Bad Idea Racing

I think I took the distance of the marathon class for granted this weekend at the Georgia State Single Speed Championships. The main reason for heading down was to give The Boy the opportunity to try and race his SS for 24 miles (a distance he hasn't hit yet). I figured while I was down there I would get my butt beat into shape for the longest distance available for $20.

I started my screw up on Saturday. The time change was going to force me to get up at the "old 4:00" which was the "new 5:00". I thought that if I set all the clocks back early Saturday morning I would start to get used to the concept of this new world order. The Pie and I stayed up watching my Valentine's Day gift "Some Kind of Monster" (The Pie knows) until the "old 9:00". I then went to bed and laid awake worrying about the hour's sleep I was loosing for another hour meaning that I was now down to six potential hours of sleep.

The drive down was a nice fight for consciousness for three and half hours. When we got there I had an hour to get registered and prepare for the work ahead. That's when I realized I had planned poorly. I had eaten oatmeal at 5:00am, and the only thing I brought to eat till the start was some Gu and an Ensure. I pounded down the disgusting chocolate beverage, did the calorie math for a four hour race, and realized I was potentially screwing myself. As I pulled my stuff out for my "feed zone" (fancy way of saying folding camping table with some water bottles and Gu's laying on it) I realized I left my electrolytes and ibuprofen at home. Where's my team director when I need him?

Before the start I got the mic stuck in my face because I'm the "world champ". I prefer living in ubiquitous anonymity so I blathered some nonsense (minus all the non-family friendly swear words that came to mind), and went back to my ill preparations. I lined up knowing I was potentially screwed, but I figured I was just out for "training" so I needed to just stay calm and have fun.

I took off at the start like a jack rabbit. Since the end result didn't matter much to me I figured I was better off thinning the herd from the get-go. We entered the woods and it was obvious who was going for a podium, and who wanted to have fun, so when our numbers were down to five at the front I pulled off and let some guys through to the front to do their thing. Somewhere out on that first lap I looked down and noticed that I had put the cleats on my "Tinker Stinkers" crooked. I spent the rest of the race wondering if I would be doing long term damage to my knees by my short term stupidity.

I didn't have a bad first lap, but I kept thinking I better tell The Boy about the course. It was blazing fast and sandy with lots of G-outs where you could loose the front end. I felt like a "good parent" would give him a heads up on the conditions and keep their kid safe. I think I pulled outta the first lap in the third spot with the top two in sight. When I saw The Boy I drew a blank and forgot to tell him what I was thinking. Damn!

I ended up spending the second lap thinking about what a shitty dad I was. I wanted him to succeed in his attempt at his longest ride ever, and I didn't do what I could to help him. It wasn't fair to send my son out on such a course without warning him (at least that's how a parent feels when they over think everything they do). I forgot to grab a Gu at my feed zone, and I didn't drink all my Heed that was in my last bottle. I was aware of these things in the back of my mind, but not really focused on them. The course didn't allow for drinking from a bottle very often. It was a very fast course and well suited to the power type riders. The guys with more than two pounds per inch of height were going to be the kings of the day. I learned in Michigan last year that this was not my type of race, and I really needed to focus on taking care of my body as much as possible. I made sure I drank the whole bottle of Heed on lap two.

I was fortunate enough to find The Boy hanging out in the start/finish area at the end of lap two, so I pulled over and talked to him for a little while. The announcer wanted to know why "the champ" was hanging out and BS'ing with his son. Talking to the boy and the microphone cost me a bit of time, but at least I had some peace of mind. I went out on my third lap feeling at ease, but just a little crampy.

I passed one of the guys who got by me while I was talking to The Boy. He was limping up a climb and looking like doo-doo. He said he was cramping up all over so I left him as I really had nothing to offer him. It did dawn on me that I was setting myself up for the same fate. There was no way I was drinking enough, and I never ride this long without some electrolyte capsules. Things were feeling a little tight in my legs from the constant pedaling, and I was starting to worry (about myself now).

When I went out on my fourth and final lap I got out right before the start of one of the womens classes. I shot a couple Gu's down and tried my best to keep up a decent pace. I knew that I was on my fourth lap and they were just starting, but I didn't want to get "chicked". It's not like it doesn't happen to me pretty often, it's just that stereotype that I buy into that I should be stronger because I have a penis or something. They closed in on me anyways, and on the biggest climb of the course I had to let three of them go by. I couldn't risk a cramp just because I have a chauvinist attitude. I managed to chase two of them back down on the descents, but the leader got away. They did a great job distracting me from my situation, and I rolled all the way to the finish without cramping up.

After my finish I did the nervous waiting game for The Boy. I knew he'd be out there for awhile, and the only other kid in the 15-19 class was a honch that was leading all the 20-29 age groupers around. He would be riding his own race, and I was hoping he would stick it out and finish. When I was 15 I would have packed seven PB&J sandwiches and made a day out of a 15 mile gravel road ride on my banana seat bike so I had no reference to gauge his performance. I ended up waiting in the wrong spot at the wrong time and I heard them call his name as he crossed the line in the distance. I got over there ASAP, and told him I was proud of him. He moved the peg up another notch, and that was everything I coulda asked for that day.

The Boy is just as good at podium appearances as his old man (that's him with his head down and his hands in his pockets).

Ignore my many typos today. I'm still beat and I gotta clean my room because we've got social workers coming to the crib.

Also a big thanks to Shey Lindner and the folks at Addictive Cycles for putting on an awesome event.  Nice course, excellent schwag (for The Boy), and good clean fun.