Today was cold and crappy and raining. All day. St Marie flatted midway through and the neutral support had already used up all their wheels on the silly DI boys...ouch. Elk Killer netted a perfectly respectable 17th but I think he burned a match or three doing it...ouch.
I quit.
I suck.
I flatted too, but quickly received a new wheel. Pinned it for five miles and caught back onto the pack, but I was blown for the climb. I fell back and eventually gave up. I spent the next fifteen miles (to my chagrin) composing my litany of excuses, like any good cyclist would. Flatted. It's raining. Want to take a wicked yes (oooo Family Guy reference). Lost my glasses. Four hour race. Saving it for the crit. Suck. I do not like making excuses; they're embarrassing. But more than anything else, I remembered, for the hundredth time, that deep flaw that has marred my racing career:
I hate racing.
I love winning, and good results buoy me almost long enough to overcome the bad ones. But now that my final collegiate weekend has started with such a downer, I know I can't pursue my secret summer plans. Because I just don't love it, or enjoy it, or want it enough.
That said, I'm still looking forward to the crit. Because crits are always fun.
Racing shmacing...there is a place in the mountains of the dirty dirty south where a shiny white bike waits to carry you on journeys that make your heart sing and your thighs sting. Good luck today.
ReplyDelete