disbelief to utter heartache to somber reflection to glimmering hope.
I was supposed to race the final mountain stage of the Mt Hood Cycling
Classic late this morning but my body derailed that despite my attempt
at perseverance. I woke at 5AM feeling like my head was well below my
body, heavy and disoriented. At 7AM I rolled out of bed in a stumbling
funk with an awful stomach. I couldn't eat. I loaded my bike, mixed
some stout bottles for calories during the race anticipating not
eating solid food. I climbed in the car and drove to the gas station,
I was woozy from that and reluctantly accepted that I had no business
in a peloton, especially not one descending mountain roads. I called
Brendon, we chatted, and I drove back to the house, still woozy, now
depressed, and curled up in bed until 2PM. My heart aches as much now
as it did then. I think about all the time devoted to preparing for
this weekend, physically, mentally, emotionally, and am somewhat lost.
It is tragic that I'm already planning on riding tomorrow.
Whenever hardship finds us we so readily seek compromise. I would
trade the next week of riding to have raced today, for example. But
deal-making is rarely favorable for the contract signer, just as odds
are never in the gambler's favor. I could have won today, but the odds
of crashing, or flatting, or so many other possibilities are so much
higher. Sometimes I wish I had read the Marvel 'What If' comics just
to see who the odds favored; maybe it is foolish to seek alternative
chains of events.
One day racing a bike. Just one day. 70 miles. I'm not getting paid.
This is a hobby. Everyone gets sick, we're all human. I have rolled
these thoughts all day long, over and over and over. And I also know
that I'm still fit, there are plenty more races, and 'cross season is
a long ways off. So there. I can find peace reminding myself there are
happy trails ahead, and so much love from so many people who matter
more than all the bike races. Thanks y'all.
