Cyclocross Nationals is in Wisconsin this year. In January. Yes, you read that right – Wisconsin in January. (Average low temperature in January? 8 degrees. Average snowfall 10.1 inches.)

I’m into epic awesome hard shit and everything,  but damn that sounds cold. And the Sicilian has lobbied hard for a beach vacation getaway in place of shelling out to go race bikes (at the back of the pack) in the fucking North American tundra. I have to say, his arguments sound better and better.

This is the exchange that went down between Gary Fisher, USACycling and I:

GF: I did the CX nats in Wi in 1979, 8″ of snow the night before, are you OR folks wimps or Americans?

USACycling: Great chance to show the rest of the world how tough American ‘cross racers are! #PartyintheSnow at #CXnats

HS: I think I showed the world my “toughness” when I lost two toenails to frostbite at Nats in Bend 2009. #notawesome [For the record, it was 4 degrees that morning.]

GF: ok, you are in the toughness club, nuf said…

*

Various other Twitter voices added to the discussion, bribing with the promise of frozen volleyball courts (??) or reasoning that it’s no worse than Belgian winter. (Average low temperature in Brussels is 34 degrees, no snownfall info available on Weatherbase.com – going to go ahead and say that Madison January trumps Belgium handily…).

It’s pretty much guaranteed that it’s going to be ass cold, lots of fun, and memorably challenging. But for $1500-1750 (two tickets, bike fees, hotel fees) there is a reasonable argument in favor of the tropical alternative. Especially given the fact that I’ll be getting mowed down by a bunch of age-group crushers.

Is the beer that good in Wisconsin?
Should I do it for the cheese curds?

Who are you and why the hell are you (or aren’t you) going to 2012 Cyclocross Nationals in Madison?

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I tore something important in my knee.
I won’t be racing Alpenrose.
I might not be racing for a while.
I’ll definitely be getting surgery either in the next few weeks or at the end of the season.

It happened quietly in the middle of last Sunday’s race at Barlow. I slipped out a little in some slick mud. Didn’t even come off the bike all the way. Just a little bobble.

I was aware that something bad had happened inside my knee, but I could still ride and (gingerly) run, so I kept pedaling and finished the race. Later, a series of tiny pain explosions in my knee kept me up almost all night. I hobbled to the bathroom in the dark and groped desperately for pain meds. That’s sort of when I started to realize that this might involve more than a few days off the bike for healing.

All initial examinations indicate it’s the meniscus in my right knee. MRI next will give us more complete information. After that, if I can rehab enough to race relatively well, I have the option of racing out the season and getting surgery afterward. If I can’t race well I won’t do it and, so far, I have a lot of pain with walking and any quick movements. Running and jumping over uneven ground don’t seem even remotely possible, but I’m staying open to all possibilities.

I’ve been quiet about this all week for two reasons: 1) I have more questions than answers until the MRI and that’s very frustrating for me 2) talking about it makes it more real and, well, more depressing.

This happens to everyone – I know because the people that I’ve talked to about it all have some kind of story to share – but I gave myself a week to be super fucking bummed out about it. Just because it’s common doesn’t mean it doesn’t blow huge chunks.

I know that I’ll heal fast.
I know there are far worse things.
I know that there’s all kinds of rad stuff I can do instead of racing cross.

But I need a little time to get used to the change in my season.

Thanks for your patience while I search for my rally cap.

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And not in the normal cyclocross way like what happened last year at Hood River where you pop up right away and everything is cool – closer to the big, mean scary way that happened last year on the road. This shit happens, this is what we do. It’s normal.

Still, goddamit that hurts.

For the record, I’m fine. I am missing skin on left shin, knee, and thigh as well as right hip and elbow. I’m also a little scraped up around the ribs and solar plexus where I landed on… something. My hip hurts more than anything and I’ve got a beautiful limp for the moment, but the scariest injury is probably a slight knock to my little head. I don’t remember much about crashing and didn’t think to check my helmet until I woke up in the morning with a rager of a headache. (I know, I know, I’m being careful.)

I still don’t know how or why I crashed, but it happened in the middle of  a rippin’ singletrack descent. The computer file shows my speed around 20mph. I was flying (for a cross race). I had half a lap to go, was feeling great, and was dead-set chasing down third place. I remember just before the crash coming through a loose corner and thinking, “You’re taking too many risks.” Should have listened to that voice I guess.

The bottom line is, I went over the front to the right, landed on hip and hit my solar plexus on the bike, bounced forward a little and tagged the head (my helmet is slightly dented) then flipped somehow to land on the left side of the trail. When I stopped moving, I couldn’t breathe because of the solar plexus blow so I started panicking a little. I pulled my bike off the trail so I wouldn’t kill anyone else and laid still, gasping. I haven’t taken a solar plexus blow like that in 20 years – I forgot how terrifying it is. When Steph came through a few seconds later, she asked if I was ok and I asked her to tell someone to send a medic. I was pretty sure that I wasn’t going to get up by myself.

I did, of course.

After a while on the ground (a few seconds, a minute? Time gets funny when you crash.) I started to be able to breathe again so I stood up and looked around. Then I started walking down the hill toward the hairpin turn at the bottom – the course marshal was running toward me, asking me if I needed a medic.

“I think I can ride.”

Both levers were mashed in and I wasn’t sure the bike would roll, but it did. So I finished.

There is nothing very spectacular about the crash aside from the myriad lessons hidden within:

1. I was feeling good heading into the bell lap. This was the first time that had ever happened – I’m usually gassed because I’ve gone out too hard. I finally had gotten the formula right and I got excited. Lesson: it’s ok to get excited, but for godsakes stay calm. STAY CALM.
2. Ride smart. I did not need to ride that section through the woods very fast. My strategy should have been to clear all technical sections safely, then use the power sections to close the gap.
3. Ride within your means. Because I was excited, I probably rode outside my means. Sometimes you have to test your boundaries in order to expand them but doing it in the 5th lap of a race that you have worked hard to stay on the front of probably isn’t the best time. This goes back to riding smart.
4. Contrary to all the lessons above, sometimes it’s ok to fucking go for it but you might pay a price. Be prepared.

What I love about cyclocross is that you have to make all these decisions and choices while you’re lung is coming out of your chest and your heart is about to blow the fuck up. It’s hard. Sometimes we make the wrong decisions. I like to think that every time I learn a hard lesson like this, it will help me race smarter later.

That crash could have been much worse – I’m lucky to have all my bones and ligaments (and the rest of my season) intact.

Also, a huge thank you to Steph for slowing to check on me and then spreading the word that I’d gone down. Thanks also to the amazing women in the field, all of whom called out to me as they passed to make sure I was ok.

We were having a great race that day – lots of changes in the lead, lots of healthy battle. I’m excited for the season, honored to be racing with you all, happy to be mostly unbroken and on my way back.

Thanks for the love.

Swift

Pre-crash. Photo by Michael Jones.

Post-race. Not lovin' life. Photo by Matthew LaSala

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This is something that you have to play with a little to find out what works for your specific body, but there are a few general guidelines that will help:

1. Your last full meal should be consumed about 3 hours before your race (any closer and you’ll still be digesting when the gun goes off which doesn’t feel so nice, believe me.)
2. Take in some kind of synthetic or easily digestible carbs in the hour prior to your race. This is one of the pieces that can be pretty personal. See my pre-race schedule below for examples.
3. Eat something for recovery as soon as possible after your race. Ideally, this would be a recovery drink within 15 minutes followed by some real food. It can be very uncomfortable to eat after a race, but I’m pretty diligent about choking it down – I find it really makes a difference for how I feel later that night and also for recovery from the effort.

What It Looks Like For Me

I usually race at 2:00pm and this is what I do:

7:00am: Steel cut oats, 1 egg, spinach.

11:00am: Either PBJ or Oatmeal with brown sugar and dates (if the Bob’s Red Mill crew is out at the race serving it up free!)

1:00pm-2:00pm: Three Clif Shots or a Gu + about a half bottle of water max (100-ish easily digestible calories) while I am on the trainer. Many recommend sipping a calorie/electrolyte drink during this time instead of water, but I have found that it consistently comes back to haunt me. Right at 1:00pm I usually also take some Sport Legs (these work better for me than Hammer’s version, but you have to figure that out for yourself) and wash them back with a Red Bull.

On the line: As long as my stomach’s ok, I’ll eat another Gu or a couple shot blocks on the line before the gun. I keep this little pre-race hit tucked into the leg of my skinsuit. If someone’s around with a water bottle, I’ll have a little splash and then… GO TIME!

Post-race: After I stop vomiting (only sort of kidding), I drink water and try to drink a recovery drink within 15 minutes. Something like Hammer Recoverite works fine. After I clean up and change clothes, I’ll knock off a PBJ or maybe a turkey burker if the Portland Velo grill is roaring.

At home: Another complete meal with good carbs (yams, bulgur wheat, soba noodles are some of my faves), lean protein and vegetables.

This isn't going to be pretty. Photo by Tracy Smith.

Whiskey not mentioned above, but sometimes necessary for revival.

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Go hard on Wednesdays.

Yep, that’s it. Especially if you’re racing both weekend days (seems to be the new trend in Portland what with the super kick-ass Molly Cameron Gran Prix in play), you need to spend most of your time recovering and going pretty easy. ‘Cross is an intensive, crazy-hard effort and it takes a toll on muscles. Go too hard too often and you’re gonna get mighty tired, mighty quickly.

So, what does “go hard” mean? Again – don’t over-think it. If you haven’t done much training before, find a big hill that takes you 15-20 minutes to climb. Do it twice at race pace or just a little under race pace (it should hurt). Don’t stress about the exact amount of time between intervals or the length of the interval or your heart rate or any of that crap. Just do it – HARD – twice. The trick is to make your hard days very hard and your easy days very easy. You don’t get stronger when you’re beating the crap out of yourself up Saltzman, you get stronger during the following hours and days when your body is repairing itself. Recovery is your friend. Alternately, if you train at a medium endurance pace all the time, you will race at a medium pace.

On Mondays after a race weekend you should be off the bike or spinning super easy. For other days, throw in some steady endurance riding – or not – the great thing about ‘cross is that you can really get by on very minimal training hours, you just have to make the time on the bike really count. Throw some skill practice in for good measure.

Speaking of Skills

I have been helping Russell Cree teach his Thursday night women’s clinics at Alpenrose and there are always a ton of questions from beginners about mounts and remounts. I’ll tell you plain and clear: the only way to get better at these things is to practice – again and again and again and again. Repetition is your friend. If you ask Russell about this he’ll tell you some really long story about the four phases of motor memory development. I’m not gonna do that to you, I’m just going to call you out. You’re not practicing enough. Do I sound like your childhood piano teacher yet? Good.

It comes down to an approach that I call “100 throws and catches”. That’s how my mom made us start every softball practice as kids. 100 stupid throws and catches. We groaned and moaned, but at the end of the day we busted suckers because our fundamentals were solid. And I can still huck a softball 60 or 70 miles per hour and hit a catcher from deep center.

A final note about remounts: yes, these are harder than dismounts. Yes, it will take longer to get it right. You are not alone – everyone goes through this. But, remember this:

Even if you have a stutter step, you’re still getting back on the bike pretty quickly. You’ll be ok, it will work for right now. Keep working on it, but don’t freak out. It’s not the end of the world. It will come. Stop obsessing over it and work on being smoother and faster through the barriers – you should be running over them, not leaping.

(And if you want to get rid of that stutter step? Yep, you guessed it – go practice a lot.) Or come to a clinic!

Finally, if you really want to geek out and learn all of the nitty gritty obsessive shit there is to know about LT intervals and VO2 torture and crap, well, consider hiring yourself a coach. Totally not necessary to have a boatload of fun racing ‘cross, but pretty fun for those of us who consider ourselves our own favorite science experiment and can’t leave well enough alone.

When I finally got rid of my stutter step, I went a little superman! Not recommended.

When all else fails, just make a mean face. Starcrossed 2009.

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Kruger’s Farm is a hoe-down worthy wonderland complete with corn on the cob, big sodium rockets and a whole passel of fresh farm produce waiting to jump in your basket. It’s the type of place where you can snuggle up under some impossibly idyllic tree and get down with an honest-to-goodness picnic.

It’s also the site of Portland’s sorta-kinda unofficial annual cyclocross season kickoff. See, we have to be fair here and remember that riding in circles over bumpy grass and dusty lanes is only a little like ‘cross – there’s still that pesky jumping on and off the bike thing that’s missing. That’s ok though, because Kruger’s Kermesse isn’t trying to be a ‘cross race, it’s just seems to be the race every year that reminds us to lower our tyre pressure and remember how to corner at high speed in loose gravel. (Something my friend Matt apparently forgot. Click for carnage! Ouch! Don’t worry, he’s ok – just a little hamburger-legged.)

I used to hate this race for three main reasons:

1. Dusty
2. Hot
3. Not enough jumping on and off the bike to give me a chance in hell at putting up any kind of a mediocre result.

This hole shot sponsored by Mack truck. Photo by Matt LaSala. Thansk for shooting, Matt!!

I have since come to terms with dusty and hot – and I’ve gotten a little better at pedaling, too.

I came into this race with a few personal goals: get the first race of the season in the books (big psychological win), take the hole shot, and ride clean and smooth. Success on all counts! I felt a little like a Mack Truck out there (and looked a little like one, too) but I kept the watts rolling, attacked out of turns, and threw down a pretty fun battle with a girl named Kate.

Way more awesome than any bullshit personal stuff? The Ladies Auxiliary came out with some gusto with 2 podiums for the day: Lindsay Kandra 2nd in the A race and Amanda Gilchrist 3rd in Beginners. Watching Gilchrist come out of her skin with surprise and excitement was probably my favorite part of the day, although seeing Kandra exchange blows with the mega-fast Susan P and Alex B of Upper Echelon Fitness wasn’t bad either.

Another bonus? Running into Byron from Bike Hugger and then heckling him to pieces while he suffered at the hands of the singlespeed field. Who knew screaming “HUGGGGGERRRRR!” in my best softball voice would be so fun?

In sadder news, we learned that our lovely crusher, Ms. Rempe, will be out for most of the season with a torn thumb ligament (not a race injury – she was crushed by her own cargo bike!) Having a hand surgeon in the team family is suddenly paying dividends! We casted her up with a rad little team-themed number. Heal up quick, Remps!

Remps will be back to fight again! Photo by Austin Ramsland

Gilchrist with the hardware. Winning beer is NEVER a bad thing!

Podium Kandra looking stoked while holding a baby that isn't hers (the adorable Wills child!!) Photo by the amazing Pat Malach!

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Sue Butler made the fucking US team for Cyclocross worlds. What does this mean? It means that a sweet and fast lady who lives just down the street from me is going to fly across the big, round world and represent this town, this neighborhood, this cyclocross-loving little fan of hers in front of the best of the best.

And you know what? Sue is going to kill it. She’s going to rip legs. Take my word for it.

Do you know how cool this is? Can I possibly describe how fucking cool this is? I can’t. You have to trust me. And you have to help me. Her. Us. Whatever.

The amazingness of this story is shadowed only by the fact that a super elite cyclocross racing woman who is chosen to represent the United States actually has no financial support to make the trip. Did you read that correctly? Yes, you did. And, yes, I’m pissed. And, yes, I’ll get back to that at a later date.

For now? Your job is really easy. Go to HUB tomorrow (Tuesday, 1/18!!). Drink beer. Tell them Sue sent you.

That’s it.

Every beer sold in Sue’s honor will garner $1 donated by HUB.

From Sue’s blog:

On TUESDAY, JANUARY 18TH @ 6 p.m. until close, HOPWORKS URBAN BREWERY (HUB) will donate $1 for every pint drank in my honor. You can just come for beer in the bar. You can bring the family and dine in the dining room. You can come for a nightcap. 6 p.m. until close, drink as much beer as you can, because you will be doing your part in sending me to worlds!

NO RSVP necessary. Just make sure to mention “Sue Butler” or “CX World Championships”.

Please join us. Make sure to come say ‘hi’. I’ll be in the bar. Probably selling tickets for the best raffle of the season.

And, while we’re talking about this? HUB: Thank you for all you do for cycling in this town. We see you. We love you. We recognize your contribution. WE LOVE YOUR BEER.

But, wait! There’s more! :)

You can win stuff. Really good stuff. What fundraiser is complete without a raffle?  Check out full details and fine print on Sue’s blog. For now, here’s the current list of prizes:

• Ridley X-Ride Frameset
• Reynolds 2010 Strike wheelset (66mm Carbon)
• Lazer Helmet
• Oakley Frogskins (polarized)
• Oakley Endurings (with multiple lenses. The only glasses I race in! Women’s specific. LOVE them)
• Thule Peloton Fork mount bike racks. (2)
• Gore Bike Wear “Tip to Toe” package.
• Cross Crusade Season Pass
• Gift certificate to Grochau Cellers for magnum of wine
• Io-Bio Men or Women’s Contact LS Crib (awesome base layer for cx! I love it)
• Pearl Izumi Shoes (model dependent on availability and size; must be in stock. So they won’t be as cool as my custom world championships shoes. Sorry.)
• $25 gift certificate to U.S. Outdoor Store, Portland, OR (usoutdoorstore.com)
• Joe Sales original print. http://joesales.ca
• An original one of a kind limited edition VeloGioielli. ( Bike theme jewelry handmade from recycled bicycle parts. This one is my bike parts!)

How to Get Tickets

Sue will be selling tickets at HUB tomorrow. Find her. Hug her. Pat her on the back. Tell her good luck. Tell her thank you. For being rad, inspiration, fast, kind and determined.

Then buy tickets. Lots of them

You can also buy them at River City Bicycles. Ask for Wendy then drop the cash.

Do you hear me!? Lay down the green, people. This is our girl. Let’s make it classy. Suck it, world female cyclocross racers, Sue Butler is going to teach you a lesson, but good. And my dollars are part of your spanking. And that makes me smile.

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It was refreshing.

This is what I saw. My favorites include the shot of Beautiful Brubaker’s amazing muscular ass and quad as she rides through the crowd (I get to say this because I am friends and occasional sleepover snuggle-buddies with said ass) and the image of Georgia Gould absolutely giving it in chase.

Tina – don’t be mad! You’re so fucking beautiful it blows my mind and your fitness this year was inspiring for me. I love you.

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The cyclocross high is wearing off and the hangover is heavy. In January I’ll go to California and get 5 more races in, but I might as well be a junkie at a methadone clinic. I know it’s ending. It won’t be the same. It will just keep me from jumping out the window.

It’s not that I miss the mud or the bike washing or the post-race track hack. I don’t miss the cost of replacing equipment or the pre-race warmups or the 39-degrees-and-raining start lines.

It’s the vortex that I miss.

The 45 minutes of unrelenting focus. A tiny slice of time in which I am reduced to crude physiology – violent circulation of blood, desperate dissemination of oxygen to muscles, a brain attempting to override and nullify notifications about widespread pain and suffering. This isn’t happening. it says I don’t believe you. [Shutup, legs!]

How incredible is it to be able to go out once a week, sharpen yourself into a point and cut into the deep, unpretty parts of your brain. It’s not that we are pedaling away from our troubles, because they’re back as soon as the checkered flag waves and our frozen fingers reach for the brakes to call it a day. It’s not a suspension of reality or an escape – it’s an intensification of everything that is inside. It’s a risk we take. A risk that always pays off, even when it doesn’t.

Last week on the night before my race I sat in a hot bath and studied my legs. Knee swollen and yellow from an icy early morning crash on the nationals course before it had turned into a muddy hell. Scar on my knee still plump and purplish and maybe a little tender from where I went down and jammed a piece of gravel into my flesh during the first race of the season.

My elbow is developing a constellation of shiny arcs and slashes – slivers of damaged skin in chaotic patterns that trace the memory of a fast crash on a bad day in a good town. When it’s cold my left shoulder aches from the inside out. The skin on my left hip is tight and red and angry and reflective in a single line just below the top of my hip bone.

It’s been a long season. Staring down at so much damaged skin and bone, I couldn’t help but sigh. I thought can you do this for me one more time, body? Please? Just once and then we’ll rest? It did it’s best and I can’t say that I blame it for feeling weary.

It’s good that ‘cross is ending. I get that. It can’t go on forever.

Super cheery people attempt to console us by reminding us that it’s time to ski! Or, now it’s time for long, slow rides with our friends! Winter training!

I acknowledge that their intentions are good and their points often valid, but sometimes I feel like my 13-year-old best-friend-love-of-my-life dog just died and they are standing on my doorstep with a puppy wrapped in ribbons and rainbows. It’s not time yet, man. Let me have this desolation for a little while.

I’m listening to sad songs on repeat and mourning more than just the loss of this season. There’s something about cyclocross that makes me a better person. More willing to walk with you to the edge, more willing to put my hand out and connect, more open and vulnerable and humble and terrified and elated.

More everything.

**

[Photo courtesy of PDXcross]

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A yellow school bus pulls up to the race venue and unloads a swarm of gradeschool kids – friends of a junior racer, released from their daily obligations and unleashed on the course to make crazy cheering magic for their buddy.

They are rabid.

I am watching the juniors float over the course (really, the fast ones? They float. It’s like they’re eating helium for breakfast or some shit.) when the mob overtakes me, screaming.

“He’s coming!! He’s coming!!

We’re pressed against the snow fence, leaning hard to get a glimpse of this kid coming around a turn. Thirty or more little bodies vibrating. When he turns the corner, a roar. Then they’re off, moving in a herd toward the next vantage point.

They are a roving, miniature stampede of awesomeness.

Across from me, two boys are waiting for their brother to come through. We wait a long time. The kid is DFL. Most of the other spectators have moved on to see their little racers on other sections of the course.

We can hear him coming before we see him because, just a few turns away, his mom is cheering. He looks scared and determined and unfazed.

The brothers chime in and it’s just the three of them, yelling as loud as they can for this kid in wireframe glasses, struggling off the back.

Keep going as hard as you can no matter what! Whatever happens, keep going! You can do this! You can do it!

I look down at my arm and realize I have goosebumps.

The goosebumps aren’t a good sign – they mean I’m emotional. Two seconds later the little brother is running alongside the slow kid in glasses, telling him how awesome he is. How proud of him he is.

I can’t take it. My eyes well up and I make Kanye swear louder in my headphones so I can keep the angry edge rolling.

*

The truth is I see too much of myself in the slow kid. And I want someone to love me that much today.

As bike racers we sometimes confuse approval of our successes for love. I remember the first time I got anywhere near the front of a race – the way people reacted differently as I came around course. More intense. More earnest. More approving. It felt good. I wanted to feel that way all the time.

It can get confusing. You have to sort that shit out and remember that you are not your results. You are a human being who happens to pedal – amazing at so many other things, important for so many other reasons.

(Tip for spectators: If you have a loved one or friend in a race, cheer for them with the same intensity no matter where they are on the course. Don’t say, “You’re almost done! Hang in there.” Cheer for them as if they’re winning. Because they fucking are. Dig?)

Bike racing can fuck you up, man. Don’t let it.

Stay in control. It’s ok, you’re ok.

That’s what I keep telling myself, but the fact that the slow kid and the school bus swarm made me cry has me worried.

I’m worked up.

It’s fucking Nationals. I’m about start the biggest race I’ve ever been in with the fastest field I’ve ever seen. I’m in big-kid world now. No more Baby B Local Scene bullshit.  These ladies are legit. They’ve flown in from all over the country to have a run at this. Most of them are A’s. This is the real deal.

Get excited. Relax. Remember that the work is done. Turn your crazy head off. Drink a fucking Red Bull. Get on your bike and ride it.

I have a bike in the pit. I have bulletproof Giro Candela gloves on my hands but I can’t figure out the leg layers. I pull off my wool knee-warmers at the last second.

There’s a call-up procedure and I’m in the back on the inside. Two-minute warning and we scream like warriors. I shout, “SERENA!!!!” and hope she hears me from where she is on the front line. I don’t know what she wants from today but, whatever it is, I want it for her too. I want everything for all of us.

Breath comes in small clouds and it gets quiet. Then all hell breaks loose.

*

Photo by Abacus Photography

There’s a shoulder coming into my body no less than 15 pedal strokes after the gun. She’s trying to make a lane where there is none and she sure as fuck can’t have mine. I stay relaxed and put a little weight into her to keep us both upright. A little bumping ends up to be the least of our concerns.

Off to the right, brakes and screeching. Before I know it, there are three bodies crashing down in front of me. I manage to snake my way between arms and wheels and bikes and make it out without hitting the deck. I’m the last person to make the escape. Gapped off the front group for the delay, but off ahead of the ten or twelve who are tangled up on the pavement behind me. No man’s land.

I feel lucky. I’m a little rattled.

Settle in. Calm down. Be smooth.

Coming off a curb, I hear the tell-tale sound of my front wheel rattling. The skewer is open. Are you fucking kidding me?

If I stop now, the whole race will ride away and I’m already deep in the numbers. I can’t afford it. I can’t do it. I keep riding. Gingerly, and with a little apprehension. My first lap is my slowest which is probably the opposite of how you’d like this shit to work.

My quads are heavy slabs of frozen meat. My feet go numb after the first deep icy puddle. The soaking grass is velcro, wheel-sucking death from hell and so you pedal hard and go nowhere.

This isn’t my best day on the bike.

You’re not supposed to tell yourself stuff like that during a race so I turn it off and focus on getting the legs going (a futile effort) and picking better lines. I pit the bike, scream SKEWER! over my shoulder to Sal as I take the new one, and head back into the mud.

I am holding down the bottom quarter of the field and yelling at my boyfriend who is a self-sacrificing volunteer pit wrench.
In my defense, it’s sort of impossible to have a polite conversation in the middle of a ‘cross race.
Still.
That man is a goddam saint.
Don’t think about that. Think about riding better, Swift.

Better could mean a million things at this point – cleaner, faster, smoother. In my mind I’m doing almost nothing right but I keep turning the pedals over because I’m here and this is it.

This was the point. Jump in over my head and get a taste for what it’s going to feel like if I want to get faster. You know what it feels like?

It feels like ragged breath and bad legs and fucking hell.

I stand up on the pavement straightaway and grimace into the headwind. In the photo, this will look like a smile. Don’t be fooled.

In the back bog, I get a load of mud in my eye and find myself temporarily blinded. Slow down through the turns until I can see. Rub the grit out without losing the contact. This is the risk of running without glasses but so far I haven’t found a pair that I can tolerate.

When I finally regain a little bit of vision, I’m gapped off the two girls I’d been exchanging blows with and the ones behind me are gaining ground.

Unsuccessful saliva management. Photo by Tracy Smith my super rad buddy from Cascade Event Photography.

Marcel Russenberger appears on the side of the course as I come around a bend. In 1985, Marcel took 5th at Cyclocross Worlds. He also successfully completed three Tours de France.

The sight of him lifts my spirits a little. “Go, Heidi! Gooooo! Yes, Heidi! Go!” He is cheering for me like I am winning this race. Let’s get this on record: I fucking love that man.

All around the course are other voices and cheering, the sound of my name. There are moments when it is the only thing that keeps me pedaling.

I pass through the finish line and see 2 to go. It’s like a sucker punch.

The race goes on forever. Really.

And then?

It’s over. It’s over and I’m not last.  It’s over and I can’t stop coughing. It’s over and I’m delirious and nauseated and freezing cold.  

The finish line area is littered with supportive friends that I can’t find the breath to talk to. A girl from my battle group shakes my hand and says Good Race.

I sit down on the curb and go into saliva management mode. There are photogs everywhere. Don’t vomit, Swift. Don’t vomit.

The National Champion who just won this race finished seven minutes ago. She’s long gone. I’m 31 of 40. That feels about as good as it sounds. I’m fucking shattered and I’m thirty-fucking-first.

*

There’s a time to take your licks. Everyone gets handled now and then.

It’s a kick in the teeth to get so annihilated, but at the end of the day you have to find a way to gauge your efforts for yourself. Could I have gone harder?  Maybe. Could I have been smoother? Definitely. I didn’t have the fight in me the way I do sometimes, but I raced my guts out.

The field was fast. I wasn’t my best and I wish I would have been.

You do the work. You show up and go for it. Sometimes it works out and sometimes you get a ticket to the all-you-can-eat humility buffet.

Eat up, baby – because there’s motivation in those memories.

Photo by Matt Haughey

I want my mommy. Photo by Matt Haughey.

Photo by Matt Haughey

I swear to God I wasn't as terrified as I look in this photo. (Thanks to Abacus Photography!)

Check out more photos from the Nats at Cascade Event Photography and be sure to pay Abacus Photography and Matthew Haughey’s flickr site a visit, too!

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