High Country Cross

This weekend I attended the Boone CX race, which has become through the years the only one I'm willing to travel for, because it always guarantees costumes, tandemonium, free-flowing beer, unusually interesting courses, and a decent party or two the night before. This year was no exception. After dancing for hours with my dear friend Rosie the Riveter, I rolled up to the fairgrounds cranky and dehydrated with thirty minutes to spare. Pinning on two numbers, (why, NCCX? Why??) I griped and bellyached as usual, and on the start line, in some weird fit of self-flagellation, situated myself behind all twenty-three of the other chicks. Then proceeded to have a damn good time. After working my way through the field I caught up to a pretty dynamic chase group and legitimately raced the entire forty-five minutes. Every time a wave of fatigue and out-of-shapeness washed over me, it just as quickly subsided. The Deutschbike again proved itself a rad racing machine and I didn't forget to enjoy the little techy sections, although my barrier attempts are as schizoid as ever. After fighting tooth and nail to the finish, I landed in the money (barely).

And as usual, the what-ifs began: what if I took this more seriously? What if I laid off the pre-race stupidity, the swaggering bravado, the bad attitude, the refusal to rest, warm up, drink, or fuel properly? It's never been my style but racing smart could have all sorts of pay-offs. What if I'm full of unrealized potential? But the what-if train always grinds to a halt pretty quickly. My work schedule permits very little weekend racing, my priorities lie elsewhere*, I'll probably never stop having a bad attitude, and I really like to just have fun.

Picture obviously stolen from The Gruppetto Project

But just once I'd like to show up in a t-shirt and really wow 'em.


*Swank this week!!