The cross season started a bit early this year. A MONTH early! Three consecutive weeks of hot, dusty races to flake off the rust. Not that I mind, since I skipped the entire road season (no regrets) but I've been trying to decide whether or not to blog about the races this season. It seems I could just have a fill in the blanks these days.
"Todays race went from bad to ______. I felt like _______. Ended up ______-ith. Why do I bother.
Anyway, despite 95 degree heat, it was good to get the first race out of the way. I managed 8th out of 20 starters. not half bad considering. That pleasurable veneer was stripped the following weekend. For a racer w/ my lack of talent and training, there are always two races going on, the actual one, and the one in my head. If I've got good legs, the stars are aligned, and I've said my novenas, the two races are actually in sync. This happens about as often as it snows here. Usually, the races diverge. Just how long this takes is a good indication of how I'm feeling. This past Sunday, It happened just after lap two....out of eight. That's a loooooong time to be stuck in your own head. Especially mine. Twenty minutes of racing and 40 minutes of talking smack to myself. Looking back, the crap that pops in to dull the pain is actually pretty funny. "Does that guy know how silly his socks look?","What should I be for Halloween?", "How much lighter will I be if I throw up?". You see what I mean. To be honest, I can't really explain the motivation for doing this to myself, especially since I'm never even in contention for a pair of tires or those ugly socks. All I do know is that if I don't do it, I'm unhappy. Oddly, my wife understands. I love my wife.
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