 |
| Photo by Jamie Clifton |
Tonight was the second FastLaps race at MoMBA. I decided after last week‘s surprisingly strong performance that I was going to go out much more aggressively, and press my advantage in the parts of the trail that I can do really well. I’m fairly sure that I can crank out a sub-50 minute lap, and if I can, a podium isn’t out of the question.
The rain from the few days leading up to the race left the trails very tacky, and slick in a few spots. I warmed up moderately just before the start, planning to use the field loop to spin my legs up. That plan worked well, and soon I was flying along in third place, making quick work of the grassy start and diving into Twisted with all the confidence in the world. I was keeping a solid pace, gapping the riders behind me and throwing the bike around the corners by instinct. Everything felt good, even my legs, despite the six mile trail race yesterday.
Then I hit a long, right hand sweeper, slightly downhill and very fast. I charged into the corner with some aggression, only to feel the front tire lose traction and start to scrub. The handlebars folded in, and I instinctively unclipped my right foot, dabbing at the ground to get the bike stood back up. As I did, the front tire regained traction and hooked the bike sharply right, and I stood it up and grabbed the brakes, smacking into a small tree to bring me to a stop.
I called out a warning about the corner over my shoulder to the riders behind, got back on the trail and hammered out a few pedal strokes, happy that at least I hadn’t lost a position by my mistake. I was still okay, just needed to dial it back a notch in the corners…
But then I turned into a big wuss. Instead of looking up and ahead, I started eyeballing the dirt right in front of me, worried that each turn might contain more slick mud. I’ve always had an exaggerated aversion to crashing, ever since I tipped over on my gold and black Huffy as a kid, and skinned both my knees. It’s not that I haven’t crashed in the meantime to assure me that it’s mostly alright. I’ve crashed lots, on all sorts of equipment. I have a pretty high pain threshold. It’s just that, for some reason, once the thought of crashing gets into my head, there’s something in me that’s unwilling to even approach the limit any more.
So for whatever reason, that slide stayed in my head for the rest of the race. I lost almost all of my earlier aggression, and got passed by three riders before the next trail section was done. I stayed with one of them for awhile, but when we got to Hawk’s Lair, my lack of aggression translated into poor riding, and I had to get off the bike twice to clear obstacles that I negotiated perfectly last week.
Once through Hawk’s, some of my confidence returned, as I looked up to see that one of the riders who had passed me was not completely out of reach. I started charging the hills, determined that, even if my aggression was curbed, I could let my fitness carry me forward. I planned to catch the guy on the climb out of the bottom of Creekside, and if necessary, pass him in the grass sprint to the finish. But just as I started to reel him in on Upper Stealth, his rear tire flatted and he was out of the race. There went my rabbit.
I pushed as much as I could find the motivation for the rest of the lap, and crossed the line after a decent sprint. I finished just 11 seconds slower than last week, which, given the conditions, my running race the day before, and the fact I had to get off twice, isn’t really that bad at all. I have to wonder how far ahead of the pace I was, until I had that first big slide. No matter, next week it’s do-or-die time. I have to carry the same aggression and confidence into the race, and this time charge it the whole way, crash or no crash.