MT Alpha Jeanne Bloom has this race report from last weeks beer league. Just in time to get you pumped to race today!
Some people get married to strangers in Vegas. Others strip and streak through campuses or towns. Many of the star players in these scenarios can point to a scapegoat for their actions: alcohol. I had no such excuse. I signed up for my first mountain bike race stone cold sober. I hadn’t intentionally committed to doing so, rather the universe conspired for me to ride the Marshall beer league race on June 27, 2012.
When I joined, the Alphas assured me the group was primarily to get more women out on their bikes and that I could volunteer instead of race. Sounded good to me. My forte is spirited enthusiasm; athleticism is low on my list of attributes. So after we got our new rockin’ kits, Alpha leaders encouraged us to come to the Marshall beer races in our new kits and cheer even if we didn’t race. Well, it did seem a little silly to go all the way up to Marshall in my kit and not race—I look good in spandex, but maybe not that good—besides my hubby was signed up for a few laps. He convinced me to throw in my bike with his.
Arriving at Marshall, seeing everyone warming up and looking fit and intense with über sporty shades made my earlier cavalier-bravado shrivel. I pulled out my bike, but my helmet was nowhere to be found. “Oh thank goodness,” I thought, “My subconscious saved me.” Out loud I said, “Shoot, where’s my helmet? I was sure I put it in here.” (I really did think I’d brought it). But before I could restore my bike to the safety of the car, my husband found someone who had a spare helmet. Drat.
So, with no escape, I signed up—one loop. My goals: 1. Live through the event without injury/trip to the ER. 2. Have fun. 3. Finish the race. Reflecting on the race, I wasn’t scared about getting a bad time—my vanity, at this time, is unconnected to race times—my anxiety lie in the fear that I’d hold up people who were lapping me, but I was reassured that I could pull over and all would be well. Ok.
The inevitable came: race time. Heat number one, 3 lappers, gunshot, gone. Heat two, two lappers, boom, off. Heat three. I pulled my bike to the starting line and wished I was anywhere but there. Maybe I could shoot the gun instead of race? One Alpha was to my right. “Yeah!” we high fived. I looked over at the young fellow to my right. He appeared collected, but he was by far the youngest of us starters; I wondered if he was jittery too. When I get nervous, I talk a lot and somehow caricature voices come out. A weird cool-dude-stoner voice issued from my gullet, “So,” I bobbed my head to the young man, “You going to the Olympics with Sam? I think I saw your picture in the paper.” He shook his head no. “One minute to start,” yelled Jedzilla. Oh God, “I didn’t update my will,” I shouted to no one in particular. “Yeah Alphas,” shouted friends from the sidelines. Boom! The gun exploded. Off we went.
The week before I’d “ridden” (aka walked much of) the course so I knew what pain lie ahead. Why did I sign up for this again? Who carries around an extra helmet? We wheeled past the crowd. I heard a few, “Go Jeanne,”s—ointment to a newbie’s soul. Upward. Panting. No time for water. Pedal, pedal, pant, pant, walk, get back up on the bike, clip in, pedal, granny gear, granny gear, up a gear, down, up, pedal, no one behind, no one in front, remember your goals, keep pedaling. Then puffing behind, someone near, gotta move, let them past, geez not very far into the course, already others catching up, get off trail, “Good job!” I yell. Back to pedaling. Can’t quite make that steep corner. Pant, pedal, pedal, pant. Can’t wait to get better at this dam* sport. Pedal, whoa, steep, pedal, pedal. Someone else behind me, wow, lots of people. Pull off. Cheer for passers. Stranger puffs by, “Thanks Alpha.” Whoa, cool. Back on bike. Yeah, getting near the top. No time to flip on the shocks. Too busy braking. Brake, brake, pedal, brake, turn, holy bleep that’s steep. “Gonna take A line,” I shout. (Yeah, right). Down, down. Someone behind. Bleep, where can I pull off to let this speedy one pass? “Don’t worry,” they reply. Nice. Down, down. Oh my gosh, final descent. Huzzah! I may live. Wait! Don’t get overly optimistic yet. Down. Bridge. Pop up. Look down, “Oh God,” Down I plummet, bum way back, I made it. Time for local glory loop. Yeah! Living. Living. Pass poor punk with chain problem. Yeah. Finish line in sight. Pump it, pump it. Finish! Yeah! Alphas with congrats and beer for me.
Jeanne Boom Boom Bloom
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