1. The last time I saw my coed duo partner Layla was at the Tour duh Charlotte at the beginning of March. She had mentioned that she really hadn't been riding much. Me, thinking without thinking, made the snap decision after a few beers that a few more wasn't going to affect our podium chances any more than our collective lack of training. Perhaps I shoulda touched base with her...oh, I dunno, some time sooner than the hour before the race.
2. It really pays to have someone watching the results for you AND relaying the important information to the racers. Had I known I had bested my 3rd place rival on the first lap and only lost 17 seconds on my pathetic second lap, I mighta put more time into him on my final lap. Information can be a powerful motivator, and it does nothing for you on Monday morning. Instead, I dip-a-dee-doo-da'd my way into a solid fourth place.
Monday Morning Quarterbacking
Looking at the results when they became available did nothing to help soothe the pain. Although there was no way in hell we were going to catch the Pasty White Bearded Hill People or the Total Cyclist "trained" ath-uh-letes, it only sucks to see how close we were to taking the lowest step. Best to not bother analyzing the results days later. The only way to change the past is to wait for the miracle of time travel. Until then, I expect this picture will remain the same:
I so wanna draw a wiener on Wes.
Have a "Pre-Game Plan" and stick to it
I'm not talking about the race. I'm talking about the night before the race. The plan was to be home by 8:00PM. I can not drink enough in two and a half hours to ruin myself. Maybe do a little damage, but certainly be able to perform at 95%. Eight hours? I can tear myself down to the foundation of my existence. I did enjoy myself though, so I might have maximized my fun potential in the 24 hour time frame without sticking to a "plan."
Take a nap
After my second lap, I knew my body and mind were shutting down. I coulda feel asleep instantly. Why didn't I? Well, I wanted to talk to my benevolent Dick handlers at Industry Nine and Endless Bikes. Of course they were on the other side of the pits, which meant that as I made my way around I ended up in countless other conversations. By the time I sat back down in a chair, I had no idea what time it was...
Know what time it is
Seriously, I own a watch. I have a cyclocomputer on my tool bench. Either one of these woulda sufficed. I woulda known when I finished my laps, when to expect Layla, relative lap times that woulda been encouraging... whatever.
Speaking of encouraging, I can at least say I got some of that... encouragement.
My times weren't that bad. I've yet to do anything close to training, but I am probably ten pounds lighter than I was a year ago at this time (and @18lbs lighter than I was in December). I've got plenty of time to get lighter and faster before the spring classics and the Giro d'Sylvania.
Yesterday I got this in an email from a sponsor (who shall remain nameless):
"You should dedicate this the year to moooore partying... less hardcore racing...just saying."
I told him I was going to try to do both. I think I'm on the right track.