Trainer Confessions

Race: Topsfield Circuit Race

Warning Signs

    I don’t wish harm upon those folks who decided not to heed the evacuation warnings for Hurricane Irene.  However, it will be hard to feel any sympathy for anyone that decides to ignore the red flags, news flashes, and police signs to head out to the beaches today, then later on find themselves in a boatload of trouble as Mother Nature unleashes its wrath upon the fools.  Similarly, I recommend that you don’t offer me any pity for choosing to ignore a different set of warnings that should have kept me at home today rather than getting myself in a bit of a mess in Topsfield Massachusetts.

    To his credit, former teammate John K gave me the earliest and most stern warning when I told him a few weeks back that I was signed up for the Cat 4/5 circuit race.  The reason most often cited for a racer to upgrade out of the Cat 5 ranks is to avoid racing against Cat 5s.  I’m not sure what the ratio of 4s to 5s was in the 75 man field that lined up this morning, but whatever that # may be, I’m sure it would have been too high in the eyes of the more cautious (or should I say more prudent) John K.  With Green Mountain Stage Race coming up next weekend, a race that should suit a hill-climber like me just fine, mixing it up with Cat 5s just seemed like an unnecessary risk in his eyes.

    The risks of chaos in the pack seemed especially silly for me to take on given how unappealing the race was to me.  It was a 2 ½ hour drive to get there with a 4:45 AM departure time, and the return drive was in excess of 3 hours (apparently lots of people did heed the Hurricane Warnings and flooded the Mass Turnpike as I drove back).  The 4+ mile circuit had what could at best be described as rollers, which would negate any hill climbing advantage I might have over many of the guys in the field.  And without any big hills to weed out the weaker and/or bigger riders, the pack would likely hold together for a big gnarly group sprint (and I confirmed that by looking at the last 5 years of finishes – all bunch sprints). 

    I told my wife last night that because of the downsides and risks associated with this race, I wasn’t too excited for the early morning wake-up call.  And if I woke up and saw wet roads, well that would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

    I also told her that if I had already qualified for my Cat 3 upgrade (I’m going the 10 top-ten finishes route and I am now just one race short), I would have never even signed up for the race.  But I fooled myself into thinking that today, racing against a group that RoadResults’s Race Predictor didn’t give much respect to (they had me predicted for 2^nd place!), I would likely nab that final qualifying race for the upgrade and then have a pressure-free week leading up to GMSR.  Yes, all warning signs told me to stay away, but my hubris told me head to Topsfield for my Cat 3 coronation.

    Regular readers of this blog know how well my predictions go, so feel free to stop reading.

One Two Punch and Knock-out

    Early on in the race my concerns about my safety amongst the mixed field seemed to dissipate due to the efforts of the race organizers, who, along with the cooperation of the local community, eliminated the yellow line rule.  The loop wasn’t closed to cars, however, any cars that did get onto the course had to flow in the same direction as the race.  And that was in addition to the pace car to our front, and a follow wheel car to our rear.  While the country roads weren’t very wide, we did have full use of the road without worrying about cars, so I thought after completing the first lap that I we had ample room to maneuver, even if things got squirrelly within the pack.

    That feeling of relative safety didn’t last long though.  Even though I thought all was well on lap #1, I saw an ambulance parked on the course as we passed through for the 2^nd lap.  I haven’t a clue as to what happened, but given the ambulance’s proximity to the 90 degree left hand turn and the bicycle I saw laying on the ground, I’m sure that whatever went down wasn’t good.  My crash radar went on full alert after seeing the ambulance and to the front of the pack I stayed for the vast majority of the race.  Unfortunately I can’t say that I was at the front and out of harm’s way for the whole race, but now I’m getting ahead of myself.

    My goal in getting out at the front wasn’t simply to defend against crashes.  I was also up there to sniff out any break attempts. The first one (at least the first that I remember) was launched by a rider who….let’s just say at his weight he wouldn’t be confused with a hill climber.  I made the mistake of judging a book by its cover and joked to another rider that he was just making a cameo appearance at the front just to get his mug in full view of the camera. Boy was I wrong!  I was thrilled to see that he could sustain repeated attacks (even on the rollers) as I was able to coast once I hitched my wheel to his giant train. 

    I rolled the dice a few times myself to get away throughout the 6 ½ laps, trying my best to power away from the field as we made our way up the modest roller.  While other riders blasted full throttle while out of the saddle when trying to make a break on the flats, my attempts seemed more like rest of the pack slowed down on the climb to let me dangle off of the front.

    No matter who made the attempt, whether it be the large man in the Red kit (and no, it wasn’t Santa) or the tiny guy in the black kit (me) nothing was going to stick today.  While there were a few sharp left hand turns, there weren’t any good course features that would help an attacker or a break escape from the view of the hunting pack.  Any time anyone like me got too far away, the motivated pack would reel us right back in.

    So without anyone getting away, and without a good hill or two to grind away at our numbers, the pack was still bloated and more bunched than ever as we made our way past the starting line for the 7^th and final time.  It should therefore be of no surprise that at least a handful of riders came tumbling down not too far after exiting the corner.  I still was safely positioned near the front so once again I missed the details of the action, but a quick glance behind me caught a view of riders on the ground and others scattered to the rear.  I was hoping our numbers would decline before we reached the final sprint, but that’s not the way I had hoped to get clear.

    As are slightly reduced numbers neared our final pass through turn #1, I had carefully worked my way up to about 3^rd or 4^th position.  I thought all we had ahead of us was about ¼ mile to a sharp left hand turn onto a road we’d be on for the first time today.  And from there I assumed we’d quickly see the finish line.  I opened up the throttle and timed things just perfectly for the distance that I thought remained in front of me.

    Now if the finish line had magically appeared on the road where I thought it should have been, I’d not only have my 10^th top ten right now, but I’d also be up on the podium as well (yes, I would still be up on the podium celebrating, even now).  I had pre-ridden the course before the race, but I had failed to ride the actual finishing stretch.  So it felt like a body blow to the stomach when I frantically looked around and ahead of me, seeking out the actual location of the finish.  As my eyes finally locked in on the finish line, the legs started shutting down and riders began swarming around and ahead of me.

    And then the 2^nd punch came.  After spending nearly the whole race at the front, as I suffered a shut down due to my premature sprint I found myself caught up in yet another mix of carbon, asphalt, and flesh, and this time I was on the wrong side of the pack.  Again at least a handful of riders went down (one of them looked pretty serious as he was screaming and his leg was twitching while he was splayed out on the road), and while I avoided the worst of it, I was rear-ended and toppled over.  I guess it was good that I was gassed at that point as my slow velocity helped to ease my fall.  I escaped with just a few cuts and was able to roll the final 50 meters to the finish.

After chatting with a few riders about the carnage (Vinnie who somehow recognized me from high-school cross country, and Barry who needs to upgrade to Cat 4 because what I saw from him today was no Cat 5 performance!), I went back to the car to briefly refuel, and then hit the road once again.  While I was still a bit fatigued from the race, I feared the prospects of doing a three hour interval work-out indoors tomorrow even more than I feared crashing during today’s race.  So I ventured back out onto the roads for a couple more hours to reduce the time I had to put in on the trainer tomorrow watching the weather channel.

The ride out in the salty air of the north shore was refreshing, but I unfortunately couldn’t enjoy it too much.   My thoughts were haunted by the voice of John K and his fateful words of caution. I shouldn’t have bothered to show up today.

 

Race:

• Duration:          1:11:21
• Work:                909 kJ
• TSS:                 113.3 (intensity factor 0.979)
• Norm Power:    264
• VI:        1.25
• Pw:HR:             4.05%
• Pa:HR:             1.59%
• Distance:          29.223 mi

                                 Min      Max     Avg

• Power:              0          809      212         watts
• Heart Rate:      0          202      182         bpm
• Cadence:          32        246      85           rpm
• Speed:              2.2       40.5     24.5        mph
• Pace                 1:29     26:49   2:27        min/mi
• Hub Torque:     0          283      64           lb-in

Mystic Family Adventure

How does he do it?

As I gathered up whatever strength remained in me today to put up a quick blog post, I wondered how the Metal Cowboy pulled off his multiple cross country/continent family bicycle adventures.  In one of his epic crossings from coast to coast, I believe he averaged six or seven hours a day in the saddle, with his tandem co-pilot #1, tag-along co-pilot #2, infant toting trailer, and luggage for 5 all being pulled behind him, through terrain that went up and over passes through the Rockies and later into the Appalachians.  Once the day ended, he and his clan did it again, and again, and again, for weeks stretching through the summer.

Me, on the other hand, well... I can barely keep my fingers typing right now after only logging 74 miles (just under 7 & 1/2 hours) over two days, while pulling only co-pilot #1 in a tag-along, co-pilot #2 in the trailer, and more luggage than needed for just two days (I have Mrs D to thank for that).  And I wasn't climbing through the mountains as did the Metal Cowboy.  Despite having tackled some of the North East's craziest hills over the last month, the rollers between Colechester and Mystic had my engine taxed to the max.  In fact, I even had to do an emergency/panicked un-clipping to put a foot down and avoid a "train" collapse as the modest incline on the approach to the New London pedestrian crossing got the best of me.

The train gets rolling again after about 20 feet of embarrassed walking.

 
Other contrasts between me and the Metal Cowboy came to mind earlier as well.  He and his crew are guided by a few maps and travel books, but mostly by a seemingly innate ability to know at all times how to get from A to B.  Me...well despite asking numerous times for directions, consulting with google maps, and waving my iPhone's gps in circles like a wizard casting a spell on the person who marked the roads, it took me nearly 45 frustrating minutes to find the narrow pedestrian path to get out of New London.

And while I might have moaned and groaned when I had to break down the train and then reassemble it the next day for our stay at the Comfort Inn, the Metal Cowboy not only had to do that, but also setup camp in a tent each night, and then tend to the numerous bike maintenance issues that arise when you're on the road for so long.

We get to recover in relative luxury as compared to those like the Metal Cowboy who rough it in camp grounds

 
Why does he do it?

While I can't imagine how the Metal Cowboy successfully ferried his clan (with his wife riding her own steed on one of his adventures) without either him collapsing or his family disowning him, the Desmarais Mystic adventure gave me numerous hints as to why he rolls across the country. 

I'm not sure if I'll ever get excited enough about a good report card to go out and slap a bumper sticker proudly proclaiming my daughter's good grades.  However, I'd immediately open my wallet if I saw a sticker that said "My daughter loves hills."  You can only imagine the joy this hill climber felt as my youngest daughter composed her song "I love hills" after barrelling down one of the weekend's numerous descents.  While she didn't seem to enjoy the climbing part as much, there's no containing her joy going down a good hill, and the look on her face was contagious!

 
Perhaps the Metal Cowboy is reminded why he does it when people approach him (as they did to me this weekend) to point out how dangerous it is to bring your kids on the road (unfortunately the roads we took had us on some busy stretches filled with speeding cars).  While I won't dispute that there's some danger when sharing the road with two ton pick-ups, I always am quick to point out to those offering their caution that my kids would face far more harm had they been on the couch, watching TV, as I'm sure many kids their age were doing when we were out and about.

While I'm hopeful that I'll be able to continue racing for many years to come, adventures like this weekend continue to remind me that family rides wouldn't be a bad plan B if I sought to fill my summer weekends with something other than racing.  Our weekend lacked cycle friendly roads, our ultimate destination didn't have any super kid friendly rides and entertainment (and unfortunately what Mystic does have to offer was closed by the time we ventured into town yesterday evening), and all four of us are walking zombies right now.  However, when I look back on all of the smiling faces from the time together this weekend, it kinda makes me wonder if some future summer might be race-free and instead filled with my own Metal Cowboy adventures...

Lunch break

 

The swim leg of our adventure

 

More smiles than miles
 

Race: Tue @ The Rent B 081611

To Race, or Not to Race

Up until about 2 PM yesterday, I had no plans to race at the Rent last night.  For the first time all season, my legs felt like they could use the break that will soon arrive after my final race on Labor Day weekend.  I thought perhaps they would show some signs of life by today (Wednesday), so I had already planned to race at Bethel this week and skip the Rent.  Furthermore, the weather forecast for Tuesday evening seemed iffy at best whereas Wednesday looked to be spectacular.  So for most of the day my tired legs and I were resigned to doing a couple of hours on the rollers inside and hope for the best for my recovery and the weather for Wednesday.

The prospects of riding inside motivated me to reconsider my plan though, so after a few checks of the radar I sought (and received) confirmation from Mrs D that the cheering squad was free after I finished work.  While I still had reservations as to whether or not it made sense to race given the fatigue in my legs left-over from Tokeneke on Sunday, in hindsight the decision to alter my plans and race was one of my best ideas in a long time! It was a night of firsts for me, literally and figuratively.  I entered uncharted territory last evening, allowing me to feel things for the first time, and giving me an answer to a question I've pondered for a while now...

Fist Pumping

While my legs seemed to only mildly improve during my ride to the Rent, any doubts as to whether or not I should have come race were erased within minutes of my arrival.  My recent stretch of modest racing success had not gone unnoticed, and without an exception, all of my Expo mates at various times during the warm-ups offered me a hearty congratulations.  Even a few non-teammates (in at least two cases, guys I hardly knew) had thought highly enough about my results such that they too gave me kudos as we spun around. 

I doubt the kind words actually had a physiological affect upon my tired legs, but the ego-boosting comments released enough endorphins to block my brain from registering any further complaints filed by my muscles.  I lined up feeling quite chipper in fact, so quite a turn-around in attitude in the short amount of time after signing in.

I don't know about you, but I haven't heard of too many races won because someone had an upbeat mood.  So I was very fortunate yesterday to have yet another gift from team Expo.  Perhaps in recognition of the improved racing results for me in August, Joe, Mikie, Mark B, Mark S, and Lance figured that Expo's odds of winning would be improved if they sacrificed and put their chips in on my chances. 

Shortly after we got rolling, Lance moved up for a side bar with me, informing me that I should take it easy and save it for the end.  He (and presumably the others) were going to mix it up at the front and tire out the rest of the pack in the process, leaving me to hopefully finish things off strong for the win.

Well...things didn't exactly go as planned, but pretty darn close.  I went off script a few too many times, going for premes and chasing down a few break attempts rather than holding back and conserving.  However, the rest of my mates held up their end of the deal.  Mikie, Joe, and Mark B chased down anyone trying to get away, and pressed the pace at the front whenever it seemed like the pack wanted to rest. Lance and Mark S more than did their fair share of chasing and pace pressing, but they further sacrificed for the Expo cause by each giving me my first and 2nd ever lead outs in a race.

Mark S's lead-out helped me to nab one of my two premes of the evening, but it was left to Lance to bring me to the finish.  There's no way for me to phrase what follows without it sounding somewhat embarrassing, so here it goes.  I've never stared at a man's buttock's with such desire and focus as I did in the race's final lap.  For 3/4s of a lap I rode with relative ease following the massive vortex cleared for me by Lance's hind-quarters, while he busted that butt to gobble up the two riders that had attempted to get away.

As we neared the final turn heading back to the finishing straight away, Lance got out of his saddle to use up the last of the gas in his tank to help me hold off the surging pack.  That broke the spell his rear had cast upon my gaze, and snapped me to attention.  It was time to capitalize upon the gift given to me by the big man, and off his wheel I came, barrelling out of the corner, headlong to the finish.

I gave it all I had for the final 20 seconds and didn't dare to look behind me.  I haven't a clue as to how much of a lead as I crossed first through the finish line, but given my pathetic Power numbers (I didn't even crack 800 Watts in that "sprint"), I can't imagine my lead was anything more than a few bike lengths. 

However, it was large enough such that I had a little bit of alone time to celebrate after I crossed the line.  Before yesterday I had occasionally wondered and dreamed about what I would do after winning a race.  I know the races at the Rent are for training and the winner shouldn't do much celebrating.  But...celebrate I did.  It turns out that my celebration dance is a tiny fist pump with my right hand, with my left still on the handlebar to ensure my excitement doesn't cause me to fall off the bike.

Mrs D missed my finish as she was focused on a different race.

 

Celebrating with my cheering squad and holding my race & preme winnings.

 

Race Results:

• 1^st place finish!
• Duration:             37:39
• Work:                    524 kJ
• TSS:       65.4 (intensity factor 1.027)
• Norm Power:     277
• VI:          1.19
• Pw:HR:                 n/a
• Pa:HR:                   n/a
• Distance:             15.431 mi
  •                 Min        Max       Avg
• Power:                0             776        232         watts
• Heart Rate:         0             0            0             bpm
• Cadence:            45           196         87           rpm
• Speed:                5.2          33.3       24.5        mph
• Pace                   1:48        11:38      2:27        min/mi
• Hub Torque:       0             295         62           lb-in
• Crank Torque:     0             867        217          lb-in

Race: Tokeneke

Relax

I suffered a bit of anxiety over the last week.  While I'm closing in on the requisite # of top ten finishes required for a Cat 3 upgrade (the alternative route to an upgrade designed for the slow and steady late 30-something riders, as opposed to the points based upgrades for those young whipper-snappers up on the podium), I'm also closing in on the end of the racing season.  Including today's race at Tokeneke, I had at most 6 or 7 opportunities remaining to secure the 3 top ten finishes I needed for the upgrade.  And if I failed to get it by the end of the season, who knows what life will bring for 2012, so I felt this week as if the sand was rapidly dwindling from my hour glass. 

The time I spent over-analyzing the "Race Predictor" on RoadResults in preparation for today probably added fuel to my anxiety.  Using sophisticated algorithms that I'm sure require hours of CPU time on a super-mainframe system, they had calculated at various points this week that I'd likely finish as low at 18th, and perhaps as high as 12th.  Yes, I know that the predictor isn't that precise and shouldn't cause me to lose any sleep, but in reviewing the names they had ranked above me, I thought that a top ten finish might be a big stretch.  After all, the event was billed as the New England Road Championships, so it wasn't surprising to see such a high-caliber field registered and ready to block me in my top-ten quest.

I also fretted excessively over the fact that Tokeneke was slated for a scant seven days after ripping my legs apart at the 3 day Tour of the Catskills last weekend.  I tried to convince myself that the evil hills of New York made me a stronger rider, but my legs quite loudly argued that I was giving them too little time to recover.  That was definitely the case last year when Tokeneke followed on the heels of the ToC -- my legs never came around at Tokeneke, and then seemed to spiral downwards for weeks afterwards.

My anxiety had been supplanted by a feeling of resignation by the time I began my warm-up today.  On top of what I had believed was left-over fatigue from the ToC, my legs endured nearly six hours of lugging gallons of water up from the basement yesterday (a pipe had burst and flooded our basement), and then I tossed and turned for hours before getting a fitful four hours of sleep last night.  By the time I reached the starting line this morning, I pretty much had dismissed any legitimate hope of a top ten, but in the process, I felt totally relaxed for the first time in days.

The view from the rear at the start; normally I'd be up at the front, but today I relaxed at the back and assumed this was to be my lot for the day

 

Dare I say...Easy?

Relieved of the burdens of high expectations, I relaxed and patiently picked my way through the belly of the pack for the first seven mostly downhill miles of the Cat 4 race.  Without any effort at all, I somehow found myself right at the front by the time we passed the reservoir for the first of two times today.  I did a quick scan of the faces and kits around me, and I quickly realized that I was amongst the gang that Road Results had predicted would finish ahead of me today. 

Most notable to me was Nick, from Team Placid.  I'm not sure why he's still a Cat 4 ( I overheard him during the race inform another rider that he'd collected 70 upgrade points already this season ), but because he's yet to move to a 3, I've seen him enough now to know I was in a good spot.  He's a rail-thin climber who's also strong enough to spend most of a race with his nose in the wind at the front.  So while I didn't think much of my odds of seeing him at the end (as a side note to further my doubts, while most riders were gasping for oxygen during one climb, he conversed with the race official in an attempt to get the lead Police Cruiser to turn their flashing lights off so that he might see further off into the distance), I took advantage of my auspicious location and parked myself on his wheel.  Normally you don't get much of a benefit from wheel sucking while climbing hills like on Tokeneke, but at the speeds he and a few others at the front were holding, his wake offered me a few extra bonus Watts that I could pocket for later in the ride. 

By the time we reached the top of stair step climb on the backside of lap #1, the thought started to occur to me that perhaps I had dismissed my chances prematurely.  I did a bit of huffing and puffing to get to the top, but the now reduced pack around me was littered with guys suffering far more than me.  I knew the real test though as to whether or not I belonged with the big boys (or should I say the very thin and small boys) was the nearly 3 mile climb up to the finish of lap #1, so I did my best to get comfortable in my tuck position and recharge the batteries on the long and super fast descent.  (As as side note, one thing that stands out to me from today's race was how well behaved everyone was.  Perhaps folks were a bit more cautious due to the wet roads.  I never once saw a yellow line infraction, and despite reaching speeds of nearly 50 mph on the fastest of the descents, there was never a moment where I feared that another rider would do something stupid on the wet roads).

As we hit the long steady climb towards the end of lap #1, I quickly lost ten or so spots as the rabbits burst ahead of me.  But like a fisherman letting his line out a bit, waiting for the fish to tire before pulling them back in, I kept my Wattage #s under control and patiently made my way back up to the front.  By the time we approached the start of lap #2, I surprised myself, not by the fact that I found myself in the lead, but more remarkable was the feeling that I wasn't quite working that hard.  It almost felt like I had to soft pedal a little to avoid solo-ing off the front!

For the next few miles, I almost felt as though I had been transported to a Sunday no-drop group ride.  Any time the pace picked up breifly, the pack then eased, each time allowing a few stragglers to latch back on.  All of that changed though once we passed by the reseviour for the 2nd time to tackle the stair-step climb once again.  The pace got fast and furious going up that climb, with several riders actually attacking in an attempt to get some separation.  I didn't dare look behind me to see what remained of the pack, but I'd be willing to wager a dollar that our numbers were now down to just 15.

My guess is that I too would have been falling behind if Nick and a rider from Cheshire Cycle had just a few more riders willing to share in the pulling at the front.  But fortunately for me, nobody else seemed inclined (and/or capable) of pressing the pace any higher, so while my legs protested loudly, it was just slow enough such that I cleared the cleared the climb with my chances for a top ten firmly in view.

The 2nd time down the long descent allowed me to relax and recover even more than my first time through.  The roads had dried somewhat as compared to the first time through, and, more importantly, there were fewer riders around to worry about.  I never touched the brakes during that dash to the bottom.  I regulated my speed by either putting my nose to my stem or moving closer to someone else's slipstream to speed up, or by increasing my wind resistance and sitting upright and/or moving off of a wheel and into the wind to slow down.  I believe the big smile on my face, brought on by the speed-induced adrenaline and excitement, also worked to slow my descent as well.

And then like a speeding jet-fighter landing on aircraft carrier, our speedometers ground to a slogging pace as we were greeted by the finishing 3 mile climb once again.  This time though there was never a point where I said to myself "hey, this is easy!".  I had never seen the lead pack finish up this long climb at Tokeneke before, and I had always assumed it was just a steady race of attrition to the finish.  I was therefore caught off guard by the numerous attacks launched by those around me.  The first few attacks didn't succeed in getting away, but they did result in our numbers now dwindling to just about ten or so. 

In hindsight, I think this was the lone point in the race where I now feel a bit of regret.  Once I realized I was in the final ten, I went on the defensive.  I had juice left in the battery, but I didn't want to chance a big effort that might cause me to explode and in the process, see my top ten dream fizzle.  So when what ended up being the pivotal attack which set the ultimate winner from our clan at just over 1km to go, I played it safe and kept my steady but demanding pace along with the other 8 or 9 riders left behind.

I don't know how things would have played ou had I tried to counter that race winning move, but I do know that as I crossed the finish line, boxed in and unable to really open things up for a big finish, I unfortunately still had a match or two to burn.  Any regret of the unknown of what could have been was short-lived though.  An 8th place finish (same time basically for places 2 through 10) in the New England Road Championships isn't to shabby.  In fact, its worthy of a few celebratory adult beverages now, don't ya think?

Race Results:

·          8^thPlace in a bunch (~10 or so riders) finish out of 100 pre-reg’ed riders

·          Duration:         2:02:00 (from my PowerTap, not the official results)

·          Work:              1518 kJ

·          TSS:                197.7 (intensity factor 0.988)

·          Norm Power:   267

·          VI:         1.29

·          Pw:HR:            -6.36%

·          Pa:HR:            -0.78%

·          Distance:        44.716 mi

 Min    Max    Avg

·          Power:             0         744     207            watts

·          Heart Rate:     0         199     172            bpm

·          Cadence:        33       246     85              rpm

·          Speed:             9.6      47.7    21.9           mph

·          Pace                1:15    6:16    2:44           min/mi

·          Hub Torque:    0         345     82              lb-in

Race: Tour of the Catskills Stage 3 (Cat 4B)

Hurts So Good

The calm before the storm – looking out from our hotel room this AM at Hunter Mt.

 
I have no scientific basis to support this claim, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and crown the Tour of the Catskills the toughest three days of racing in all of New England.  I’m not sure if I would have made such a proclamation about the prior two editions of the ToC, but with the course changes introduced by promoter Dieter Drake this year, there’s no doubt in my mind where it now ranks (and there’s definitely no doubt in my legs right now as to which stage race is the meanest and baddest of them all).  Plus, with the race’s popularity growing each year, I can only think of one other race where I faced such top-notch competition, which not surprisingly is also put on by Dieter (Battenkill).  As we headed home from today’s Stage 3, teammate Mikie pondered aloud “I wonder why that guy wants to hurt people so bad?”

 
I can’t say if Dieter genuinely wants to hurt people, but I can certainly say that his course selection for today had that affect upon people, intended or not.  Even though yesterday’s stage 2 featured a climb up the nastiest hill around (Devil’s Kitchen), today’s two featured KoM climbs, combined with numerous rollers, will have hundreds of riders cursing for Dieter for days to come.  It was such a step up from last year’s edition on the pain scale that one of last year’s KoM hills was relegated to just another punchy roller this year.

A tough course though could still be easy on the body if you’re just out on a Sunday group ride pace (though I don’t know if the climb up to the 2^nd KoM on Airplane road could be done at a casual pace without the aid of a Granny Gear).  But with riders supposedly drawn from 22 states, many of whom likely had this weekend circled on their training plans as their culmination of months of focused training, the pace never seemed to slack. 

The Race

The Cat 5 field getting ready to roll from the start/finish

 
Unfortunately for me, that diabolical mix of elite riders and killer elevation gain was enough to take all but five riders out of contention for first place by the time we finished the 20 minute ascent up KoM #1.  I was one of the last riders to say “Bon Voyage” to the 5 top guns of the Cat 4 B field, only losing contact with them with just under 1 km to go to the KoM.  I only briefly toyed with the idea of attempting to dig really deep to stay with the race leaders, but a quick check of the PowerTap told me that I’d likely blow up on the remaining elevation gain beyond the KoM.  So instead, I backed down just out of my red zone and began scouting for potential riders to form a chase group.

While I did end up in a group of four strong riders willing to work, the punchiness of the hills dampened the effectiveness of our coordination.  We’d get a few good rotations, but then in short order a climb or a descent would stymie our efforts.  Going up the hill, everyone suffered at their own pace, and the descents were fast enough so that for the most part people just got down in a tuck and rocketed down as fast as gravity could pull us.  The terrain for rotating in an efficient paceline just was too sparse.  On more forgiving course the guys I tried working seemed strong enough and experienced enough to put a big dent in any gap, especially when a slightly larger group caught us from behind and joined us (teammate Mikie was in that group, looking stronger each day this weekend).  But today there was a snowball’s chance in hell of catching the five mountain goats in front of us.

That’s not to say that we eased up without the possibility of getting up on the podium.  A top ten finisher at the Tour of the Catskills is someone that in my opinion can walk around with a little bit of a deserved ego.  I’m sure that a few guys in our group were mentally calculating their odds of a top ten finish just as we made our way to the 2^nd KoM ( I know I was! ), and knowing that there were still five open spots for a top ten for our pack of 11 riders motivated riders through the death march up Airplane Road.

While not quite as steep and about a mile or so shorter than Devil’s Kitchen, it hit us in the face after 44 miles of riding today, on top of the two earlier stages of accumulated pain.  It was tough enough so that like the Kitchen, we passed dejected riders forced to walk.  It was steep enough that the rider to my left and to my right almost seemed to pause and come to a standstill in between pedal strokes.  Yet remarkably I was tough enough to slowly but patiently ease away from our group, along with just one other rider.

<Please bear with me now if my storytelling deteriorates from here…  I just returned from dinner and a few adult beverages as Mrs D and the girls took me out to celebrate my race results.  Celebrate what you might ask?  Well read on…>

When we were close to cresting the summit, the Airplane Road’s only other survivor (or so I thought at the time), Ryan from Kissena, barked out to me “What are you doing?”  At first I thought it was odd that he’d rudely question my ascent up this nasty climb.  But upon further consideration, I realized that he just wanted to know what my plans were in wrapping up the race.  We quickly settled on a plan to keep the tempo high, but not too high such that at least a few stragglers couldn’t scrape their way back up to us.  Once those lucky soles rejoined us in what surely was a bedraggled state, we’d let them do a little work in our rotation to give us a brief respite during the final 10 mile charge to the finish.

After a mile or so, I looked to our rear and mentioned to Ryan that we had a few straggles about to join our party, and all seemed to be going according to plan.  But by now you likely know how well my race planning goes, right?  Without going into details, there was a bit of discontent within our 5 man crew, and soon enough Ryan was out of the saddle, attacking his way free from the bunch.  I could feel the beginnings of a cramp coming on (again, like yesterday, in my left thigh), so I resigned myself to duking it out with the other three remaining riders for the last three spots in the top 10, and making sure we kept away from those chasing behind us.

Turns out that my fear of riders lurking in the rear was misguided.  The final KoM had left the next set of riders, the guys with any chance of crashing the top 10 party, nearly 3 minutes distant from us.  But I didn’t know that at the time, so I was more than motivated to work hard in our four man crew to keep away.  Unfortunately not everyone was so motivated.  Patrick, from GVCC, a guy who seemed to have a big diesel engine, was as motivated as me (if not more) to finish the race strong.  But our 3^rd pack-mate admitted that he couldn’t work with us as it would mean chasing his teammate (Ryan, from Kissena).  Our 4^th pack-mate probably calculated the gap to our rear much more accurately than Patrick or I, as his stints at the front dropped to zero after the 5 km to go marker.

So…the pulls that Patrick and I put in to close out the race only succeeding in increasing an already un-closeable gap.  And in the process, it sapped us both of any possible sprinting burst.  As we made the final left hand turn up the modest incline to the finish at Windham Mt, our well rested pack-mates both rose out of their saddles with a finishing kick that neither Patrick nor I could match, elevating them to 8^th and 9^th place.  Patrick and I traded spots a few times in our slow motion sprint to the finish, but in the end he grabbed the final spot in the top ten, leaving me yet again in 11^th spot (my 5^th 11^th place finish of the year!).

During my warm-down, I initially labeled the two riders who took away my chances of a top ten as “free-loaders”.  But, within a few minutes I had cooled down enough to realize that they just rode smarter than me, and 11^th place is exactly what I had deserved.  But more importantly, not shortly afterwards (after watching teammate Mikie finish up strong in what might have been his best ever race performance), I realized I had earned an 11^th place finish against the toughest competition I’ve ever faced throughout three days that featured hills that literally most people on the planet earth couldn’t ascend. 

“I earned myself a nice cold beer” I told Mikie as he and I headed back to the car.  In fact, no matter where folks finished this weekend, the fact that the *did* finish the Tour of the Catskills earned them a nice cold one!

Race:

• Duration:          3:02:54
• Work:               2116 kJ
• TSS:                 228.4 (intensity factor 0.866)
• Norm Power:    234
• VI:        1.21
• Pw:HR:             3.31%
• Pa:HR:             14.47%
• Distance:         60.149 mi

                                         Min      Max     Avg

• Power:              0          730      193         watts
• Heart Rate:      0          202      177         bpm
• Cadence:         31        212      81           rpm
• Speed:              4.6       48        19.7        mph
• Pace                 1:15     13:03   3:03        min/mi
• Hub Torque:     0          512      96           lb-in

Race: Tour of the Catskills Stage 2 (Cat 4B)

The More Things Change…

I’m not sure how accurate my memories are of last year’s stage 3 of the ToC, which featured the assault up the notorious Devil’s Kitchen.  However, I vaguely recall that for the most part it felt like a 55 mile friendly Sunday group ride until the fierce pitches on Plattes Cove Road shredded what had been a nearly intact field.  The combination of what I recall as a fairly tame course leading up to the Kitchen, as well as a somewhat laid back pace of the pack pretty much had everyone who lined up for the start last year still together before that killer climb commenced.

When I took a closer look at today’s course, the route leading up to the Kitchen certainly in my opinion was going to mix things up in a way unlike last year. 

 
As I slowly rode my way from the hotel in Hunter over to the start 5 miles away in Tannersville, I was trying my best to relax, so I stopped to snap a few pictures of one of the fields departing in the early morning slots.

 
The reason I was making a concerted effort to relax was that by my calculations, the early climbs on the docket for the first twenty or so miles would surely weed out all but the best of the field.  I figured that the Devil’s Kitchen would decide who won the race, but it was going to be these early hills that would determine who would make the elite top 10.  I needed to be focused from the get go today, or so I thought.

The More They Stay the Same

The field hit the first hill just under 4 miles from the start, and I patiently made my way up to the front as we climbed.  ( As a side note, as we began the climb, I noticed teammate Mikie seemingly going backwards as his pace slacked.  Turns out that he was stuck in the big gear, and literally had to kick the derailleur to shift down to the smaller crank.  He managed to hold his own the remainder of the race without the aid of the big ring.  No small feat if you ask me!).  After a frisky descent, we hit a slightly more modest climb as we turned right onto Rt 296. 

After yet another short but fun descent, a few guys began the first of the day’s attacks and strung out the field in the process.  I bridged up to the two attackers, and we were joined by a few others.  The process of attacking repeated itself after each of the five or so 90 degree turns as we passed through Windham.  I stayed at the pointy end at the front of the field and never looked back, but I began to assume that the pace, plus with the presumed accordion affect introduced at each corner combined to pinch riders off of the back.

The belief that we were losing riders off the back was further supported by the fact that as we made our way towards the day’s first King of the Mountain, I saw only about a half dozen different faces sharing stints with me at the front.  Even that number dwindled as I amped up the effort heading into the final stretch to the KoM, and for at least a brief moment, I forgot entirely about the location of the rest of the field.  It was down to just me and two others sprinting for 2^nd place KoM points.  Any guess as to where I finished?  (Hint – the last sentence used the verb “sprinting” and me in a sentence.)

With legs and lungs on fire as we crested the top of the hill, I assumed that I could now catch a break as we headed down the long descent ( I didn’t pedal for over 7 minutes) amongst what I had assumed was the elite remaining hill climbers.  By now all of us should know what happens when you assume, right?  Well, I didn’t.  I was totally surprised, and a tad bit disappointed when within just a few minutes of descending, I must have dropped to 40^th or worse in what seemed like a fully intact field. 

I guess the lesson learned here is that the Tour of the Catskills isn’t to be compared to a standard local road race.  You don’t shell out all of the coin to register and get lodging, drive out from all over the east coast, and sign-up for a race featuring one of the nastiest climbs found in a race unless you’re a pretty good rider.

So, for the next 35 miles, I was surrounded by roughly 50 pretty good riders, all of who arrived at the doorstep of Devil’s Kitchen at the same time.

Good, but not Great

Having already lived and learned from one duel against the Kitchen, I knew how best to approach the climb.  While I’d like to think that I’m a good hill climber, I know that I’m not a great one.  There were going to be a few guys with better Watts/Kg than me, and if I attempted to stick on their wheels up what was likely to be a 17 minute climb, up pitches in excess of 22%, I would explode spectacularly.  I also knew that there would be a bunch of other riders who did NOT know that lesson, so I had to avoid the temptation to stay right at the front, with the truly elite climbers and the truly misinformed riders.

The plan seemed to be working well through the first two kilometers.  I could see the guys I knew were the crem-de-la-crem slowly pulling away from me.  I also was witness to numerous riders imploding, with even a few unfortunate competitors having to pull over to start walking.  But as I began to approach one of the stiffest of the pitches, I felt the urge to get out of the saddle and put my whole body into the effort.  I quickly sat back down in a panic, as my left leg seized up in a cramp without warning.  My first thought was “Oh sh*t! – I’m going to be one of those guys walking!” 

On more sane roads, I’ve learned that I could work my way through such a cramp by dropping into a lower gear and just spinning a lot faster.  But on this climb, you never seem to have a gear low enough to do anything resembling spinning.  It’s a slow plodding grind, often requiring you to come out of the saddle.  I placed my chances of spinning out the cramp pretty low, but somehow I eked out a few extra RPMs by employing a little paperboy technique, weaving from one side of the road to the other in order to slightly decrease the darn pitch.

Miraculously it worked.  I lost sight of the leaders, and in a later review of my Devil’s Kitchen numbers (below), I certainly lost quite a few Watts as well, but I successfully worked the cramp out.

Devil's Kitchen:

•     Duration:          17:21
•     Work:               266 kJ
•     TSS:                 28.6 (intensity factor 0.994)
•     Norm Power:    268
•     VI:                     1.05
•     Pw:HR:             17.7%
•     Pa:HR:             14.11%
•     Distance:         1.986 mi

                                     Min      Max     Avg

•     Power:              98        436      256      watts
•     Heart Rate:      182      202      197      bpm
•     Cadence:         45        123      68        rpm
•     Speed:              4.3       13.9     6.8       mph
•     Pace                 4:19     13:60   8:46     min/mi
•     Hub Torque:     51        514      267      lb-in

Despite the battle scars inflicted by the Kitchen, and hampered by the fact that I knew the cramp would reappear as soon as I came out of the saddle, I didn’t feel defeated as I began the final six mile march to the finish.  The cramping was localized to just one leg, and could be held at bay if I stayed in the saddle.  And for the most I felt like I could ratchet things up for a respectable finish.  So once I caught up with two other riders, I shouted “Wanna work?”  I think the response I got was “I’m sure glad I found you guys!”, and then the working commenced in earnest.

There was no way our tiny crew was going to regain contact with the leaders, but our efforts helped to reel in a few riders along the way (I think in the process one or both of my original conspirators fell by the wayside, but were replaced by riders that we had caught).  And surely our much quickened pace helped to hold off the shattered field behind us, with one exception.  Teammate Jon appeared from out of nowhere with just under 2km to go, giving our crew an added shot of juice, helping to make it a spirited pace right to the finish.

 
The two riders with Jon and I were actually able to get out of the saddle sprint to the finish, and not surprisingly that was all that was needed to get a little separation from me.  They finished in 9^th and 10^th, a second ahead of me in 11^th, with Jon just behind in 13^th.  Unfortunately though the race leader opened up a two minute gap on my group, so overall I’d say today’s finish was good, but not quite great. 

BTW, what was great was the generosity of fellow Cat 4B rider Adel S.  While I waited at least a half hour in the cool rain for the results to be posted, I remarked that I wished that I had my wallet with me so that I could get a coffee across the street.  Without hesitation, Adel pulled out a plastic baggie and handed me a 5 dollar bill. I have to say that despite the dreary conditions, I was in quite high spirits with the freshly roasted hot coffee as I watched the results get posted.  Thanks Adel!

Race Results:

•     Duration:          3:10:40
•     Work:               1924 kJ
•     TSS:                 224.8 (intensity factor 0.842)
•     Norm Power:    227
•     VI:                     1.35
•     Pw:HR:             -5.13%
•     Pa:HR:             14.56%
•     Distance:         66.618 mi

                                     Min      Max     Avg

•     Power:              0          808      168      watts
•     Heart Rate:      111      205      170      bpm
•     Cadence:         30        231      85        rpm
•     Speed:              4.3       49.8     20.9     mph
•     Pace                 1:12     13:60   2:52     min/mi
•     Hub Torque:     0          514      79        lb-in

Race: Tour of the Catskills Stage 1 (Cat 4B)

Just As Expected

I had a rough night of sleep last night, and stage 2 of the Tour of the Catskills starts in just a few hours as I fire off this post, so I’ll keep my update from yesterday’s stage 1 Time Trial short and sweet.  Unlike the last two years of the ToC where the race opened with a short 2+ mile Time Trial climbing up an aptly named Hill Street, this year’s day one featured a fairly vanilla (aka boring) 12 mile TT.  The only notable features for me at least were the nearly mid-course turn-around (while they had it well marked and manned with two marshals, I lost a few seconds of focus and power there wondering if it really was the turn-around, or just a warning that the turn-around was coming up), three 90 degree turns near the end of the course, and a modest 200 meter kicker climb to the finish line. 

I’ll summarize the rest of what I experienced while out on the course with the following two pictures.

Me looking at pavement, keeping my head down to remain aero:

 
Me looking down at the PowerTap, keeping my Watts +/- around my target of 285

 
I went out slightly too hard up until the turn-around point, and as a result lost a few more Watts than planned heading back to the finish line.  I’m up here for the first time with teammates and without the Desmarais cheering squad, so there was no reason to rush back home to the family.  After passing through the finish line I found a spot behind the race officials underneath the shade of some fir trees, expecting to relax and wait for teammates Jon and Mike to finish up.  Instead of decompressing on my own though, my shady location was deemed ideal by a 9 year-old boy. 

We chatted it up for a bit, and within a few minutes I learned that he was Dieter Drake’s kid (the guy who puts on the ToC, as well as other big races like Battenkill).  I learned that Deiter used to be a salesman (of air conditioners I think), that he founded and is a big supporter of a juniors racing team (of which his son is now a member, and he was very keen to point out that while being the youngest on the team, he’s not the slowest!); I learned where they were staying; what the younger Drake had to do during the race; etc, etc.  Either the kid is very social and at ease with strangers, or somehow he identified with me and found someone “safe” to unload a torrent of thoughts that had built up over the course of the day. 

In any case, after chatting for almost 30 minutes, I thought we might now be considered friends.  And the thought crossed my mind…what sort of special favors would Dieter do for his son’s new best friend?  Would he be willing to knock off a minute from his finishing TT time?

As expected, I was nowhere amongst the leaders when the results were posted – 22^nd place out of roughly 80 starters, and 1:34 off of first place.  But with a course like what we faced yesterday, my only chance in getting hoisted upon the podium would have been if little Drake had pulled some strings for me.  My goal yesterday was to minimize my losses, and not be in too much of a hole as we now face two days of monster hills during stage 2 and stage 3’s road races, much better suited to me than yesterday’s TT.  In that regards, I think I met expectations in stage 1.  The bar is set much higher for today though, so wish me luck!. 

Results:

•     Duration:           28:55
•     Work:                478 kJ
•     TSS:                  50.8 (intensity factor 1.027)
•     Norm Power:    277
•     VI:                     1.01
•     Pw:HR:             12.82%
•     Pa:HR:              15.39%
•     Distance:          12.084 mi

                                      Min      Max     Avg

•     Power:              0          505      276      watts
•     Heart Rate:       128      206      197      bpm
•     Cadence:          52        147      88        rpm
•     Speed:              9.1       32        25.0     mph
•     Pace                 1:52     6:34     2:24     min/mi
•     Hub Torque:     0          274      75        lb-in
•     Crank Torque:  0          587      266      lb-in

Race: Tue @ The Rent B 080211

Racing to the Finish

My early indicator that we’re now on the backside of summer came this morning as I had to don my helmet headlight for my early AM ride for the first time in a few months.  It also served as a reminder that my 2011 racing season is now drawing to a close and the headlight will become a more permanent helmet fixture after my final race (GMSR) in just about a month.  Fortunately so far I’m showing now signs of fatigue or overtraining, and unlike other seasons my legs aren’t counting down the days until they get a much-needed reprieve in September. 

I’m also not looking forward to post-racing break and off-season because of my pursuit of my Cat 3 upgrade.  In no way am I consumed with this goal; the season could end now, leaving me as a Cat 4, and there’s no doubt in my mind that I’d declare this season a success – it will go down as step forward relative to last year, but more importantly, I’ve tallied a ton of great memories and experiences along the way that I’m sure I’ll look back upon and smile at the 2011 racing season.  However, with all of the time I’ve invested, the blood, sweat, and tears (I had bugs in my eyes and that caused my eyes to water; I wasn’t really crying) accumulated, and (most importantly) the near-perfect stretch of work/life/training balance during perhaps the healthiest stretch of my life… well, I’m not sure how easy it will be to upgrade in future seasons if I fail to capitalize on this amazing situation.

So with that in mind, I posed the question to the Coach as to how my training will look like for the next month or so as I wrap up the season.  He has me tapering for the past two weeks in preparation for this weekend’s Tour of the Catskills, and odds are that there will be another week at least of tapering prior to GMSR.   My fear was that with all of this tapering that I’d start losing all of the fitness I’ve built up over the last 8 months.  But in the Coach’s opinion, I’ve basically built up a huge savings account at the bank, which I can now draw upon to fund the final month of the season.  All I need to do now is to make sure I get a good endurance work-out in each week, some good intervals balanced by equally good rest, and lots of racing to sustain the fitness to the finish.

The Rent

In addition to racing all but one weekend now through the end of the season, I’ll be topping off my racing tank with a liberal dosing of Tuesdays @ the Rent, perhaps every week through the end of August.  That run of Tuesdays began just after 5 PM two days ago as I hopped on my bike on an ideal summer afternoon to commute to the Rent (where as usual, Mrs D and the little ones would join me by car later on).  While normally these rides to the Rent offered me an opportunity to relax and decompress from the stresses of work, I found myself this week deliberating different approaches and tactics.  I wanted to do well in the race to boost my confidence a tad (as my last race, the Tour of the Hilltowns, ended with me finishing way off the leaders as a result of a mid-race crash), yet I also didn’t want to tenderize my legs too much and hurt my chances for a great showing at the Catskills. 

My private internal debate ended with me settling on a plan to sit back in the pack for the first 15 minutes or so, and then get aggressive and mix things up for the final 20+ minutes.  I’ve noticed that once August comes around, the attendance at the Rent starts to decline (as race-fatigue seems to prematurely end folks’ desire to line up again and again), so I figured that with a smaller group and fewer big guns than normal in the B race, the race might be more tame.  As long as things nobody got really aggressive, I could limit my efforts to just 20 minutes or so, and surely that would not set me back too far to recover for Friday.

It amazes me sometimes how a person whose entire work career is built around planning so often fails utterly miserably in planning a race.  Within just a lap or two after the initial 5 lap mandated safety warm-up (where the race organizers keep us boxed in to make sure the lesser experienced riders get comfortable in the pack before setting us free), the energy and excitement of the race’s first Prem overwhelmed my better judgment.  Soon enough I was plowing my nose into the wind at the front of the pack. 

I quickly found myself in a break of just three riders – Steve from Central Wheel, and fellow Expo teammate Mark B.  We gelled pretty fast, with each of us smoothly and consistently rotating through a mini pace-line.  The power of just three was sufficient to open up a 1/3^rd to ½ lap gap in no time flat, so by then there was no turning back.  My old plan for the race was blown away (perhaps caught in the big gusts we faced heading towards the start/finish straight-away), and now I was committed to a full 35+ minute effort.

My recollection of events goes downhill from that point.  Partly this had to do with the fact that the blood flow increasingly got rerouted from the brain to the legs.  I didn’t think I was up for a solo break to the finish, so as I noticed that my breakmates were tiring, I took it upon myself to work harder to keep them with me.  My stints at the front grew increasingly longer, and I made sure that I never pulled off until after turn 1, thereby limiting the time that Steve and Mark had to lead through the punishing headwind. 

The biggest reason though for the fuzzy memories is that our break helped to completely decimate the field.  There were a few pockets of riders holding together, but there was no legitimate pack that I could anchor my focus on as I attempted to calculate how far ahead we were.  If you had a birds-eye view of the Rent on Tuesday, you would have seen riders dotting the entire course, with neither a beginning nor an end to the traffic flow.  Our triumvirate had passed a number of riders once, lapped a few more twice, and there were even a few faces we saw for a third time. 

With legs that were tiring, I questioned whether or not the sustained effort was still required.  I turned to Mark B to see if he had any better feel for where the closest followers were, and he confidently responded that we’d already lapped everyone, and that all riders to our rear were no longer in contention. 

In hindsight, I have to question how accurately I assessed Mark’s response.  While at the time I attributed his confidence to a commanding ability to track and monitor the entire field’s location; I now think it was at least partly driven by exhaustion.  He sure hoped that there was nobody behind us and I now think he pretty keen to take the pedal off the metal and ease, as did Steve. 

Sure enough, as we approached the final 5 lap countdown, two faces we hadn’t seen before as we gobbled up lapped riders appeared on our wheels, along with Expo teammate Keith H.  And shortly after latching on to our three man team, one of the riders, yanked on his down tube shifters (on a bike almost definitely as old as the young guy looked) and rocketed ahead of us.  I was pleased to learn that brief time our break had eased in pace had allowed me to recharge enough to respond to the attack.  But the dozens of laps off the front had sapped enough energy such that I couldn’t counter with an attack of my own. 

Instead, I opted to try my best over the final five laps to catch a few seconds of rest while wheel sucking, and then positioning myself for the finishing sprint.  On both accounts I was successful, and as we entered the final turn, I went wide to the right and emerged from the younger guy’s wheel in front of me.  I didn’t exactly begin to sprint, but instead simply dug deep in a lower gearing to power my way through the headwind and into the finish.  That approach was more than enough to push me ahead of the younger guy, and I assumed that with him properly dispatched, I was just 100 M away from my first ever victory. 

But once again, I misjudged teammate Mark B.  I had mistakenly assumed he was running on fumes, but apparently he had wisely saved one final match to burn and much more wisely chose a better gear to sprint into the finish, blowing right by me in the process.

3/4s of a lap into our warm-down as I caught up to Mark, he sheepishly extended an apology to me.  I guess he felt as though I had done most of the work and he had stolen a win that should have been mine.  While I raised my fist and shook it at him while grunting in his general direction, it was only done in jest.  First off, I know that the winner isn’t necessarily the person who works the hardest; it often goes to the smartest person, and on Tuesday that wasn’t me.  But the biggest reason there was no way for me to even feel the slightest bit of anger is that it was just a training race.  Just a fun way to enjoy a summer evening in an attempt to maintain fitness for the end of 2011’s racing season.

Race:

• Duration:                  41:34
• Work:                       601 kJ
• TSS:                         65.2 (intensity factor 0.976)
• Norm Power:            263
• VI:                           1.09
• Distance:                  16.577 mi

                        Min           Max          Avg

• Power:      0             784          241 watts
• Cadence:  31            206          83 rpm
• Speed:      2.2          32.6         23.9 mph
• Pace          1:51        26:49       2:31 min/mi
• Hub Torque: 0          204           67 lb-in
• Crank Torque: 0       1049         241 lb-in