Only happened once before, 2.5 years ago in a gravel race for which I was woefully unprepared and on the wrong equipment. Maybe there are some parallels to last night.
On that day in early 2016, I didn't have a proper gravel bike at all. Just a road bike with disc wheels and clearance for CX tires. I made it 1 lap (granted, that lap was 25 miles long), flatted, crashed, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Within 15 minutes of leaving the park, the sky opened up and the temperature dropped almost 30 degrees. I felt vindicated in my decision to abandon. But I've never forgotten it.
Last night I had a flurry of racer's excuses at my side: my openers routine was awful, I'd partied too hard over the weekend, I rode too hard (or even at all) yesterday morning, I was hungry, I was on the B bike (chance of rain, and the A bike does not like water). Ultimately my goal shifted from "do well" to "survive", mixed with a dash of hope for a slightly lower pace than the opening week's 26.4 mph.
And honestly, as the race started, I felt pretty good. There was a decent ebb & flow: I could move up to the top 10 or back to the rear with relative ease, which was a first for me in an A race. At the halfway point, I didn't feel like I was at death's door. But when the cracks start to form, the collapse swift and thorough.
At 6 to go (of 16 laps), I was hurting and moving backward quickly. When the final prime bell rang, I noticed that nobody was really moving forward, so I decided to just go for it and call it a day. I jumped up the outside line after the hairpin and had great pace to get to the front. One guy had run off but only had about 8 lengths on the leaders, who were looking over their shoulders for the counter-attack. But because of their searching, I pulled up and camped 4th wheel, figuring they'd remount the chase for the one guy. Entering the final turn, they did, but it was too late, and we rolled on power fruitlessly, the 4 of us running 3 or 4 lengths apart in front of a rested peloton. When they caught us, I sank like a stone and just barely managed to hook on to the rear.
After a lap of gasping for breath, I noticed one of the local favorites was sitting there with me, and he's not one to let a race go unchallenged, so when he moved up, I used up everything I had to follow him. Made it all the way to the top 10 again, but I couldn't stay there, and when the board said 2 laps left, I was right back at the back again. I finished the next lap and, realizing I wouldn't be contesting the sprint at all, I ran out of give-a-damn and decided to abandon with 1 to go.
At the time the decision seemed highly logical: I was off the pace and would very likely be dropped in the final lap--there's no merit racing hard for 25th in a training race; I needed to stay focused on this coming weekend's 2 back-to-back BAR races; and I'd managed to meet my primary goal for the day, to survive the 26.6 mph pace (yup, faster than the first week!). But in the cold light of day, the only fact that stands out is: I quit a race.
No comments:
Post a Comment