Yadda yadda "these difficult times", but if you'd told me I'd start my 2021 season with the last race I did in 2020, I'd have had to assume there was some MASSIVE injury involved that took a full year's recovery. But that is exactly what happened, and in a way it felt like closing a loop. I truly cannot think of a better way to have started my outdoor racing season this year than to resume exactly where it stopped last year.
This was my 4th crack at the monster, a race that, while I'd finished twice before, I never felt like I had a clean run. The first time I did it on a poorly-adapted road bike and quit after a lap. The 2nd time we had to stop for 30+ minutes in the steamy sun for a medi-vac helicopter. The 3rd time my fueling strategy failed so badly I had to walk most of the last mile.
This time would be different. This time I would stay hydrated. I would eat. I would pace myself better. All lofty goals, but I did help myself by parking the car on the course so I could swap water bottles mid-race. That meant there was no need for the Camelbak. And it was going to be in the 60's & 70's (benefit of April over February!), so I could wear a roadsuit with pockets instead of a skinsuit without, which in turn meant easier access to food.
So with food and hydration plans in order, I was able to set bonus goals: sub-3 hours. With COVID restrictions in place, riders would start in waves of no-more-than 50, so I was hopeful to not blow myself up chasing toward the front of a 700-strong peloton in the first 10 miles, but would be able to find a steady group to roll fast. This course is very much fast enough for drafting, so going solo would definitely be the hardest way to try to crack 3 hours.
But my group was fast and furious out of the gate, and by the time we hit 2.5 miles (of 50!), I was in deep trouble. My heart rate was deep into zone 5 (of 5!), which wasn't going to scale. And so I got off the gas and was dropped in the 3rd mile. Wow. The race seemed like it was already a wasted effort with only 5% of it done.
But I didn't just stop. I got my heart and my pacing under control and pressed on, hard but not too hard, and within a couple miles I was in a pretty steady cat & mouse with a couple other riders, and by mile 7 it was just two of us: he was faster on flats and descents, I was faster on climbs. We'd gap each other off by 50 - 75 yards and always come right back together when the terrain changed. And we did that for another 18 miles, occasionally reeling in another rider or two, and only being passed once. Suddenly what felt like a ruined race started to feel like it might work out, because our average pace was above what I needed to make 3 hours.
And then he broke his bike, and I nearly crashed on the next turn without a line to follow.
Help came 30 seconds later in the form of a charging group of 4, and I settled into their group to the end of the first lap, stopping briefly at my car to swap water bottles and chase back on. And I stayed in that group, doing an awful lot of work in the wind, for another 5 miles before realizing that I'd suckered myself into working for other people again. I was running out of steam, and it occurred to me that I hadn't eaten any of the food I'd stuffed into my jersey.
Easy to solve, except my hands were so numb I couldn't even find my pockets. My hands always go numb when I spend too long near the limits. So once again I sat up and let myself get dropped. I had time in the bank to meet my goal, needed to eat, and needed to refocus on racing "my" race. I stuffed my face with as much food as I could choke down and forced myself to slow-roll for a couple minutes before settling back into a moderate chug.
I didn't see another rider for the next 45 minutes.
It's a mighty weird feeling to roll 11 miles in a race completely by yourself, like you've slipped out of time and gotten wedged between realities. Deep into a race like Monstercross, the only way to focus on NOT PAIN is by chasing other riders or striking up conversations about how "fun" this is. Without that, and with the sun beating down on your loneliness, it's tough to stay focused. Everything hurts and it all feels incredibly pointless.
But I reminded myself that it was basically a 50-mile dirt time trial and that I'd passed a lot of folks, and nobody was passing me, and that meant I was still racing. And I was still racing the clock, but starting to lose time. My once-impressive pace of almost 18 mph had slowed to barely 15, and it was time to pick it up.
And on the north side of the reservoir on the 2nd lap, with less than 10 miles to go, I knew I could make it to the end. My pace picked back up and I pushed past a few more riders into the final segment, taking a few seconds off my first lap's final mile.
My finish was incredibly anti-climactic, as a minivan and several walkers were effectively blocking the road to the finish line, but I rolled across the line with the race clock showing 2:55 and change, and an official chip time of 2:49:54. I'd met my goal of going sub-3, nothing had broken, and while my whole body was on fire, I was able to dismount without falling off the bike and didn't even have a saddlesore.
I'd held my heart rate in zone 4 for almost exactly 2 hours, with less than 8 minutes in zone 5, which was night & day from last year's 45 minutes of murder-death before I completely imploded. I'd consumed much more water than last year, although that really only amounted to a little over a single bottle. I'd eaten. In so many ways it had been perfect.
But.
I came in 8th of 37 for my class (Men 40+), and while that was my best result ever, I unintentionally hamstrung myself by not racing the Men's Open category, where my time would have been good enough for 5th of 37. But for a category change I would have been on the deep podium.
And while I did crack the 3-hour mark, the course had been rerouted to avoid the campground, taking 1.4 miles off each lap. Had we gone the full distance (and applying the same speed), that would have translated to 3:00:25.
So I have work to do. My yoyo-ing on the first lap showed me that I can make up a LOT of ground with more confident cornering and descending, and my overall speed of 16.6 mph suggests that an aero road helmet would be a better choice than a traditional mountain bike helmet. That I can fix right now, as (sssshhh: don't tell anybody) my fancy brand new aero helmet just arrived today. The former can only come with time and practice, and I have a whole year of gravel adventuring ahead of me to work it out.
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