Monday, June 23, 2014

Don't Blow It!

The days were counting down before my first long mountain bike race. Marathon. Part of me couldn't actually believe I had signed up. For the past two seasons, I had been racing Women's Cat 3 – a short 10 mile loop. This time, I'd be riding a 33 mile loop, and if I made it back in less than 3.5 hrs, I could tack on as many 10 mile laps as possible before the time ran out.

Since I told anyone who would listen that I signed up for this race, naturally I was nervous. Everyone was wishing me good luck and telling me to just have fun. The well wishes were encouraging, but I couldn't shake the self doubt. That voice inside that practically screams, “Don't blow it!”. What if I was slow? What if I didn't finish? What if the judges took one look at me at the start and knew I couldn't hack it? What if the other racers knew it too?

The alarm woke me up in a panic at 4:30AM on Saturday. This thing was real and I was just going to have to dig deep and get it done. My hands were sweating as I packed my gear for the drive to the mountains. Marathon. I checked the registration website before I left the house. My jaw dropped as I read 19 ladies had signed up!

The next 4 hours were a blurred countdown until the 8:30AM start time. All of a sudden I was surrounded by over 70 other riders, men and women, in a sea of shaved legs, energy gels and co2 cartridges. 2 minutes until show time. The announcer was rambling on about his decision to line the men up first and the women behind, but I wasn't listening. I turned all my attention inward, mentally preparing myself for spending 3+ hours in the saddle with no music, no conversation – just me.

The cowbells started and the front rows of riders took off in a mad dash for the holeshot. I had a different strategy than most, I just wanted to finish the damn thing. I settled in at the very end of the pack, taking my time to warm up. Even at my slower pace, my breathing was out of control. I felt like I had swallowed a fist full of sand. It wasn't long before the next category of riders caught up to me – Pro Men. I was caught in a frenzy of lycra and testosterone as they passed me with ease.

Shortly after, the Marathon route broke away from the main competitive track. I was the last rider, and I didn't care. The sun was still coming up, I welcomed its warmth on my face. The only sounds were shifting gears, tires rolling over rocks, and water sloshing in my Camelbak. It was perfect. Marathon. 


Originally seen on Dirty Jane : http://www.dirtyjane.com/blogs/news/14034901-dont-blow-it

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