Woman’s C racers line up to the line. I roll up next to
Rose. She’s beaming; this is her first Crit and she couldn’t be more excited to
put the pedal to the metal today, despite our sore thighs from yesterday’s Road
Race and TTT. I smile weakly back,
mainly due to the fact that racing with Rachel, Molly, and her the day before
had built up more lactic acid in my legs than I cared to admit. Oh dear, I thought. This is going to be a VERY painful Crit.
As the race official begins reading off our names, Luke
weaves in between the other bikes and gives Mackinzie, Rose, and me a few high
fives. “You’re going to do awesome, ladies!”
I give him thumbs up, trying-but failing- to hide how uncomfortable
those stomach butterflies were making me. I set my hands on my handle bars and wait for
that whistle:
“TWEEEEEET!”
And off we went. I pushed off and clipped in… or tried to
clip in. The bloody clips weren’t going in! “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I
said as the peloton raced off ahead of me. (At least I didn’t try to take
someone out during this process like yesterday during the roll-out start). Try again—nope. Try again—nope. Try
again—yes! (It wouldn’t be until a few days later that I discovered that that
particular clip was actually missing a vital screw. Apparently, it wasn’t
simply user issues).
I spent the first part of the race simply catching up to people.
About ten minutes in, I saw a racer ahead of me, whom I recognized to be one of
the girls I had drafted and pulled with the day before in the Road Race. I
caught up to her, and as I passed her, she slipped in behind me to draft. Now,
for any of you who have not raced, the adrenaline pumping through your body at
this point is incredibly high. Your filter for every day conversation vanishes,
and you find that you yell really loudly to communicate. So, rather than
telling her, “We should take turns pulling”, I screamed at the top of my lungs,
“IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE PULLED, YOU’D BETTER PULL TOO!” And with that, she
dropped off. I wouldn’t feel guilty
about yelling at her until after the
race.
Towards the end, I caught up with a group of girls. I was feeling
strong, and due to my apparent overdose of adrenaline, cocky, so I tried to pass everyone. Not my brightest idea. All of
them started drafting off of me, and I was too stubborn to let them pull. I can do this. I can totally shake them.
Hmm. I’m starting to get tired. This is getting harder than I thought. At
the last lap, the girls passed me with little effort. Lesson for today: Don’t
pull continuously like a fool.
After cooling down and wiping away the sweat, I made my way
over to the results. I read, “12, Mellema, 307, WC, 1…” Wait, what? “I got a
point?” I whispered? A point, a single point. That’s as much as a penny, yet it
was enough to send me running to Rachel and Rose, whooping, “IgotapointIgotapointIgotapoint!” Nothing like a good crit to get you excited
about everything in life, even when your legs feel like jello.
Great post!
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