year and was left amazed by the experience.  They’ve since participated in different events.  This year would be even better, two teams.  A little friendly competition never hurt anybody.

I met Juan Carlos Gil (JC) and Kerry Gruson at the only practice we had for the bike.  After racing, I now know I should have trained with the carrier a little bit more.  If there’s anything I learned that day was what really went into preparing for these events, that Kerry is the life of the party and a dear woman, JC is a monster athlete and in a league of his own, to make sure your back wheel spins when they attach the cart and that our team was definitely full of so much spirit.

Fast forward a week or two and it’s almost race weekend.  I was more nervous than I wanted to admit.  I didn’t know how it was going to go.  I’ve ridden 20 miles countless times but this was going to be different.  The day before we went for packet pick up, dropped off our bikes, and talked logistics.  Come race morning, we would have to make some surprise last minute adjustments.

This is the earliest my alarm clock had gone off in a really long time.  It’s been a while since I raced in a triathlon.  I waited in transition and remember just watching the pack of blue and yellow roll in and got straight to work setting up everything and ironing out the details.  We had a few minor challenges but as a team, there wasn’t anything that couldn’t get fixed.

Bikes are ready.

 Making our way to race start.

As race start got closer we made our way over to the beach.  This was where I was able to see the true meaning of sportsmanship, comradery, and take in this entire experience.  As soon as we got to the shore, there was nothing but cheers for Kerry and JC.  What I would have done to pause this moment, with the sun rising, athletes lining up; it has always been my favorite part of triathlons.  The true calm before the storm.  You can feel the adrenaline, the anxious nerves, the sheer will and determination of each person.  And Kerry and JC were off!! And I’m not kidding you when I say off; our swimmers were flying in that water! We had to run to transition and get ready to bike!  I still didn’t have my helmet on when they told me JC was out of the water and coming into transition.

We had to take cart and bike out of transition from where we were.  This didn’t go as smoothly as planned.  I’ve never really tried running in road shoes (and I don’t recommend it).  While I was trying not to fall, the bike took a tumble and I tripped right onto my spokes.  Pause, relax, take foot out of wheel.  All I can do was be grateful nothing broke and we were off.  I tried to gather my nerves and get on the course.  I settled into a pace I hoped to maintain the whole ride.  I hit the first bridge feeling good, until I hit the top, changed gears and dropped my chain.  Because I wasn’t nervous enough.  Valeria, who was riding as a shadow, and I couldn’t get it back in place and out of nowhere a man on a hybrid came to help us.  I’m not exactly sure where he came from, we were at the top of McCarther on a closed course but all I can say is thank you!! We made our way from bridge to bridge, each one harder than the last.  The sun was blazing and heat was rising.  With only a bottle of water, I knew I wasn’t exactly prepared and my speed got slower with each mile and my frustration grew.   My legs just weren’t having it.  Valeria and JC kept me going, entertained my mind, words of encouragement even when I felt like I had nothing left.  I was running out of gears half way up the bridges, so I would just put my head down and dig into the pedal, dig in hard.  I wouldn’t look up until JC let me know I was the top (he would count down) or I caught of glimpse of Valeria’s bike from the corner of my eye.  My fear of going down the bridges went away real fast, I used all the speed I could get.

Valeria our gopro pro.

It was hard; probably my most difficult bike to date in a race, but what I take away from it is something else.  I got words of encouragement from almost every cyclist.  I got a constant thumbs up.  As they passed me on the bridge, they motivated us on.  Hearing people calling out “Go ThumbsUp” gave me goosebumps every time.  People I knew calling out my name, edging us on.  Police offers, volunteers, photographers, all of them cheering us on.   It’s hard to translate the experience we had into words.  Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, I came into transition to so much spirit from the spectators; I had to hold back my tears.  I finished that bike drained, beat, exhausted, but I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Coming in transition.

As Valeria went off to the run with JC, we went over to the finish and waited to help her, the last quarter mile or so was in the sand, with an slight uphill.  Triathlon may be an individual sport, but that isn’t what I saw at the finish. Other race participants on the way to their finish were helping us, not worrying about their finish time.  Spectators joined in to push.  We came in as a team, all 7 of us, but it took so many more than that to get to the finish.  My favorite finish to date.

I am overjoyed by the opportunity that was given to me by ThumbsUp.  I am thankful for those that I met along the way, that I hope remain friends.   I am blessed to be a part of such an amazing organization and I look forward to watching it grow.  I was humbled by the entire experience, it gave me back more than I ever imagined.  I am surprised by how much this has helped me as a person.  It is something  I will always carry with me. #TeamThumbsUp. ~AddingMoMiles

Never Stop Chasing

Oh Clermont, we meet again.  There is always something about this tiny little place that can easily suck the life out of you.  It’s humbling.  With each race I do, I learn just a little bit more.  This weekend we headed up to Race of the West.  Packed the bikes and four bodies (thug life) into one hotel room.  If anything, the weekend was filled with a lot laughs, hashtags, and new found respect for a tub with proper draining.

CLEEEERMONT!

Saturday I woke up with mixed emotions, one was I can’t wait to do this…the other was I’ve changed my mind, I’m staying in bed (child tantrum).  This would be my first circuit so I went with one goal, stay with the main group.  A circuit: a road cycling race that’s several laps in a given amount time, this one was 40 minutes, just in case anyone was wondering.  I didn’t want to be that one lonely straggler.  I didn’t want a DNF.  Worse off, I didn’t want to make a rookie mistake and take someone down.  Setting some realistic goals here people.  So I line up, hands shaking and heart pounding (please don’t throw up).  After a few rules (don’t ever fold your number) we were off…and of course, I can’t clip in (wtf!). After what felt like the longest seconds, I finally get clipped and head off to close off whatever gap had created.  I knew I had to find a way to calm myself down, this kind of nervous just makes you jittery on the bike, which never leads to anything good.  We get into a surprisingly steady rhythm.  The road starts to curve and we take a few turns, nothing I couldn’t handle. Until we come to the last turn towards the start/finish.  This is where I realized more than ever that I can’t take a turn if my life depended on it (great!).  So the rest of the race I knew I was going to be closing gaps. (#thegapclosers).  This is just an unnecessary waste of energy and work.  It’s hard to think of any kind of strategy when you don’t know what to expect (is someone going to attack!?) and you can’t take a damn turn.  Other than sprinting to catch the group after certain turns, the race went at a good pace.  It’s not that it was easy, but when you spend your weekend trying to keep up with some of these boys (key word being trying), you kind of expect that level of intensity.  “1 lap left”, so I was ready for some kind of showdown but it went like any of the other loops.  That was until the finish line was in sight (it’s going down).  I never imagined how much goes on at this finish line.  I come from races where you come in alone.  In this case, you have to worry about those sprinting inches from you, the wheel in front of you (note to self: don’t get behind a girl that’s going to slow down), is there space for you to move forward, is someone going to make a dumb mistake and cut you off, are you in the right gear (this was more of an afterthought).  All while going as fast as possible, giving whatever you have left.  There’s a lot going on and little time to react.  You just get this tunnel vision.  Shut.up.legs. Finito!! Second thought, after holly hell, can we do it again?? After a minor heartache in the guy’s race, some breakfast, the procession for showers, we head to drive the course for the Road Race.  My one thought, I wish I hadn’t.

That’s me…in the back…

The course of the road race on Sunday was 4, 11 mile loops.  With a climb that has been crowned “the wall”.  I’ll leave it at that.  I went in this race with my general attitude.  Small accomplishments, just finish.  I should have gone into this race thinking fight like hell to stay with the group (it’s a learning process). The race starts like all others, steady pace…and then the wall (wait.for.me).  Surprise, surprise I get dropped.  But instead of saying that’s it, I chase down the group.  Pedal like hell on the downhill.  I pass a girl and in true sportsman like conduct tell her to get on my wheel and I start closing the gap, only to realize I was starting to run out of push.  I ease up on the pedal and she starts to pull. With a whole lot of effort we manage to get back with the group. “Never stop chasing, you never know” she tells me with a smile and that stuck with me the rest of the race…and will for the rest of my races (actually, in life).  I got dropped on the next longer climb and worked just to keep the group in sight.  Into the second loop my roommate caught up after dropping the chain and we worked together to catch two other girls.  A big thank you to her for keeping me going, for helping me out when my legs just couldn’t. Wind, climbs, numb legs, snot and other things…we finished together and the second we unclipped took a seat on the grass, there was just nothing left to walk.  I don’t think we’ve ever pushed ourselves this much in a race.  It felt good… ~AddingMoMiles

Race Fun Begins.

First race of 2015, and even more exciting, it was a road race.  We drove up to Dade City, FL for Race for Humanity, two 17 mile loop course.  I’ve had my fair share of run races and obviously triathlons but I’ve had a limited number of cycling races.  By limited, I signed up for one last year on a whim on a weekend riding trip to Clermont and didn’t even technically finish.  So we’ve made progress, I finished this race and didn’t get lapped.  It was only two loops, so lapping would have been kind of hard but let’s not focus on that.  We can say I won my race, no DNF and I didn’t come in dead last.  Now let me tell you a little story about the conditions.

I checked the forecast the night before leaving and it said 60’s and raining.  I figured the forecast was wrong, it usually is.  They were right on.  We wake up race morning to find it raining, 60ish degrees, and winds up to 30 mph (I kid you not, this isn’t a Cuban exaggeration).  If this were a regular riding day, I would have climbed right back into my warm bed.  The plan to ride there for warm up was cancelled; we pack our cars and headed to the race.  We manage to get our chips, put our numbers and stay relatively dry, but no time to warm up.  As we wait for the women’s race to start I couldn’t stop shaking, I couldn’t tell if it’s from nerves or just from being soaked and cold.  Pneumonia for sure.  “It’s the first race of the season, no need to kill yourself on the course girls, safety first” or something along those lines came out of the officials mouth.  Great.   At this point all I could think about is not leaving any skin on the pavement.

As we start the race, my glasses were already covered in water and I could barely see the tire in front of me.  Not to mention, the wind wouldn’t let me hear the freewheeling for the other girls, so I wasn’t exactly sure when they were slowing down.  The only choice was to take off my glasses.  Nothing better than road gunk splashing up into your eyes, but at the moment that was the least of my worries.  My legs felt tight but nothing I wasn’t able to shake off.  We start with a few short climbs, relatively easy speed.  It wasn’t until we came to a longer climb around mile 10 that the group started to pull away.  It was bound to happen on a climb, it isn’t exactly my forte. It beats the last race where I got dropped the first minute (literally) of the race. So now I’m left to battle the winds solo, but the positive was that I didn’t have the stress of being surrounded by other riders on very wet roads.  I finished the first loop without much thought, with exception of the nice 3 climbs heading right into the wind the last 3-4 miles.  On this last stretch, I see a tiny spec ahead, which I had to assume was another cyclist.  My thought was if I reach her we can battle this wind together.  I get to her about 1 KM off of the start/finish, only to watch her not go for the second loop but get off the course.  Really lady!? Even though a part of me wanted to get off with her.

So the next 17 miles were filled with some ups and down and some extreme thoughts.  The first few miles I swore I was retiring, not doing another road race. I pushed those thoughts aside and set a goal to finish under 2 hours.  I start pushing on the pedals, though at some point I swore the bike was having some kind of mechanical failure because it wasn’t moving.  Turns out, the bike was just fine; I was on a false flat.  I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt my fingers or toes. I had to start rationing my water. For some time I thought I was completely lost, nothing  looked familiar and freaked out a little more when the vultures started to circle overhead.  Turns out they were there for the dead armadillo, not me.  I made the final turn towards the finish right into the wind, knowing I only had a few miles left and about two climbs.  Oh look how nice, now the sun decides to peak through the clouds.  Kind of useless now, I may have already lost a toe to frostbite.   I miscounted the climbs, turns out it was more than two.  It was hard to get out of the saddle to climb; the gust of winds would shake your bike.  I fought the wind in each climb, at some point I’m sure I screamed out obscenities.  I was relieved to see the finish line and even more relieved to get out of my soaked cold clothes and put on my hoodie.  I tell you this, coffee and a warm shower never felt so good.  But after I had defrosted all I could think of was the next race.  I know, masochist.

Those were the hardest weather conditions I have ever raced in.  If there is anything this race did was highlight my weakness in climbing and probably my rookie nerves of riding in those conditions.  Both of which will be worked on.  Putting everything aside, it was a great training race with a good amount of climbing.  Something I wouldn’t have been able to do in Miami.  Not only that, I realized how much I really love road racing, the atmosphere, the people.  So I take my learning from this race and on to the next race… ~ AddingMoMiles