With the season already half over, I went to my first cyclocross race of the year on Saturday. I got my lunch handed to me.
I lined up with a group of 17 guys in peak, mid-season form. I hadn’t raced in two months. They were riding the latest carbon bikes that cost thousands of dollars. I was on the same old aluminum bike I had ridden to work just two days earlier—it had fenders on it until Friday afternoon. I’d bet they’d had a full night’s sleep the night before. I was out past 1AM watching Hells Belles.
I was ready for the race to be over by the second lap. Clearly I had forgotten how much ‘cross racing can hurt. I traded positions with two guys for a little while, but I was out of gas before the race was half over. The top three riders lapped me before I crossed the finish line in what I assumed was last place.
Well, at least it felt like last place. I was pleasantly surprised this morning when I looked up the results to see that I had finished in front three riders. Please don’t spoil it by telling me they had mechanical problems.
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