I Can't Stand Up for Falling Down

VACX #4 3Sports Red Cross- Back to Chimborazo Park was by far the most terrifying, death-defying race I’ve raced since my debut at Frank n' Horst cyclo-cross in Keene, NH in 2002, at which the leader of the Women’s B race dropped down into a ravine and then over a cliff, resulting in a broken neck and the subsequent closure of the course. Back to Chimborazo Park though not as injurious, was just as mentally challenging and physically taxing. Complete with a fast downhill, two ninety-degree turns, a stretch of cobblestones, a stone staircase and in my opinion, a most dreaded curb.

You see, thus far in my cyclo-cross and mountain bike career, I have been able to overcome lots of obstacles. I can manage to jump a few logs or bounce my bike down loose shale and even ruthlessly tackle fierce climbs in the mud. However, the one obstacle I dread the most, is the aforementioned curb. I have yet to successfully jump a curb. I usually approach them with the best intentions of bunny-hopping over it, but within inches of the approach I freeze, break hard and resort to dismounting instead. I’m a big wimp.

I came to the race fashioning my hair in braids, as I thought it would add an element of innocence that had been missing from my cyclo-cross season. It seems that I was more preoccupied with my hair than with my bike, as I forgot my helmet. Fortunately, Nate and I have small heads (no comments, from the peanut gallery, thank you) and we were able to share his helmet—an idea that sounded good at the time, until he handed over a sweat-soaked helmet ten minutes before my race. I realized it was the least of my worries, as the course tour proved treacherous. I raced through, worried that I’d be late to the start. I got to the line winded, just in time for the whistle. I was off the back immediately, but stayed close to the woman in front. I must confess, though that I didn’t have grand aspirations of advancing on the field. I was mostly focused on that damn curb.

After the barriers, a stretch of park road led us around a corner that led into a rapid descent. This was the best part, as it was fun and fast and offered two little divots, which rattled my brain around enough that I could feel no pain. After the descent, a sharp turn onto roots and a steep little hill, after which lay a pit of sand and the ruins of stairs directly left. I never did figure out how to ride this section, so after the successful climb, I dismounted and limped up until more secure terrain presented itself. A flat stretch that allowed for some speed soon disintegrated into a 120-degree cobble stoned turn. After being led down hill and around and up again, I was faced with a staircase of stone steps (see http://cougar.collegiate-va.org/phunnicutt/crossrace.html for pictures of the course). Being as short as I am, I could still manage to take two steps at time with my bike hoisted over my shoulder, but I couldn’t go up too quickly. I looked down the entire time, careful not to misstep or slip. At the top, I was greeted each time by an eager spectator, readily equipped with one-liners meant to inspire the slow. On the second lap, I joked that my short leg-span didn’t allow me the speed he beckoned. He replied only “suck it up.” And with no other options provided, I did.

Surely, you must think that the worst was behind me. And if only for a slow and tiresome ascent up and around the top of a hill, you’d be right. Except that the only thing remaining between the top of the hill and the dreamy grassy area was a miserable curb. They had provided a ramp of gravel and brick to aide us, but I still felt unsure. It didn’t help either that my attempts would be well documented by onlookers and race officials. It wasn’t pretty, but I did it. I chose my line, sped up, closed my eyes and hoped for the best. Each time I made it up, staying upright and rubber side down and then I zipped along ready to start the next lap. Six laps later, I finished in fifth place.

Thanks to Scott Scudamore for his embedded photography and tasty post-race bratwurst.

When Life Gets in the Way of Your Racing Schedule

Don’t you hate it when life gets in the way of your racing schedule? This past weekend I had a number of commitments that, much to my chagrin, took precedent over racing. Two highly profiled and anticipated races in the MABRA series were being held, one locally, no less (almost unheard of in the mid-Atlantic cross world). While an out-of-town wedding kept me from Saturday’s race, I was determined not to let both races slip by. I caught an early flight out of Providence on Sunday morning and arrived in Baltimore a little after 9am, well ahead of my 130p start at Race Pace Cross in Sykesville, MD.

With Nate back from his tour of duty in New Orleans, he's back at the reigns of the Ram driving me from race to race. This provides me plenty of time to anxiously await the start of my races. I hadn’t felt this nervous in awhile and I realized that without having to worry about the logistics of driving or packing up my gear, I was now free to harbor all kinds of neurosis! After stopping for some quick carbs and electrolytes, a futile effort to chase away the lingering hangover from a night spent at the open bar; we arrived at the race course.

Fortunately, all the fast girls were away in New England at the UCI races, leaving me with a field that didn’t seem insurmountable. I was a little discouraged that Melanie Swartz was out with a broken thumb, as I usually try to stay on her wheel for as long as I can (which isn't long at all). There were seven of us signed up but only five on the start line. Susan Haywood, the NORBA champion who had been dominating the past few cross races, didn’t show up. I can’t say I was disappointed.

Before my race, I had practiced my off-camber climbs and descents on the field behind the baseball backstop, as I had noticed some uneven sections on the backstretch where racers seemed to disappear for extended periods of time. I also interviewed a number of people who had raced the course earlier in the day, looking for helpful hints and useful strategies. The course was grassy with some sharp corners and an uphill towards the finish. Nate and I rode a few laps of the course before my race and it was fast and fun! I especially loved the moments of paved road, which allowed me to put it in gear, get in my drops and go hard and make up any time lost on the corners or barriers.

At the start, the official had joked to the five of us that I, in the PVC jersey, planned to “win the whole thing.” I joked back, smirking at the irony of such a statement, as I was probably the least likely of us to actually win! However, with a start like the one I had, I thought, for a second, that perhaps I could be a contender. I started off smart and zippy! I kept on Sami Fournier’s wheel for most of the course. She got away at the barriers, but I still held one of the Hunt Valley girls off until the climb at the end. I kept on her wheel for a bit and then she was gone. I was never more than a minute behind her and I felt strong as I wound my way around the course.

I had devised a way to tackle the hill, which each time seemed steeper with every lap. I’d ride three quarters up and dismount on my derailleur-side so that I could push my way up and use the right-hand turn around the tree to my advantage. This enabled me to clip in with my right side first and push off to remount; thus only sacrificing a few seconds. It worked like a charm and I was off without much of a fuss, but I’m sure it looked funny to those watching nearby.

In the end, I finished last and a lap behind, as Betsy Shauer passed me on the bell lap. But a fifth place finish is fifth place nonetheless, and I have consistently secured a top five ranking in the MABRA series for now. With only one more MABRA race before championships, I am excited and encouraged to keep trucking along.

See you next weekend at the Pennsylvania State Championships (Marysville, PA on 11/19) and in Richmond, VA (VACX #4) on 11/20.

National Champions and a 13 Year-Old Girl

Marisa Peacock
11.06.05

In retrospect, I think I was a little over confident. What could the Virginia Cyclocross Series throw at me that I hadn’t survived already in the MABRA series? I’ve raced against the who’s who of cyclocross women. Women who I’d followed for sometime and looked up to and sought guidance from: the Melanie Swartzs, Heidi Von Teitenbergs, Sami Fourniers and Beth Masons. In my small corner of the Mid Atlantic cross world, could it get any tougher? It’s probably a question I should have never asked.

Nate and I arrived at Panorama Farms in Charlottesville, VA on a beautiful and sunny Sunday, well ahead of schedule. With two hours to prepare for my 1:30pm race, I confidently warmed up, hydrated, ate and rode the course. Unlike Panorama courses of years before, this year’s course cut out the quarry section, the hilly backwoods and the barriers on the flat section by the backhoe. Instead, the course was more like a corn maze, but without the corn. Lacking the usual red and yellow tape that decorates many a cyclocross course, a long curly path was simply mowed down and around hay bales.

During my warm-up, I tried to remain elusive. Hidden in the shade on my trainer, I listened in on neighboring conversations. The juniors next to me were gearing up for their first-ever A races, including Hollis Owens, a 13 year-old wunderkind. As I fixated on her youth, I overheard the emcee announce the presence of the female NORBA short-track champion, Susan Haywood. She was racing in the Men’s B category and holding off the boys behind her quite well; very well for her very first cyclocross race. I rolled my eyes. I had no sympathy for her third place finish. Then they announced that she’d also be racing in the Women’s A race. Great.

The previous day at the Head of the Occoquan, the last regatta of the fall season, my lightweight scullers had bemoaned the presence of a US Rowing National team member in their race. Having just returned from Worlds, she figured a head race in Northern Virginia would serve as a nice cool down. She won the race, but not the hearts of her competitors. I was beginning to feel their pain. Though Nate thought it was cool that I’d get to race with a National champion, I thought otherwise.

On the start line, the whistle blew and I failed to clip into my right pedal right away. As I struggled I bumped the wheel of the National champion and nearly took her down. Being a short-track champion, I hoped she was used to that sort of thing. Before I had time to feel badly, I noticed that I was trailing behind considerably. As I came around the hale bales, I caught a rider and flew ahead. I was actually going at a pretty good speed, but was still behind the group. This was not going according to plan. I don’t usually have to fight this early in the race, but I was fighting hard. The rolling hills allowed me to make up time on the descents, but made it painful on the climbs. I couldn’t figure the best way to get up them without putting up some sort of struggle. They weren’t steep enough to run up, but were long enough that shifting was required. If I shifted down too early, I lost all leverage and if I shifted down in the middle of the climb, I lost momentum. Each lap I tried something different, and every lap I struggled more and more. (If anyone has suggestions, I'm open!)

Like my previous race at Michaux State Forest, the barriers were again strategically placed on uphill, but unlike Iron Cross Lite, they were right before the finish, rather than at the beginning of each lap. I debated in my head which was crueler. I kept at it and the lactic acid in my legs burned. A cramp in my calf, a product of wearing heels for twelve hours on Friday, made itself known each time I stood up on the climbs. Sometime during my second lap I was passed by the rider I had managed to squeak by at the start. I didn’t offer much of a fight. After four laps,I finished the race in last place and far from the happy place I’d been in at the end of previous races.

I had underestimated the Virginia Cyclocross Series. Despite its step-sister image to the MABRA series and the unexplained absence of Pamela Zimmerman and Susan Revere, who dominated the Women’s’ A and B races last year, there was quite a lot of talent represented on the line. In the end, I had lost to two National Champions, as it turns out Hollis Owens won junior Nationals last year.

See you next week at Race Pace Cross (MABRA #6) in Sykesville, MD.