On Wet-Road Criteria and Motivational Challenges

Over the course of the past few weeks my training has intensified. I often show up at work or work "events", happy hours and dinners and farewell parties and such, limping, bruised, or otherwise off-kilter due to some training tragedy or another. Nothing too crazy, just a sore ACL here, a jacked-up ITB there. Aching Achilles (yep, just couldn't resist the urge to alliterate there), tender quads...you know, the stuff that requires icing and a bit of rest but not much more than that. I feel a bit pathetic sometimes especially in Boulder, Land of the Endurance Athletes Extraordinaire. Like I have anything to complain about, or be sore about. The injuries I sustain, in comparison to those the pros take on, are nothing but tiny bumps in the road, little scratches. I get discouraged sometimes, not so much by what's been happening to me but rather by my "pansiness", that is, my inability to deal with these traumas effectively, especially in light of the experiences of some of my friends.

My most recent friend and absolute treasure Scott, cyclist extraordinaire on the brink of turning pro, has a huge heart and a spirit whose enthusiasm, charm and raw beauty is very nearly overwhelming. His talent, drive and spirit are balanced in such equal proportion that greater forces at work in the universe seem to take care of him: at his criterium last Saturday, the July 8 North Boulder Park Crit, the wettest race I've ever personally witnessed during the wettest few days I've ever seen in Boulder (seriously, it NEVER rains like it did in the past week), instant karma prevailed in circumstances that, after understanding how they unfolded, further assured me that this man IS truly as incredible a person as I thought. He must be, for the greater forces of the universe to behave the way that they did...

I've only been to one other criterium, at the CSU oval in Fort Collins. A criterium is a fixed-time lap race where competitors try to complete as many laps as possible within a given time. This particular race was 60 minutes and the conditions were less than ideal, to make the understatement of the year. The streets were absolutely sodden; I spent ten minutes before the race start just trying to position my bike and my gear beneath a tree to keep them from getting TOO waterlogged. I have no rain gear whatsoever and Scott, thinking this thru before I even raised the issue, brought several rain coats, an umbrella and a chair for me to sit in to watch the race. Aside from being a kick-ass athlete and amazing cyclist, the man has a heart of gold, truly. At the race start Scott was five or six back from the front of the pack, and I was stoked. Before the race he told me he wanted to position himself near the front because if he did he would stay there for the race instead of having to chase. In a race where the conditions virtually guaranteed a crash, chasing is a nightmare if not impossible.

Despite the rockin' start, somewhere between the second and fourth lap something went terribly wrong and Scott got pushed to the back of the peleton. I immediately felt for him; I knew that this wasn't his plan and was certainly upsetting and frustrating him. As I tried in vain to take a decent shot of him with my new digital camera (let's put it this way: action sports photography will never be a career option for me unless the object is to be homeless within a month!), Scott pushed on lap after lap, maintaining the distance he'd been pushed back to behind the pack but gaining little ground. The slick roads made for treacherous turns and rendered chasing highly improbable at best.

At one point I began chatting with a couple who were cheering for the race leader, a leggy cyclist in a maroon-black-and-white University of Indiana kit. I learned that he was their son and, in the spirit of damp-spectator camaraderie, clapped for the kid as he rounded our corner a couple of times. I was talking to his father, who had his back to the race and was in midsentence when I, watching the race over rhis shoulder, spotted the kid go around the next corner...and then I heard "Fuck!" and a cycle crash. "Exuse me," I interrupted, after noticing that the kind never emerged from the corner, "but I think your son just bailed." The Dad took off immediately and nearly took out the peleton that was passing by at the moment. I mean, really, even if your boy's hurt, you don't jump out into the middle of a crit unless you really WANT to get run over and/or fuck up the whole race. I stood, waited, watched and cheered, and expressed sympathy when I saw Dad and Junior return, Junior bearing some nice road rash that wan't part of his original ensemble and swearing intermittently.

After the race Scott detailed the reason behind his falling back to the end of the pack. As it turned out, the leader literally shoved Scott out of position and jostled him from his spot to gain entry into the line of cycles Scott was in. Basically, he shoved my boy out of place and bullied him out of his spot. Now, in normal cycling circumstances, this is to be expected. Cyclists routinely attack...using elbows, threats, whatever. Under the conditions, however, cyclists--or should I say, smart cyclists who aren't out to take down the entire peleton--don't attack, at least not using the methods this particular asshole did. Other cyclists in the pack even yelled at the guy for it, while my buddy was pushed wayyy back out of the pack and forced to chase for the duration of the race.

Instant karma got him though...whent he kid went down on one of his last laps. While I never wish anyone any ill will, I have to say that in light of what he did to my friend, I was definitely cackling maniacally in my head and thinking, you totally deserved that, you prick.

Despite it not being his best race, Scott was elated to have me there...and I was elated to be there for him. His next race, a time trial up Boulder Canyon, proved to showcase Scott as the cyclist he is: he finished 15th on one of the most brutally hot days of the year. I didn't go this time, citing fear of heatstroke, though I did try to get a friend's car so I could go watch. I look forward to seeing Scott's races as much as possible in the future. If there's any greater motivator than having a pro cyclist as a close friend and watching him race, I don't know what it could be.

Speaking of motivators...oh, well, I think that might be subject for another post...