I raced Peak2Peak this weekend at Crystal Mountain! I was hoping (praying) for Top 10 (I was 12th last year), so imagine my face when I saw the results… and I was 4th in my group. Before I could help myself, I leaned over to the guy next to me and was like, Do you see this sh!t?
Then I tried very hard not to boogie around in celebration in the room full of manly men and their tight pants.
But if you are wondering how it went with my nemesis, this should answer your question:
Let’s just say I’ve got my work cut out for me in 19 days…
But it was a great race – even though we woke up to pouring rain and 25mph winds that blew our bikes sideways at the top of the mountain!
At the start this year, I got out in front of the pack – totally new for me. I’ve spent many a race in the back comparing shades of pink and cuts of women’s jersey. I was shocked to find that if these women up front slammed into a rock on the trail or took a turn too wide, they let out a yelp of profanity. Did swearing make them faster? I wondered, marveling at a training tip I could adhere to at last, and swiftly. Yes, it appeared so.
Soon, though, I fell off the lead pack and it was down to me and my bike and just gutting it out. And this is when the crisis always begins.
Confession: I always go though a mid-race crisis. I love the start of a race, I’m flying, we’re all together, tearing it up, duking it out, kinda like a party on wheels. Then, reality sets in. I start to realize I might pass out, I can’t breath, and there is no way I’m going to keep up with this group I’ve been trying to hang with.
And so, the party is about over. I have about 20 miles left to do and, if history repeats itself, I will do a good chunk of it alone.
Then I have this dangerous epiphany: I could be warm (dry, toasty, breathing) right now. Then I start to commit to a new series of goals: That I will never race again, that I will not speak to my biking friends, that I will find a hobby that doesn’t involve Hammer gel.
But then I land at the finish line and there’s a bunch of goofy biker friends with crooked helmets, all happy and tired and dirty and cheering me on. Crisis averted.
Here’s the data/route if you are curious on what the race entails: