Blood & Mud: Cyclocross Stories

A Race to the Outlets

2008-10-08T16:03:00.003-04:00

Often cyclocross races bring great bargaining power. I persuaded Paul to join me at my race on Saturday, October 4 in Hagerstown, so long as we went to the Hagerstown Outlets afterwards. It was much a motivator for me as it was for him.

Another afternoon race afforded us time to sleep in and enjoy some coffee and donuts before leaving the house.

As we drove, I tried to recall the course from last year and my memory proved fuzzy with the details, until I remembered that it had been this race last year that I had shown up with a raging hangover, spent watching the Red Sox play in the american league playoffs. Like last year, the Sox had won the night before but happily the hangover didn't accompany it.

I benefited from my solid finish last week by enjoying a call up at the start of the 3/4 race. The race had minor changes, but overall it was fun and fast. A shorter course with not many obstacles. However it was full of sharp right-hand turns that proved to be mentally and physically taxing.

Paul cheered me on from his spot near the VB tent and finish line. It was nice to see his smiling face. Even though he remains mystified by the strange sport, he is very supportive and enthusiastic.

On the second lap as I approached the barriers, my back tire caught the barrier and sent me flying forward. I caught myself before hitting the second barrier, but I must have crashed my leg into my pedal, as after the race, a large growth emerged from my right leg. It seemed to be growing rapidly, throbbing and clotting.

Determined to make it to the outlets where my fabulous new fall coat awaited me, I threw on my cycling skirt to keep the area free from constraining clothing. Paul and I made it to the outlets and sought relief via Orange Julius. Properly rejuvenated with sugar and fruit, we managed our way through stores in search of our new fall wardrobe. My plight resulted in a new pair of corduroys, a skirt and the aforementioned fall coat.

Ultimately the day proved successful, I finished 18 out of 23.

All Four Seasons in One Day

2008-10-08T15:47:00.002-04:00

Leave to cross season to bring on all kinds of weather. Windy, hot, humid, sunny and rainy all in a four hour time span.

Teammate, Nicole and I carpooled to Buckeystown, MD for the first MABRA race of the season. Ed Sanders Cross is always a very popular event and this year proved to be no different. After registering, we had lots of time to rest, warm up and seek refuge at the Velo Bella-Kona tent set up by our favorite cross family, the Styers. Hilary, Morgan and the Bella kids all welcomed us and helped tune up our bikes before we got really muddy.

Also joining the VB ranks were Dee Dee Winfield and Melanie Swartz, our rad elites. Starting mere minutes behind them at the start, I was anxious to navigate my way around the long and tricky course. It was hot and humid, but we were graced with a brief rain shower on the starting line, which cooled us down a bit.

The course proved to be fast at first and I positioned myself in the middle so that I didn't get hung up and flung into the mud pit that we had to muddle through precariously. I tried to ride to the side on the first lap and managed to avoid running in the mud for the first half. However I am proud to report that for the next four or five laps (who can keep track), I rode through successfully every time, even to the amazement of the elite racers to ran through next to me (despite the fact that they were lapping me).

On the back stretch of the course, it was full of all sorts of activity. Run ups, downhills, long winding hills, surrounded by announcers, spectators and the sweet smell of beer. On my second or third lap, there seemed to be a lot of commotion as I came upon the long uphill that I dismounted and hiked up. They seemed to be cheering for me, to my surprise. However, as Dee Dee came up behind me, I realized to my relief that no one was clamoring for me, just her.

As the course snaked its way infront of the Bella tent, I was encouraged by Morgan and Hilary, as well as some former teammates from PVC. It helped and I began to catch racers in front of me. The course played well to my strong legs, as it provided me with long stretches to make up time lost in technical sections. I felt good and was encouraged by my ability to surge when needed.

The race proved to be successful for all the Bellas racing. Dee Dee won and Melanie placed 3rd in the elite race, while Nicole placed 6th and I finished 13th out of 20.

Back in the Saddle Again!

2008-09-22T15:34:00.001-04:00

So begins another cyclocross season.

On September 21 I arrived in Baltimore. Barely. As is par for the course, I got lost.

Yet, I arrived with enough time to pick up my registration, prepare my bike and pre-ride the course, as well as acclimate my boyfriend, Paul to the ins and outs of cyclocross – a strange, new subculture to which he had not been previously exposed.

The course was just as I remembered it. Fast and windy with LOTS of barriers. I anxiously lined up with the other Cat 3/4 women. There were a lot of them. 40 to be exact.

I took it all in stride. This was my first cycling in race in months, and though I'd been running to train for a marathon in October, I didn't want to risk blowing up too fast. I battled with some women and my legs felt strong but tired. I just needed to keep at it, which i did. It wasn't a perfect race but a good way to start the season. A fresh start with a new perspective on things. I am 29 and looking forward to an enjoyable but challenging season.

Here's to cross.

Result: 34/40

Hurts So Good

2007-11-26T10:04:00.000-05:00

Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.

After a very relaxing and fun Thanksgiving break, filled with good food, good company, black Friday shenanigans and movies, I found myself at MABRA Championships in Taneytown, MD on Sunday morning.

With a few, but productive hours of sleep I headed out to Maryland, a bit weary of any Thanksgiving traffic that might be. There wasn't any, and so I arrived with plenty of time to register and huddle for warmth in my car, before preparing to layer up and pre-ride. I shouldn't complain about the cold, since our season thus far has been fairly warm, but I will anyway. It was COLD. I decided I would race in knickers layered underneath my skin suit, with arm warmers. For my warm up though, I slid tights on over and another layer on top.

Just as I was to ride off to pre-ride, I saw Nicole, headed over to registration. I told her I'd catch up with her on the course.

Last year, this course was nothing but mud, so we were fortunate to have a not-so-sloppy course this year. As fun as mud is, it can be treacherous. The course had been modified a bit, but was still full of sharp corners and some tricky off-cambor. The course was fun AND tricky. This, I quickly learned as I approached a patch of dried mud. I took it much too fast and didn't notice the rolling nature of the earth. My bike hit a rut at a weird angle and I went head over handlebars. I landed HARD on my right side: quad, hip and shoulder (the same shoulder I separated last year). My bike landed on top of me, right foot still clipped in. I took a brief inventory of my body and though I knew there would be a huge bruise branded on me, I was fine. But Surly was not.

Her handlebar had bent, thus making the front brake inoperable. I quickly ushered ourselves off the course and back to my car. Fortunately, I had enough time to inspect and repair her, with help from the guy parked beside me. Though I had the front brake working, my front wheel wasn't moving. I fixed it enough so that although the brakes we rubbing, I could still ride. I did another lap of the course just so I could make it all the way around. I returned to the car and poked and prodded more with my front break. With help from Nicole and the same guy, we got it so that the brake wasn't rubbing. My bike probably wasn't the safest to ride, but I didn't care.

Off to the start line where Nicole and I, along with the other woman, chatted, stripped down to our base layers, ready to line up. I knew that it could be a fast course, but that I have to ride it smart, or I'd risk crashing. Oddly, most of the women had also indicated that they had crashed during warm up but on a completely different part of the course--a part that I had no problems battling.

With a blow of the whistle and two minutes behind the CAT 4 men, we were off. It wasn't an incredibly fast start, so I held with the pack for much of the first half of the lap. We were all being cautious. Nicole passed me as we rode the wheel of the gal in front of us. She passed her as well, which left me to trail the gal in front for the rest of that lap and the next one. I then passed her, and tried to gain on the HVC rider in front. She was the same girl that I battled with at Race Pace. She was a bit more spry this week, so I let her go. I had the girl behind to worry about. She wasn't that far behind so I needed not to get lazy or tired.

I was still leading her on the third lap, when I slid on a steep off-cambor section. I got distracted for a nano-second and found myself lose traction and just slid. I was able to quickly get up and run with my bike a little before remounting. I put a little extra momentum for fear that she'd catch me. As I made my way through the slalom of trees, barriers and sand, I was enough ahead of her, that with 2 laps to go, I focused on me.

From my fall on the pre-ride, I felt my hip muscles tighten uncomfortable, so I worked on keeping them loose and relaxed so they wouldn't spasm. I also worked on keeping a steady and high candence. With two laps to go I felt very strong and felt like I was mastering the course better and better. I lapped another gal on the course, as well. My last lap was the best, as I was able to hold off the women's race leader from catching me, although I didn't know she was chasing me at the time. I crossed the finish line moments before she did. Though I finished 10th overall and didn't get lapped, I wasn't able to bust into the top ten in the overall rankings. I did move up from 13th though to finish 12th.

I am very happy with my MABRA season. I had more fun this season than I've had in a long time, which I am learning helps me become a better racer!

This morning, as I write this, I am heavily bruised and sore. All seems to be working, though so I should be fine by tomorrow. See you all next week at Captiol Cross in Reston!

Life at the Middle of the Pack

2007-11-11T22:29:00.000-05:00

Today was great! Which was good because there were so many reasons for it go poorly.

I was on duty at school this weekend, which means midnight curfews for the girls, which means midnight bedtime for me. When there's a 9 am race an hour or so north the next morning, going to bed late isn't always the best.

I woke up and was on the road by 630. I actually had to scrape frost off my windshields and hoped that racing weather wouldn't be too chilly, as I hadn't really packed accordingly. Sure I had arm warmers, but no knee or leg warmers; in addition, my skin suit was pulled from the dryer on my way out of my apartment the night before without having the chance to dry completely.

When I arrived at the race, I felt tired. and hungry. and cold. I registered and saw my teammate Nicole in the parking lot. She waited for me to change and I tried to maintain composure as I donned my cold, damp skinsuit. I layered up as best I could: sports bra, undershirt, arm warmers and another layer to warm up in. I was certainly the only one pre-riding without knee or leg warmers, but I felt fine.

The course had changed from last year, which if you remember was when I crashed and separatd my shoulder. Driving up to Freedom Park, I swear my shoulder was having sympathy pains. The course was short and full of technical sections, that with the melting frost, made for wet, slippery conditions. Everything was definitely rideable, but just tricky.

I felt good on the warm up lap with Nicole and we pointed out ideas on how best to maneuver through sections. There were a lot of speedy downhills that led to not-so-speedy uphills, so I tried to perfect my shifting before I approached the downhill so I'd be in the right gear to help me climb best.

At the start of the race, there was a gaggle of gals, some who I'd seen and knew how good they were and some I'd not seen before and had no clue. I stayed with Nicole who followed the pack as we left the line. The course was fast and two packs formed: the lead pack and the pack I was in, with Nicole and me battling back and forth and a few other riders behind us. My legs felt really good, no doubt they benefited from a 2 hour bike ride the day before. My body and mind felt really good as well. I was alert and feeling competitive, but not anxious.

Nicole and I led each other around on a lap or two, on our third lap she pulled ahead of me and I chased her. At 3 laps into it, there was still not a lap count, which made me a little nervous; sure, I felt good, but for how long? I decided not to worry about that and just stayed focused on the current lap.

On the fourth lap, a Hunt Valley Cycling gal and I began to battle. I am not sure if I caught her or she caught me at first, but we battled. I stayed on her wheel very closely for much of the fourth lap. On the fifth lap or so, I pulled ahead and led her around. On the final lap, I was leading but a few technicalities kept me from beating her. There was this great section of pavement right after a tricky off-cambor part. The pavement was long enough that I could put into a hard gear, get into my drops and put the hammer down to make up time. However, on the last lap, I couldn't clip in successfully and she passed me. I caught her, luckily and thought it was mine, except as we both bunny hopped over the final log, I got caught up in the snow fencing and had to untangle myself, while she pedaled to the finish.

Despite her success over me, this was by far the most fun I've had racing all season. I felt strong and focused and I fought. I was competitive without being anxious, which usually forces me to question myself. I don't know the official results yet, but I am hopeful that I broke into the top 10. I was able to lap a few of the riders, too, even though I ultimately was lapped by the leader. It's fun to chart my progress over the years and life feels good at the middle of the pack.

This was the last MABRA race before MABRA championships on Sunday, November 25 in Taneytown, MD. I'm currently 19th out of 40 women, so today's points will bump me up a little, I hope. :) (Update: Going into Championships, I am 13th on out of 45)

Tacchino Cross Turkey

2007-11-04T15:28:00.000-05:00

A nice morning drive on Rt 7 east at 6 am was very welcome. An extra hour of sleep was nice too!

I made my way to Leesburg for today's race. I missed yesterday's since it would have forced me out of bed at 5am to get to Fairhill, MD for a 9 am race. What is it with these early races. They just keep getting earlier and earlier. Which I guess is nice considering MABRA gave Women 3/4 our own race today. No C men to maneuver around.

The course was similar to last year's except there was a prologue. A very grassy course, I added more air to my front tire after my ride through of the course. I love grassy courses--I think they are an advantage for my strong, sexy legs, but this grassy course had parts that would suck the soul from your legs, leaving you gasping. And it wasn't just me.

On the line, I shut down the new girl in town. There's a very nice newbie who has done many of the races this season. This race was going to be her 3rd or 4th. Each time on the line she talks incessantly about how challenging the course is, how slow she is, blah blah blah. This would be fine, except that the minute the whistle blows she is a ruthless mother fucker and wins or comes in top 3. Yeah, you suck!

So today she spotted me and was about to tell me how awful the course was, and I just said "I'm not going to listen to you anymore." She thought I was joking, but whatever. Today she battled for 3rd. Ugh.

Anyway, my race was ragged. Despite two good rides through on the course, my legs didn't feel warmed up, but I was happy to hear the whistle. I kept with the lead group for a lap or so and managed to keep with two women in front of me for a ways. A girl behind me caught me and I chased her for awhile. There was a gal in yellow who was on me the entire time. At one point, I let her overtake me but she declined. She said I was too good on the technical parts that she worried she'd get in my way.

Whoa?! Say what? Me? a technical goddess?! Who? Where? My ego had been sufficiently boosted and I stayed in front of her the rest of the race. :)

The course was tiresome. And after 2 laps, we still had 4 more to go. GROAN! However, the more I rode, trying to keep yellow girl a safe distance behind me, my legs felt stronger and stronger. On the bell lap of the leaders, I dreaded the thought of having to do another lap, until 3/4 of a lap down, I felt the breath of the leaders behind me (okay, so I heard the announcer...). I glady let them pass me so that I could end this misery that I love so much.

I finished mid pack, I believe. Confirmed: I finished 11 out of 17. Same as last week. The top ten is so close I can taste it!

DCCX: Cross in the District

2007-11-04T15:08:00.000-05:00

Until last weekend, the only cross in the District was in National Cathedral. DCCX made its debut on Sunday, October 28 on the grounds of the Armed Forces Retirement Home. The venue that proved to be amazing.

Since it was also the Marine Corps Marathon that morning and I was driving in from Old Town, I was paranoid about closed streets, so I arrived early to ensure that I had plenty of time to get lost or turned around. But like a pro, I arrived without any issues.

Registration didn't open until about an hour after I arrived, so I prerode the course numerous times. Boy was it fun! Lots of great off cambor sections and great tracks. It was a long course--nearly 2 miles long! There were about 18 cat 3/4 women registered. I can't believe that is was only 3 or 4 years ago when a Women B race would only get 5 or 6 racers. It's very fun to see it grow.

Even better was that I had two bellas to race with. Nicole Shue and Kim Wendell, both new to the cross circuit, but dominant forces in mtb and triathlons. They definitely proved through mettle, for all of us took off like mad cats at the start. I was confidently in a pack for a bit and had a bella in front of me and behind me, until Kim pulled ahead of me. But we managed to stay together, while we bounced another racer between us and then finally behind us! I could hear Nicole cheering for us the entire way.

However the highlight of the race had to have been when from out of nowhere on the back stretch, I hear a voice from the streets call out my name. I had purposely not advertised my racing because I didn't want to force people to deal with Marathon traffic, so imagine my surprise when I look up and see my best friend Gretchen on Scooty, stopped at the intersection. She is the type of girl to stop for a bike race, but the odds of her spotting me like she did is crazy. She cheered me on and then followed me on her scooter, honking the entire time. It was so much fun, I only wishI hadn't been in the middle of the race so I could have stopped and talked!

Anyway, the Bellas finished strong 9, 10, 11 respectively our of 18 women. Interestingly, I hung around to see the results. So when they called the women's podium together, I meandered over to the registration tent to take a peek. I then heard Nicole's name announced for the podium. How cool! She must of pulled ahead or others may have had mechanicals! Then I heard my name called--for 2nd place! That's so not true, but I went anyway. Soon enough the realized their errors, but for awhile it was nice to stand high in 2nd place.

Iron Cross My Heart

2007-11-04T14:54:00.000-05:00

Despite the 2 hour drive each way, I enjoy my trek to Michaux State Forest each year. The foliage is usually at it's peak and the weather insires wool hats and mittens. This year it would be a little sweeter because my trusty companion is a Red Sox fan and first time cross spectator (and possible sweetheart...).

Brian and I, sleepy-eyed over having staying up late to watch the Sox crush the Indians in the first game of that series, but arrived with enough time to get me registered and ready. A few pre-ride warm ups of the course proved efficient and I enjoyed this year's modifications. The change at the start was the most noticeable; it was very nice not to have to tackle a mountain each time around. Instead they left the climbing for the barriers, again placed strategically uphill. As always, the death spiral didn't disappoint.

I felt strong, excited and anxious. I had a strong start but couldn't hold it for long. I fought for a bit, but just tried to maintain a good cadence and enjoy the day. Not hard to do with a 6' cutie cheering you on!

In the end I was 7 out of 9. Not bad. Too bad though this race is no longer apart of the MABRA series, as points would have been nice. But I guess it's just an honor to race!

For the Love of the Game

2007-10-07T14:04:00.001-04:00

It's hard to share cross season with Major League Baseball. While I will always admit my love for cross, when it comes to October and the Red Sox are in the playoffs, my attention and heart are split. On Friday night, I took myself down to O'Connells bar in Old Town to watch the Sox-Angels game. I set myself up at the end of the bar, Sam Adams in hand. The Yankees-Indians game had gone into extra innings, so I sat perched, anxiously awaiting the outcome of this tied game. Eventually the Yanks lost (yay!) and the Sox game came on. As I watched, and my Sam Adams turned into another and another, the Sox were tied 3-3 and it was only the 5th inning and it was 1130 p.m. I paid my tab, hopped off of my stool and took myself back home. I crawled into bed, dehydrated and exhausted. My alarm would go off at 6am, so I could get myself to Hagerstown for AVC Cross (the 3rd MABRA race).

Since last weekend I found myself in a similar situation, hung over from the previous night's wedding (not mine), I was very determined to make it to the next day's race than I had been the week before. However, even though I was showered, dressed and all packed, every time my eyes opened the world couldn't help by spin past me. After a 20 minute deliberation/cat nap face down on the couch, I finally picked my sorry self up and sat myself behind of the wheel of the car, cross bike perched on top. Together, with the wind whipping through the car, we sped off for Hagerstown.

This is the part, I admit that I can't stand about being a B racer again. Sure, racing Women's A meant a longer race and harder competition, but racing at 1p.m. is so much nicer! Trying to get to a 10 a.m race that is 2 hours away with enough time to register and warm up can be painful.

Regardless, I arrived in good time to the race fairgrounds and I immediately recalled the course from last year. In my hung over fog, I walked to register, head in hand and sun glasses firmly in place over my eyes, despite the fact it was foggy and over cast. It was still too bright. (The fog was definitely a reason I got to the race in the first place as I hoped that it would rain; I love rainy cross races--the muddier, colder the better...).

I couldn't eat anything all morning without fear of disrupting my nauseous tummy, so I just hydrated the best I could. My warm up laps went remarkably well; it was when I was off the bike that the world continued to spin. I returned to my car to scrape up two asprin from my first aid pack and then rode to the start line. They were impressively ahead of time this year, as opposed to last when they had been woefully behind.

The women 3/4 started 2 minutes behind the cat 4 men. There were only 10 or 11 of us, and most talked down their cross skills at the start. Over the years, I've learned to disregard anything anyone says at the start race. I don't believe anything that comes out of anyone's mouth, no matter how convincing they sound. Truth is no one is as ever as bad as they say they are. Chances are they are much much better. And this race was no different. I don't understand why women are so afraid to boast. Hell, if I was as good as they were that's all I'd ever talk about. I'd pin my race resume to my back for all to see.

I know I don't sound like a stellar racer today: partially drunk and hung over; barely hydrated and unfed, but there was a smile on my face when the whistle blew. I am obviously dedicated to this sport to be racing in such a condition. Who cares if these gals beat me off the line, I knew none of them would be out here in such a state. In fact for the brief time we were in a pack together, all anyone did was bitch. This course is too bumpy, too this, too that. Oh shut up. It's cross, it's supposed to be bumpy and hard.

The one girl I battled against, quit (or so I thought) after the first lap and so I was left by my lonesome, but I didn't mind. I loved this fast course; I even felt fast, and that aspirin was kicking in so I felt new again. They didn't race us for a full 40 minutes; we could have probably raced another 1 or 2 laps, but they finished up right after the lead men's riders lapped us.

I finished 9th overall, out of 11. I know next week I'll be back out. Hopefully it will be rainier and colder.

Best of all, the Sox won their game against the Angels.

Charming!

2007-09-24T09:15:00.000-04:00

Oh the bruises. Oh the soreness in the odd and uncomfortable places. Can it be? Oh yes it can—the beginning of cross season has begun.

It began in Baltimore's Druid Hill Park for Charm City Cross (which I can't help but say with a Boston accent). The first race of the MABRA series got off with success. A pack of wild women Bs (or Cat ¾ women to which they are now referred) gathered at the start and hauled ass through the course prologue into the hilly, grassy and blazingly sun-soaked trail.

I traveled to Maryland with my trusty companion, Kate and her beloved dog, Baxter. Having them along for the ride kept me relaxed and well-fed. I was able to ride almost 3 laps of the course as a warm up and I felt decent. I lined up with the friendly females (way friendlier than I remember them ever being).

The course was grassy, which I see as an advantage for my strong quads, yet was peppered by awkward obstacles which were hindered by my awkward remounts (despite the several practices in the week prior). I felt that I was dismounting better than usual, though.

After 2 laps, I was tired and hot, but considering it was only a 40 minute race, 2 laps down meant only 2 laps to go. My pace definitely slowed but I was most likely sure I wasn't last. My spirits remained high as I was encouraged by the random cheers of people who somehow knew my name. Some I recognized, some I didn't, but I was happy to hear from all of them—Kate, especially, since her cheers promised me cocktails upon finishing. If there had been a feed zone, I would have made her feed me an apple martini.

With about three quarters of a lap to go, I was passed by the race leader. With about a quarter of a lap to go, I was passed by second place.

Kate, Baxter and I needed to leave soon after my race, so I was unable to watch Melanie or Alicia race; nor was I able to see my results. It was only until late last night that they were posted online, but alas they only listed the top 20 placers. With over 30 women starting, I am hopeful that I stayed within the top 25. I am a bit disappointed with results, but it just motivates me more for next week at Ed Sanders.

See you then!

It Takes A Village and Other Cyclocross Race Reports

2006-12-04T22:29:00.000-05:00

I realize I have a lot to make up for in terms of race reports, so here are some highlights from my past few weeks of races.

3SPORTS Chimborazo Cross Race
October 29, 2006

This was the course that I found the toughest last year. This year, despite my lower than desired cadence around the course, I didn’t find it nearly as grueling as I expected. I had a better warm-up and pre-ride than I did last year, which probably helped. However, I still finished last, despite a very small Women’s A field. Even though I was able to tackle the course with more confidence, I still hadn’t “found my legs.”

Finish: 4th

Tacchino Ciclicross
November 4, 2006

A double-header weekend began with a “local” race in Leesburg hosted by Squadra Coppi, which still didn’t prevent me from getting lost. However I arrived in plenty of time to warm up and pre-ride. Quite a tricky course, if I do say so myself. Lots of long, grassy inclines that make the legs work hard—if not slowly. On my pre-ride, on a grassy, downhill section with no known obstacles in sight, there was an ambulance taking away a rider from the previous race’s crash. A broken collarbone, no doubt.

With ten riders on the start line, I fell into last place pretty quickly, but held on the wheel of a woman in front of me for a while. The first hill/run up was tricky and a pile up was eminent on the first lap, but never again, considering the distance that soon spread throughout the field. It was a virtual time trial, with no way to know for sure who was leading or following (though, I knew). Teammate Gretchen Sweeney and her boyfriend Mark came to cheer me on and their cheers carried me through the last few laps. There were some bumpy turns and off-camber sections that made me grow weary. But I finished.

Finish: 10th (6 points)

Race Pace Cross
November 5, 2006

The last race of the MABRA series almost became my last race of the season. Again, a good warm-up and pre-ride of the course was bestowed upon me. There was a brief rush of adrenalin when I realized I had pinned my number on the wrong side and had to ask the guy parked next to me to quickly pin it to the other side. I didn’t care if he pinned it to my undershirt or sports bra, as I was approaching the start line in a matter of minutes. This would later prove problematic.

On the pre-ride, there was a turn that eluded. Though I get upright, I nearly had my tire slip out from under me. A fun, grassy course that I enjoyed last year, I looked forward to another fun race. Upon starting, as the group rounded the first corner, Beth Mason and the junior boy ran into the tape and got tangled. I was able to pull ahead and briefly reveled in my opportunity to get ahead. Before I knew it, I was down on the ground. My ride side smacked hard into the pavement. I had a mouth full of grass and I held my jaw in my hand. I got up and back on the bike, the only logical thing to do. However, my front brake, unbeknownst to me at the time, had become severely bent and didn’t effectively work. I pedaled my way around the next corner and slid off my bike again. I pulled myself of the course in time before the master’s men came through. I still held my jaw because I was convinced I smacked into the ground. I expected to spit out some teeth. However all was fine, except as I began to notice, my right arm was feeling very sore. I took myself out of the race and walked to the official’s tent to tell them I dropped out. I told them I crashed and about my shoulder. I ask them to inspect my helmet, but they noticed nothing. As I sat down and took inventory of my bike and body, it became clear that my shoulder was injured. They offered to call an ambulance, but I insisted I’d be fine. It would probably just be sore for a day or two and work itself out. I could no longer lift my arm up and down or from the side. Chip came over to check on me and helped me put my bike back on my car. I told him and others I could manage my way home, but requested ice.

As I attempted to change out of my skin suit with only my left hand, I then encountered the fact that I was pinned to my shirt and had to one-handedly contort myself to unpin myself. Finally, I was changed and put myself back into my car, the bag of ice situated between my right thigh, which had grown a monstrous bruise from the impact, and my arm. I drove home with my left hand.

A friend picked me later that night, as we had dinner plans. The arm was still sore. I gobbled up some Motrin and went hunting for a sling in CVS but to no avail. After dinner, the arm was stiffening up something awful. Chip had called Nate to tell him about my crash. Nate called me and I told him about my arm. After hearing my symptoms, he thought that I had broken or fractured my collarbone. A left-handed search of WebMD corroborated his diagnosis. I called Nate back an hour later or so and whined to him that I think it was indeed broken. He offered to take me to the ER, where we waited and waited until I got x-rayed and diagnosed with a separated shoulder—a minor tear. A sling was granted to me, along with a prescription for Vicodin. Four hours later we were home and I was in pain. I was to keep my arm in the sling for two days (an instruction Nate insists that I ignored) and I could be back on the bike in two weeks. This was very encouraging as the MABRA Championships were exactly two weeks away!
Finish: DNF

Epilogue: At the end of the six-race MABRA series, in which I competed in all six races, I was back in 8th place. Though I finished last in all races, the competition was much harder than last year, so I am proud that out of 30 plus Women A racers, I got myself into the top ten. Just goes to show what a little dedication and consistency can do!

Pennsylania State Cyclocross Championships
November 25, 2006

Dozens of people showed to race at the PA State Champs. Granted it was two days after Thanksgiving, but it was a very weak showing and even more lacsidazical support from the officials.

This was my first race since crashing and I was a tad bit tentative about my ability. The course was not my favorite and included lots of switchbacks that made me even more paranoid. I found the course confusing and on my pre-ride, realized that I had ridden sections of the course in the wrong direction. They also didn’t use red tape on the right and yellow on the left. It was either all yellow or yellow and white. It made no sense and at times I was disoriented.

And the course was hard. A maze of switchbacks on a slick, grassy downhill, made me more of a sight-seer than a racer. I was just barely holding off, praying not to crash. I finished last—surprise, surprise! In the end, I’m glad I did it and finished, because it gave me confidence that my arm/shoulder was ready to take on the MABRA Championships the next day!

Finish: 6th

MABRA Championships
November 26, 2006

After a very relaxing evening in Gettysburg, which included a trip to the Harley Davidson Dealer, the outlets, TGIF’s and finally a good night’s rest at the Country Suites, the fifteen-minute drive to Taneytown was the start of a very good day of racing.

Though it wasn’t raining, the ground was wet, which made for very muddy conditions. My warm-up and pre-ride were the best I’ve had all season. I focused on keeping my tempo up and riding at a higher cadence. I was a little slow off the line and nearly got caught up in Jim’s crash through the mud-ravine, but made my way through without much difficulty. The off camber section made me a bit nervous, but I managed it well each time around.

There were three different women’s categories racing: Women’s A, Masters 35 +, and master’s 45+. There were 4 women A racers and though I know she wasn’t racing me, I stayed ahead of the 35+ rider the whole time. Having her behind me made me work harder and kept me focused on not finishing last, at least overall.
It was a great race and a great way to end a series, despite my injury a few weeks earlier. I looked forward to the next few races before Nationals!

Capital Cross Classic
December 3, 2006

It take a village to let Marisa race.

Getting lost on my way to help set up the night before provided me the impetus for printing out detailed directions from Madeira, where I was on duty the night before to Lake Fairfax. Stopped to get bagels and coffee for everyone, only to realize that someone already brought them. My only real task thwarted. Oh well—more the merrier.

Disgruntled, but slowly getting over it, I headed to my car to prepare for my 10am race. I set up my bike on the trainer and prepared to warm up when I realized I had forgotten my shoes. Packing two days in advance proved ineffective and I knew that my shoes were in the laundry room drying out from last week’s mudfest. Irked and with not enough time to drive home and back, I went on a quest for shoes. Laurie from the BikeLane lent me hers and was a godsend. However, she had SPD cleats and my bike had eggbeaters. No worries, by luck, I had SPD pedals in my car. They belonged on my mtn bike, but I had them because I had been too lazy to take them out. Yay for laziness! I lacked the proper-size hex key to get my pedals off. A pedal wrench borrowed from Nancy proved ineffective, but Peter Nichols lent me his handy-dandy tool carrying case with which I was able to change my pedals.

Yay! I warmed up, pre-rode the course—that downhill section made my nervous. I let a little air out of my back tire, as it seemed a bit too hard. I was ready to race. Nervous, of course, but confident nevertheless. I started off rather well, I thought, riding strong and staying, I think towards the back of the group, but not last. Over barriers and up the run up. I even rode the downhill section impressively well, remembering to unclip my left foot and stabilizing myself and and around. I was also having a lot of fun. I made it up the dreaded grassy hill—this was proving far less difficult that I had imagined. Through the start/finish and around again for the second lap, that’s when I heard it. I always think I have a flat tire when I race, and I am always reassured that it’s just my imagination, so I expected to see that it wasn’t. But much to my surprise, it was. Deflated and unridable and no tires in the pit, I dropped out. This day was proving itself a challenge, but I am chalking it up to the moon being in Mercury, according to my mom, who says that it will be in retrograde come Tuesday and all will be back to normal. Let’s hope so.

Finish: DNF

On to Nationals!

Death Spiral of Love

2006-10-16T21:24:00.000-04:00

Marisa Peacock
10.16.06

I forced myself into the car, tired and prone to whining. I wanted to crawl into bed and take comfort in the warmth of my apartment, rather than the sun-drenched wind that greeted me outside. But I talked myself into going. I reminded myself that this was a good race for me last year and that it was the last MABRA race for two weeks. If I wanted to get points, I needed to show up.

I left just in time to make it to Michaux State Forest with enough time to prep for a 130p race. Got a good parking spot and made my way to registration. I ran into some familiar faces. Saw Thom and Ron at the finish area. I asked them about the course—was it the same as last year’s? They said that it was, except of course for the Death Spiral.

Death Spiral???? Say what!?

The course was set up to lead us into a field of cleverly woven tape, we spiral in until we are forced to make a very sharp turn that allows us to spiral our way out again. Watching it done on the course was hypnotizing. I was a bit concerned as I lack a certain amount of depth perception useful to distinguish my way through the tape that outlines cross courses. On a good day, I get tied up—today was sure to be a challenge!

I didn’t pre-ride the course. Instead I took myself for a warm up on the road. About 15 minutes before the race, I gathered by the now-dried up lake for the start. Melanie, Deidre, Beth and others started to gather as well. We exchanged pleasant conversation and I no longer felt grossly out of place.

We were off and as was becoming usual, I didn’t stay with the pack long. This again would be my own race, but I was feeling good---spinning well and being strategic in my dismounts/remounts (which still need work). This time around, the sand pit failed to disrupt my flow. However, I think my tire pressure was too low. I overheard Judd talking before the race and he was recommending a lower pressure. For once I actually made an effort to check my pressure and let some out. I started at around 35 psi. I usually ride a much higher pressure. I can’t tell if it felt really soft because I rarely ride so low, or if the course was just not meant for that low pressure.

Interestingly and contrary to just about everyone else’s account, the more laps I did, the better I got at climbing the starting ascent. It was a winding incline on sand and dirt and gravel. Each time around, I found the right line and shifted more strategically. A junior competitor and I played cat and mouse. Oddly, he’d get in front of me through the tangled web of tape and I would beat him up the hill quite handily. Go figure.

I felt much better this weekend and was proud of my finish, though it still be last place. I am optimistic that I bumped myself into the top ten in the rankings this week. I must say consistency is my best weapon these days. Coming in last may not be ideal, but I need to keep perspective. It’s a much stronger field than last year and it’s not so bad losing to the pros, especially when they cheer you on, as Diedre did. She even said my name. How do you like that?—she knows my name. How cool. How very cool, indeed.

Overall finish: 11th place (5 points)

Haggard in Hagerstown

2006-10-16T21:14:00.000-04:00

Marisa Peacock
10.16.06

Last weekend it poured everywhere but in Hagerstown. I drove up in a steady down pour and I drove home in a steady down pour. Remarkably, the ground in Hagerstown stayed mostly dry.

I arrived and made my way to registration. I realized how well I’ve come to know this sport, as I ran into several familiar faces, teammates and competitors alike, all of whom welcomed me and filled me in on the course. It seemed that they had shortened the course from its original route due to an excessive amount of flats. They cut out a section and added in some on the backstretch—still there were complaints that it was too short.

It was in a different location than last year—a disappointment since I did rather well there last year. Last year, we were not spared the rain, but instead reveled in its glory. Have I mentioned that I love racing in the rain and mud? That’s why it was so misleading that the course would remain rain-free for the duration of the races. There was a huge hole in the women’s A field---most of the A racers were in Gloucester. Seven of us lined up. I thought that I would have a good shot of not coming in last, and I held onto that hope for about a minute and then it was very clear to me that today wasn’t the day. My legs had nothing in them. I tried to hold onto the wheel in front of me, but it was no use. I would just ride until I was forced to stop. It wasn’t that I didn’t have any legs, I lacked a great deal of focus. There was a sand pit after the last set of barriers that kept me guessing the entire race. Not once did I successfully complete my ride through the sand pit. The first two time, I got stuck and had to dismount and unstuck myself. The next few times, though I was able to keep on riding through, I struggled to get out—never quite picking the right line.

Most riders were able to ride up the final ascent, but I dismounted and ran up each time, saving me whatever time that could be saved. However, had it been raining, everyone would have dismounted and we would have struggled together in the slop and the cold. That’s all I was asking for—a collective struggle. It wasn’t a hard course—it was a bit short—and it did get a little boring. I have no excuse other than it wasn’t my race. Oh well, I got some points (9 to be exact) and I was 11th place in the series—not so bad for coming in last three weeks in a row!

Overall finish: 7th place (9 points)

Hi Ho Buckeystown!

2006-10-03T10:06:00.000-04:00

Marisa Peacock
10.02.06

This weekend at Buckeystown for Lilypons Cross proved to be an exciting, sunny day. Though I prefer real cross conditions rather the Indian Summer that greeted us today, even I must admit that it is rather nice to sport a sunburn in October. Nate and I arrived a few minutes before 10 to meet up with Gretchen, who’d be racing for PVC in the Women’s B category. She called us around 930, a bit frantic, because she had forgotten her helmet. I had an extra with me and I told her she wasn’t the first person to do this. Nate forgot his this summer at the Cranky series and I forgot mine last year at Chimbrazzo Park in Richmond. Both times, we were able to borrow others and all went well.

Gretchen raced well. She looked good on the course and I was so very excited to have another pair of XX chromosomes on the course representing PVC. YAY!

After Gretchen’s race, Nate and I rode the course. It looked just as fierce as I remembered it. The run-ups, the steep downhills, the gravel. I made an effort to ride the course without the pressure of a start time looming over my head, minutes away. Instead, I rode the course hours ahead of my race. I was able to pay closer attention to my position on the course and watch how others tackled sections. I think this was very helpful and will try to do the same in upcoming races.

I didn’t race until 130p, so I watched the start of Nate’s race at 1215p and then warmed up on the trainer. They kept announcing the women’s A race as the Pro race, which made me nervous. I calmed down reminding myself that I raced Women’s A last season and did rather well. I would do well today. It’ll be fun to get out there and see what I’ve got. My legs felt good. A week of good workouts would prove strong on the course.

At the start line, we paused for the National Anthem. The officials announced “play ball” and we were off. A good solid start and I was off the back. There was one woman behind me and she wouldn’t catch me until the barriers. I hung on to her wheel. There were three of us that were together. I held on for as long as I could until the second lap, when I struggled with my gears. I was never too far behind, but it was clear this was my own race. I loved the course. I handled it very well. It wasn’t too muddy or too hard—just right. The gravel proved to be manageable and most remarkable—the run ups and down hills were great. I ran up each of the run up sections, which saved me time and were relatively easy—my legs felt useful and strong. It wasn’t until the very end of my second to last lap that I was caught. Deirdre lapped me. However, she led by a huge gap, so no other woman lapped me. Pretty neat, even if I still wound up in last place. Afterwards, I congratulated Deidre and she complimented me on my bike. Peter Nicholl also interviewed me afterwards, so I felt like I belonged, if only for a moment in the Women’s A field.

Overall finish: 11th (5 points)

Cyclocross Season 2006

2006-10-03T09:45:00.000-04:00

Marisa Peacock
10.02.06

Ah! Cyclo-cross season! A time when I trade my road cycling-induced farmer’s tan for a bruised and battered carcass in the pursuit for mud, blood and if all goes well, some old fashioned glory.

My season officially began last weekend in Baltimore at Charm City Cross. The only MABRA venue I have not previously raced. I arrived hungry, as my pleas to stop at a Dunkin Donuts on the way up to Baltimore were ignored by Nate, who just thought I enjoyed calling out the names of local attractions from the passenger seat. (“Look! A Wendy’s! A BP gas station!”) Upon arriving, Nate and I, In a matter of minutes had argued about my lack of food, his failure to use my wheel rack for his front wheel, and whether or not I really should be racing in the A category, among others. We lost track at how many arguments we had going and agreed to call a truce.

On the way to registration, we ran into a pack of PVC racers and Jim was gracious enough to offer me two Cliff bars. He must have recognized defeat in Nate’s eyes and a ravenous hunger in mine. Thanks, Jim---you saved our relationship!

While Nate raced, I warmed up. I got an abbreviated pre-ride in, but enough to alert me to the various off-camber sections that awaited me. The field was large and included Georgia Gould. While on the line, she held up the start briefly to fix her bike. When it was clear that it could not be fixed in a few minutes, she yelled to her pit man to get her Surly single speed from the car. We all rolled our eyes. We expected to for her to beat us—we just hadn’t anticipated that it would be done on a single speed.

It was a fast start and I hung on for a bit. I maneuvered around successfully, if only slowly. But that’s okay. For a first race of the season, I was only looking to build confidence by not being laughed off the course or crashing. Both were accomplished.

On the third lap, I miscalculated the angle at which I needed to climb up and around a tree. I crashed into the ground. A bystander on the course said, “It’s okay, I didn’t see that happen.” I replied, “That’s okay, because it didn’t happen.”

On my fourth (and final lap) Diedre Winfield and Georgia Gould closed in on me. I cheered for both and they cheered for me when they passed me. The thought of a National Champion cheering for me carried me to the finish. A last place finish for me (but with two DNFs), but it took 4 laps for only 2 riders to catch me. Not too bad.

Overall Finish: 16th (0 points)

Contender

2005-12-06T16:02:00.000-05:00

Prologue

On Saturday, November 26 Tacchino Cross proved to be quite a disaster as far as racing is concerned. A larger than usual Women’s A field (due to double points for both VACX and MABRA) gathered to tackle the King George course. I’d raced the course the previous year, when conditions were ideal (read: cold rain) and managed quite well. This year, we were faced with a sunny, dry course and of course, I fell apart. I had a decent enough start but couldn’t hold onto the pack. Kate Flore (of Artemis) and I battled back and forth. I’d get her on the climbs and barriers and she’d get me on technical down hills. The first two laps I crashed on the same off-camber section, bruising my right shoulder. I cautiously crossed the crevasse, forcing myself off the bike and opting instead to leap across. I was lapped by Betsy (as was becoming a regular occurrence) on the fifth lap. As I came into the final stretch, I had Kate in my sights and was convinced I’d be sprinting to the finish as soon as I rounded the corner. Nate held out my feed, but I refused thinking that I had at most 500 meters between me and the end. I sprinted to catch Kate’s wheel, but the official didn’t pull us. WHAT??? All that sprinting for nothing? I didn’t even get a feed and now I’d be left for dead on the final lap. I was so discouraged. I had very little left. I let Kate go and I struggled through the course cursing myself for being misled. I finished last, which wouldn’t have been so bad had there not been eleven racers on the line. I could kiss my fifth place overall ranking goodbye.

Having placed last in the past two races, I needed to re-evaluate my racing strategies. I was losing focus and momentum and feeling anxious and nervous as MABRA championships approached. Now in sixth place overall, I shifted my goals. I was now focused on having a solid race, and if that meant not finishing last or holding onto a top ten overall ranking, great—but it wasn’t my sole intent. Quality over quantity!

MABRA Championships

There’s something to be said for driving myself to races. I don’t want to downplay the importance or convenience of having a boyfriend who loves to drive, but I definitely notice a difference in the quality of my racing when I drive myself than when Nate drives. It’s not that I especially like driving more than he does; it’s just that it distracts me from the nerves and anxiety of racing. I am too preoccupied with getting lost and scraping enough change off the floor for tolls to worry about the actual race. In fact, by the time I make it to the race, racing is the easy part—because I ultimately have to drive myself home.

Anyway, I arrived with more than enough time to register and warm up. First, let me say that it was bonechillingly cold and windy (but sunny!). Luckily, Melanie remembered to bring all her old PVC gear for me to have (e.g. skin suits). I had thought I’d race in a skin suit and look impressively zippy on the start line. But it was quite nippy out and I only had bright blue knee warmers and as they say, Fashion over Function, so I opted for knickers and my newly inherited long-sleeve PVC jersey!

I warmed up on my trainer and had an impressively good warm-up! Though windy, I was sufficiently warm as I layered up before the race. I pre-rode the course sort of—I didn’t get it all in, but I saw most of it as I squinted and traced the course with my finger.

Five minutes to start! Five minutes to start! Four minutes to start! AAAAHHHHHHH!

There were fifteen of us on the start line. My sixth place ranking and I got a spot on the front line. As I tried to control my shivering, I just kept telling myself—stay on a wheel. Just stay on a wheel. The whistle blew and we all chased furiously up the hill. Just stay on a wheel. I got onto a wheel and I wasn’t going to give it up. There were three of us that trailed behind the lead group. As the woman in front of me chased down the woman in front of her, I hung on to her wheel. I was determined not to let her go. I thought about trying to advance on her, but then I decided to be a little more strategic. I’d become her shadow and let her do all the work. There were some great asphalt climbs that I could power through, but I let her lead, blocking the wind the entire way.

Two laps down and I was still sucking her wheel. I decided that I’d let her lead for as long as she could. We started our third lap and I again let her block the wind for me as we ascended. It must have been too much, because she began to let me pull ahead. I was worried she’d try the same thing with me, so I slowed my pace down a little—I didn’t want to work too hard for her. However, I began to gain a small lead over her. Afraid to take anything for granted, I kept up a fairly competitive pace. I didn’t realize how much of a lead I’d opened up until I came down through the small drop off. As I carried my bike up the small run-up, a group of guys cheered me on and yelled that I had about 20 seconds on her. I took it and never looked back. On my forth lap, as I came through the barriers, I dropped my chain and struggled a bit to get it back on. I frantically jumped back on worried that I’d lost considerable time.

I came through for my final lap feeling quite pleased with myself. I realized that not only had I raced strategically, I didn’t finish last and most impressively, I wasn’t lapped. For the first time all season, I didn’t get lapped!

Epilogue

Though the final standings for the MABRA have yet to posted, I am confident that I maintained a top ten ranking. Considering that this is my first season racing in the Women’s A field, I am very encouraged, if not elated, by this. In addition, I realized that (with the exception the 13 year old wunderkind) I was the youngest person in the A’s by a good 3 or 4 years. This also is very encouraging.

As a more optimistic Brando might have said in On the Waterfront, “I might be a contender, I might be somebody.”

This weekend I’m at Nationals, racing in the Women’s Bs. 44 of my closest rivals and I will battle it out. After having had such a fun and satisfying race this past weekend, I look forward to going out with a bang in Providence!

I Can't Stand Up for Falling Down

2005-11-20T15:37:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-13T14:48:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-06T12:22:00.000-05:00

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.

It's Always Something...

2005-10-16T12:19:00.000-04:00

Marisa C. Peacock
10.16.05

This past Saturday I raced Iron Cross Lite at Michaux Forest, Pennsylvania. A beautiful day for an A race, if not a little windy, I looked forward to getting on the line. Like usual, as I approached registration, I quizzed everyone I met about the course. Most of them made note of a rather large climb at the start of each lap. I eyed the barriers that sloped sideways on a hill with contempt. Butterflies started in my stomach—but it was more excitement than nerves.

I passed Melanie and Judd; I ran into Beth Mason of NCVC; and some fellow PVC mates. I also ran into a woman from last week’s race. She told me that I missed the Women’s B race. When I told her that I was racing A’s now, she looked stunned. “Wow. I can’t do A’s. I won the B race though.” I couldn’t help but smile. Any doubts I had about doing the A race were relieved. I had no time for sandbaggers.

I made adjustments to my bike, trying to recover what last week’s mudfest had done to my rear derailleur and chain. Though I brought my trainer, I chose to warm up on the road, rather than on the gravel, as I could just imagine the firestorm of gravel ricocheting off my car. Returning to my car to eat and hydrate, Beth passed me as if on her way to the start. She noticed my Luna bar and said, “I should eat something, too. I get so nervous that I forget to eat.” And she turned around. WOW! Beth Mason gets nervous? This was news to me.

I was the first racer to the line. As more of us gathered, we were ushered approximately 150 meters up the course. The USCF official hadn’t wanted to walk all the way down—shortening our initial ascent. There were six of us lined up. Melanie had been excited that I was now racing in the A category, so she moved over for me to be on the front line.

And we were off! The climb up when you’re clamoring for space was tough, but I just kept telling myself to stay on Beth’s wheel. I’d ridden a cross practice with her and was able to stay with her then—I could certainly do it now. Before the race she had mentioned how she hadn’t ridden all week and how she’d be getting over a cold. It was my plan to capitalize on her weaknesses if given the opportunity. I kept on her wheel and then I passed her. On the first climb. I started to panic, thinking that I couldn’t look back. I couldn’t slow my tempo any and take for granted that I was not riding in last place. Like a bat out of hell I flew. The barriers had me breathing hard, but I didn’t care. I pushed that much harder, in case Beth was nipping at my heels. Oddly, though, she wasn’t. I had her by a lot. And I kept gaining more distance.

Before my race I had asked Thom Moore how many laps he did in his 30 minutes. He had done five laps. The course was awful short. Except for the climb at the start and then the dreadful barrier/run up, there was nothing but switchbacks and a ride through the woods. I figured that we’d also do five laps—the most I’d ever done in a race.

Strangely, I began to look forward to the hill each lap. Not only were my legs born for hills like these, the sooner I climbed it the sooner it was over and then all I had to overcome were those darn barriers. I heard the cheers of my teammates and I kept at it. On the beginning of my fifth lap I was over taken by Melanie, Betsy and Heidi. I thought for sure I’d be pulled as I went by the finish area, but luckily I told my legs to keep on going in case I was wrong. Good thinking—because I had to do those dreaded barriers one more time. Lap number six—here I come!

After the race, I was ecstatic. Not only did I not finish last (again!) I had beaten Beth Mason! Could I really be A racer material? Did I have the legs to get by—could I be the future of the women’s A field? I had visions of podiums and wreaths and…then Beth came over and showed us that her front brake had been on the entire race, making her front wheel virtually inoperable. Okay, so I wasn’t really a better athlete than she was, it was purely a technical problem. Humbled and brought down to Earth, I gave a polite smile and headed back to the car.

However, I did feel pretty good. I began to feel like I wasn’t a total fraud to be in the women’s A race. Some of the women waved to me as they rode back to their cars. I looked up to them (literally and figuratively) and hoped that they’d welcome me. I yelled, “Good race!” and they yelled back, “You, too!”

They were right. It was a good race.

Addendum

After the race, I stopped for fuel at exit 14 on I-81 south. After that I called the race promoter of last week’s race to pick up my (okay, Nate’s) wheels (It’s okay, he knows…) that I had left in the wheel pit. He called me back at exit 5 and I followed his directions to his house.

I was feeling particularly good about life, as I had successfully navigated my way to his house and back onto 70 East without writing anything down. This, I considered a great feat, as I usually need to turn myself around a few times. Shortly after I got on 70 East, I stopped at a Maryland rest stop. I had a hankering for a Coke so I went to retrieve my wallet.

Wait a minute! Where’s my wallet? Without thinking, I knew immediately where my wallet was—or better yet, where it wasn’t. It wasn’t on the roof of my car—the last place I had put it while refueling my car.

Anyone else would have broken down at the thought of this. But I knew better. Having been through similar situations before (too many times), I know there’s no time or use in getting all hysterical. What I did know is that I had about a 30 minute window to find the wallet. It had only been about a half-hour since I stopped off at the BP station. It was far too windy out for it to have held on for too long. Most likely, it’s in the vicinity of the gas station and I was on a mission.

You’d think not having a license physically in the car, would have stopped me from barreling down I-81 N pushing 80+ miles an hour. But it didn’t. The mere thought of all the things I’d have to reissue or cancel made the weight of my foot bear down on the gas pedal more.

I pulled into the BP station and ran inside. No wallet. I looked around the pump I used. No wallet. I looked in the parking lot across the street where I had stopped to make a phone call. Still, no wallet. I trolled the grassy patch along the road. No wallet.

Defeated, I told myself to get over it. You lost your f***ing wallet. Moron. I got back into my car, still eyeing the side of the road. I approached the on-ramp of I-81 S, and thought about searching the grassy patch on the side. Again, I told myself to get over it. There’s no wallet. Suddenly, as I merged into the right lane, I saw something about 100 meters ahead. MY WALLET! I pulled over onto the shoulder, put my hazards out and opened my door. With no traffic approaching, I sprinted out into the lane and retrieved my wallet. I saw that my driver’s license had spilled out. I picked it up and ran back to the car and drove home happy.

[The only thing that was missing, ironically enough, was my USCF license, which must have come out with my license and blew away.]

Fun in the Mud

2005-10-10T12:16:00.000-04:00

Marisa Peacock
10.10.05

The Washington Post stated, “Remnants of Tropical Storm Tammy dumped about 7 inches of rain over two days on the Washington region, ruining weekend plans.” This was true, except of course if you love cyclocross, in which case Saturday’s Breast Cancer Awareness Cyclocross Challenge benefited from Mother Nature’s emotional breakdown.

It was a much needed relief from the last year’s rather dry and warm cross season and I was giggling with excitement as I drove (or waded) to Hagerstown. I barreled along Interstate 270 as cars spun out to my left and right, water logged and washed out. I arrived at South Hagerstown High School around eight-thirty, a good two and half hours before my race. For unknown reasons, the Cyclocross Challenge had not scheduled a women’s B race. Therefore I had, by default, chosen to race in the women’s A race. Bikereg.com had indicated five registrants for the race, among them was Heidi Von Teitenberg, currently ranked second in the MABRA series.

When I arrived, I was one of two women present and registered. I prepared my bike, ate and hydrated throughout a flurry of rumors that our field would be combined with the men’s B or the master’s race. The course looked grassy, always a plus in my book—as what I lack in actual technique, I am able to make up for in legs and overall spunk. However, I swallowed cautiously when I contemplated this fateful race, as I was quick to remember that I hadn’t actually logged in any miles on my bike this week—and now I was committed to forty-five minutes of mudding.

Easily distracted as I am, I ran over to my Cary and Ron’s minivan as soon as they arrived and watched as they struggled to open the vehicle’s hatchback. I could tell they weren’t as excited as I was about the rain, but then I reassured them that it could be colder, or worse snowing, and I could see that they felt better about things. Back at the sag wagon, my trusty VW, I anxiously wasted time preparing my wheels for the pit and checking out the competition. More women began to arrive and it was apparent that we’d be racing our own field.

I befriended the guy parked beside when he returned to his car. He had just won the men’s C race and was rather humble about it, which I appreciated. He offered to take my wheels to the pit for me, as I made final preparations to my bike and wardrobe. Either he was just a nice guy or he suspected I was a little flighty, because he offered up polite suggestions: I should wear my rain jacket for the warm-up; I shouldn’t hang around talking, but should actually go warm-up; and that I should remember to have fun! All very helpful!

As I approached the start/finish area, the officials gave us extra time to take in a ride-through of the course. I recognized Heidi, stylishly plastered into her slimming skin suit. I looked down at my well-bruised legs from last week’s race, and thought she and I are very different people. We rode around and I began to have doubts as I became a bit more winded than I prefer on a ride-through. I also became very muddy very quickly, as the three previous races had torn up the course nicely. In our discussions, my fellow competitors and I determined that it resembled organic peanut butter, with the oil separated out on top. Mmm…peanut butter!

Back at the start, the rain had subsided for now, but in true cyclocross fashion, once the officials blew the whistle, the skies opened up on us. There were six of us and the race flyer had indicated that they were paying eight deep. All I had to do was finish and I was guaranteed some loot. Sweet! However, loot or not, I was more intent on not finishing last. My main competitor was a spunky woman from Artemis Racing. She and I had previously shared our concerns about racing in the A’s and made typical race day chatter about how we were going to get spanked! (I rarely take these conversations to heart, as I know that everyone always downplays their fitness level and I should never assume that I have an edge over anyone!)

Off on our first lap, I got myself into a good position behind Melanie Swartz. I got a little stuck in the mud and had to dismount and run around a few corners to get myself along. I was easily ahead of Artemis, but didn’t want to take anything for granted. However, coming down off a downhill into a quick switchback into a quagmire of mud, I missed the turn and ran right into the tape! Because of this one woman got in front of me, but I quickly bounced back (thanks to the tape’s elasticity). Running up in the mud was taxing and I vowed to add underwater running to my race preparation.

Once past the vicious uphill and slippery downhill, the short, but steep climb behind the baseball backstop and the ravine of muddy water, it was flat, muddy and ideal riding. I put my legs to work, got down in my drops and shifted into a harder gear. Lap by lap I rode around, fighting off Artemis chasing me and being coached by her studly boyfriend (who I must admit, gave fairly good advice of which I also took advantage). On the third lap Artemis cut in front and I was now chasing her. I stayed close behind, not wanting to give up anything. I hadn’t felt this sort of raw energy before and I let it lead me around, my wheel on hers, mud flying and spraying. She had me on the first hill and the downhill, but I got her, to my surprise, on the steep climb—due mostly to throwing my bike up the hill. As we approached the corner before the finish, Artemis caught me and I was behind again.

Starting what was to be my fourth time around, I was lapped by Elizabeth Schauer of Fort GPOA and Heidi. I got Artemis by the barriers and she sort of let me go. In years past, the old Marisa would have stayed with and made polite conversation and lost the good fight. However, the newer, more fierce (perhaps it’s the rain) Marisa dug in and passed her and never looked back. As I approached the start/finish area I psyched myself up for a final lap, but to my delight, the officials flipped the lap card to zero and told me I was done. Yippeee! I had finished in fifth place, which more importantly wasn’t last. My first A race and I was top 5 (or bottom 3, depending upon your outlook—which unfortunately was the perspective the race director took and decided to only pay three deep)!

Cyclocross is Life

2005-10-05T12:14:00.000-04:00

Marisa Peacock
10.05.05

It’s a powerful statement, indeed. I write it not to exonerate cyclocross from the raucous, beer-drinking affair that it clearly is, but to highlight the crucial elements, that in fact, make cyclocross one of the greatest sports on two-wheels. I’m not trying to elevate it to the status of an uber-sport, à la Tour de France, but rather to admire its “every cyclist” persona.

I know this because I am not very good at cyclocross, but I am crazy about it! Starting my third official season of cross, armed with two knobby tires secured to my Surly frame, I set out weekend after weekend from September through December to race over barriers and sandpits and hike my bike up and down steep hills, through the gnarliest of weather—and for what? Fame? Hardly. Fortune? Not likely. I do it so I can get up in the morning, despite my crappy job, and know that I have done something. A whole lot of pain for a little bit of redemption.

Such redemption doesn’t always come in the form of prize or cash awards, though nice, but mostly it comes in the form of mud, blood and vindication. Cyclocross is the Fight Club of our time—an arena where seemingly well-adjusted folks convene to trade egos for humility, and stare down our own Tyler Durden. We conquer ourselves with every ankle we twist, shin we bruise and collarbone we break. And still we get up and finish our laps bloodied and muddy, but smiling.

Not to get overly symbolic, but cyclocross is the perfect metaphor for overcoming obstacles—literally, the two foot high barriers we must jump over tirelessly—and figuratively, when life deals us a near fatal blow, from which we can’t imagine recovering. Last weekend, that was me, face down in a pile of gravel, having hit the deck after taking the wrong line in a switchback. The crowd watched as I drove my bike into the ground, got back up, spit out some rocks and continued on. There was no time to take inventory of my body; I had escaped with out flatting—I was good to go, so I did. And the crowd cheered on and I gave a casual smile. Even if I came in last (which I did) I wasn’t giving up, not for a bloodied knee or bruised ego.

These moments come back to me in my seemingly well-adjusted life—and suddenly deadlines, conflicts, and temporary setbacks in love and life don’t seem so insurmountable. Despite my bruises, I will be out there next weekend doing it again. After all, though you may get the wind knocked out of you, whether in life or in cyclocross, as long as you’ve still got air in your tires, you’re good to go.

18 Hours on the Farm

2005-08-25T12:11:00.000-04:00

Marisa Peacock
8.25.05

I think I have that gene, similar to the one that makes men think that they can hold down mattresses on car roofs with one hand. It would easily explain why I accepted my teammate’s invitation last week to participate in 18 Hours on the Farm—an eighteen-hour mountain bike ride in Goochland, Virginia. Sure I’d be apart of a four-person team! Sure, I own a functional mountain bike! Yet, it’s not like I ride enough to classify myself as technical rider. Despite this, I found myself saying, “Yeah, I can do this. It will be fun.” I was half right. It was fun. In that perverted way, like beating yourself up in a parking lot is fun.

Ninety degrees and 100 percent humidity later, my teammate, Don and his two buddies Taylor and Keith, and I set up camp at the boy scouts retreat and recreation center. We decided on the lap order in which we would ride; I was riding second. Three guys and a girl, the pseudo name to which we would be referred from then on (not to be confused with three mules and an ass or three experienced and one beginner, other monikers assumed by our competitors) began our adventure at four o’clock. And what an adventure it was.

Don finished his first lap in little over fifty minutes or so, leaving me with enough time to contemplate my mattress gene, but too little time to plan my escape from the farm. At five o’clock, I was triumphantly passed the sacred bracelet and set off on the fire road—strong emphasis on the word fire, as the sun’s rays seemed to bore down with a vengeance. I held my own, but let myself be overtaken by a number of riders (this little fact was later concealed when the guys would be talking about how many riders they passed on their laps). I kept a steady pace, tackling the hills well, but taking the time to walk/run/carry/throw my bike down the scary down hills and log towers. As I neared the last hill before the finish line, I was greeted by Don, who inquired at length, and with no small amount of concern, about my ride. Did I get a flat? Have a mechanical? After realizing there was nothing to explain my apparent tardiness on the trail, we sort of shrugged and I continued on. Despite my seemingly long lap, I finished my first lap in about eighty minutes, on par with what other females were riding.

While I happily accepted my time, Taylor to whom I passed the magic bracelet, seemed less than amused. He finished his first lap in forty-five minutes

Don rode his next lap around eight o’clock, finishing an hour later and thus forcing me out on the darkened course. I forgot the little adapter part that would have mounted my bike light to my helmet, so I rode with my light strapped firmly to my handlebars. While waiting in the exchange area for Don to finish his lap, I asked a fellow competitor if riding on the trails at night was scary. I was expecting a friendly reply and words of encouragement along the lines of, “No, it’s not bad at all out there, you’ll do fine!” Instead, he was brutally honest. “Yeah, it’s really scary out there. You can’t see much.” Gee, thanks.

However, with both headlight and moonlight, there was enough light provided to make riding comfortably and hardly scary at all. It wasn’t the darkness that was taxing, it was that it was Saturday night and I was alone crashing my way through the trails. In an effort to spare the toads and other wildlife that were playing on the trails, I allowed many a tree to catch my fall, as well as some rocks, and the occasional bush. By the end of my seemingly never-ending lap, I joined up with a few other lost souls and commiserated in our frustration, exhaustion and desire to just finish already. About two hours after I started, I finished. Again, Taylor was not pleased. I, on the other hand, reveled in my survival and went to take inventory of my legs and other necessary body parts.

We fell apart during the night. Taylor suffered from extreme heat exhaustion during his second lap and couldn’t settle his resting heart rate below 120. As he took time to recover, Don started and finished his third lap. It was nearing one in the morning and it was up to me to carry the now three-person team to glory—unfortunately, for them I decided against it. In a state of mutual exhaustion, Don, Taylor and I took a brief hiatus from our ride and slept. During our slumber, Keith, the madman that he is, rode a few more laps. By morning, Keith and Don had each completed four laps, while Taylor and I each had ridden two. Taylor decided around seven-thirty that he’d ride one more lap. Crap! If Heat Exhaustion Man was going to ride another lap, that would mean I’d have to ride another lap. Stupid mattress gene!

So, at eight-thirty in the morning I set out on the last lap of the day/race. I felt rested, but mentally I was unfocused, resulting in less than stellar riding. I became cautious and timid in my riding, not wanting to risk anything---as I was driving myself home! At one point, I found my bike crashing into a tree, propelling me forward and slamming my bike seat HARD into my right butt cheek. It knocked the wind, what little there was left, out of me. I yelped alone in the woods until I courageously got back on my bike and rode on until I hit another tree and banged my shin. Thankfully, the pain in my shin was enough to distract me from my sore bottom.

Soon enough (but ironically not soon enough) I finished the lap and I quietly celebrated my victory. Amazingly, Three guys and a girl finished fourth, beating the pants off of Enjoy the view! I can’t say I was a strong asset to the team, except for lending my chromosomes to our team name, but I had fun. In that perverted way, of course!

Happy trails!

Rowing Coach and Cycling Athlete

2005-08-23T12:13:00.000-04:00

Marisa Peacock
8.23.05

Before I began cycling competitively, I was a collegiate rower. After college, I coached a few years at the high school level, before taking a brief hiatus from the sport to focus on cycling. Recently, however, I began coaching an open masters sculling group. Now I find myself balancing life between the two sports and dual roles as coach and athlete.

When I started cycling, I carried over a lot of the training that I had learned as a rower. I would take “power tens” in my mind; challenging myself with each pedal stroke, taking me closer and closer to my competitor. I raced like a rower on a bike. Technique was integral; strategies were important and practice was paramount. Now, having been off the water longer than I’ve been on a bike, I am approaching rowing from the perspective of a cyclist. I expect my rowers to endure longer at higher stroke rates, in bad weather, in adverse conditions. Unlike cycling, there are no boat changes, no stopping to swap out oars or earpieces to channel expert advice in rowing. Once a rower shoves off from the dock and paddles to the starting area, she is alone. Alone to coach, motivate and challenge herself. Hopefully, if I’ve done my job well, she will adapt to her conditions and race confidently and strongly.

Before my ride to work, I am out on the water coaching. Most of the rowers are older than I am and are as competitive and driven as elite athletes. With only an hour of water time each morning, four days a week, the rowers desire a hard workout and technical feedback. Many will race this fall, where the average race is 5000 meters. A head race is a race against time, much like a time trial. Like cyclists, alone with their machine, they are challenged by the elements: weather, water and their mind. It is my goal as a coach to not only improve their physical strength, but their mental strength as well.

My rowers are enthusiastic and passionate about their sport; however they lack the direction to apply what they learn in practices to racing. I can relate. As a cyclist, I am roughly the same kind of rower they are. Without mentorship, I lack the direction to make me a better competitor. However, like my rowers, I hope that what I lack in experience I will make up for in spunk and enthusiasm. By coaching again, I am becoming a better athlete myself.

Last week, an installation of new docks left us stranded on land. My rowers reluctantly endured workouts on the erg—the dreaded (but useful) equivalent of the indoor trainer. I assigned erg workouts that emphasized parts of the race: the start, the body, the move and the sprint to finish. We would take it apart and then put it together again and again. As a coach, I emphasize the importance of having a plan—although, as a cyclist I rarely have one.

At the end of the week, in an effort to diversify their workouts, I presented my rowers with a Spinerval workout. Poised on spinning cycles, the athletes sweated it out, occasionally amused by the absurdity of Coach Troy, the overly-excitable host of the video series. Remarkably, the workout emphasized the components of rowing that I had worked on during the week: maintaining a high cadence while remaining strong. Shifting into harder gears was comparable to rowing at a higher stroke rating (strokes per minute). Not only did the Spinerval workout add variety and give them a much-needed day off of the erg, it solidified the connection between my roles as a rowing coach and cycling athlete. By providing direction for others, I have begun to effectively translate my rowing strategies for my rowers to my own training strategies on the bike.

My Collegiate Cycling Career

2005-04-25T12:08:00.000-04:00

Marisa Peacock
4.24.05

Though younger than most, I was reminded that I am not as young as I was once and forced to face this at four-thirty on Saturday morning. The plan was to get up, ride over to King Street Metro and pick up my Flex Car, drive back to my apartment and load up the car, drive two hours to race for two hours and then drive back two hours. I was exhausted just thinking about it and my body was none too pleased. After a busier than usual week working, riding and finishing up school work (there may have been some drinking, too) I realized that even if I could squeeze out a road race, I was in no condition to drive. Guilty, but too sleepy to care, I crawled back into bed.

To redeem myself, I slept the entire day, only waking to clean the house in thirty-minute intervals and watch episodes of the Gilmore Girls on the WB. Thoroughly rested, I set my sights on the next day's crit. My Georgetown teammates and I coordinated our schedules to carpool together to Frederick, Maryland at the Solerex Court. Though we had never formally met, except through e-mail, we bonded quickly and set off for glory.

Peter Kirsch, a former collegiate roadie from San Diego State was making his racing debut after five years. He rides every day, but hadn't raced since his college days. He raced first in the Men's C race and placed third! My race, the Women's B was next. It was a cool, windy day. The course was fast and fun with a gradual incline at the start/finish. The corner before the finish, though wide, was tricky for some and I vowed to stay in the front to avoid any mishaps. We had parked next to the Johns Hopkins University girls and I overheard less than stellar cycling conversations and witnessed their cycling calamities early on. I vowed to stay away from them, too.

About eighteen of us lined up. I was the only one who opted for shorts, while the rest layered up in tights. And we were off; I was off the front first but didn't want to shut them out entirely. I wanted to see what they were about. A woman from Navy rode beside me as we inched around the course at a very slow pace. Passing the officials at the start/finish, we were urged to start racing. So the Navy chick and I increased on the field. I stayed out with Navy and two others for the first few laps and we led the charge through. On lap four, the Hopkins girls behind me came through the corner rather tightly and caused a pile up. The lead group and I went unharmed and were able to gain some distance. I knew I was working harder than most and I was blocking for a line behind me, but my legs were feeling strong and considering this may have been my first/last collegiate race, I figured I'd stay up for as long as I wanted.

With seven laps to go, I was still at the front. Five laps to go and I was still up at the front, though I may have slipped back in line to catch a draft. With two laps to go, I was still at the front, but felt the momentum building. With one lap to go, the groups overtook me and though I rode with them, my dominance subsided and finished a mighty eighth overall. I felt strong and had more fun than usual at a crit. It was a nice change to ride with a group with whom I shared just as much, if not more racing experience. Usually I find myself trying to keep up and this time they were keeping up with me. Not a bad start to my collegiate cycling career (last night I dreamt that I qualified for Nationals). It kind of makes me want to go get my PhD so I can race for four more years!

Until then however, I will look to start as many conversations with "when I raced for Georgetown..." I behoove you to encourage me, at least for a little while.