FSCS 4: Perspective

Alafia River State Park is my off-road riding home away from home. I'm a Tampa native, so coming back to race is a highlight of this series.


Racing and riding at Alafia always brings back memories when signage, a paved parking lot and a bike wash station didn't exist.


The first time out here I encountered a gopher tortoise nearly the size of a treasure chest and a pack of wild boars carving some singletrack. I also remember getting lost and barely finding my way back to my truck before sundown.


I've never raced particularly well here. This is a difficult course with your heart rate at 130 beats per minute, let alone at 160. And every year the course is changed to keep you on your toes, which if you're not careful, will have you on your back. (More on this later.)


Anyway, I didn't have a great race Sunday. I was the last rider in my class to finish, but I did have a better start and overall raced better than in Gainesville. I still feel like I'm in way over my head and have to fight the mental battle not to quit. I had several riders from other classes pass me and that really gets me down.


Until I saw something else that left an impression.


Coming out of a very tricky section known as Rabbit Ears and feeling awful, I noticed a man in a wheelchair watching the race. Soon after, I stopped thinking about my pain and mentally took my butt out of the saddle and put it in that wheelchair.


Perspective.


Here I am upset at how slow I'm riding and I'm forgetting something more important.


How lucky I am.


I'm free to ride. To push the limits. To have full use of my body. To do the things some people can only dream of. Yeah, even to finish last. It's not that I felt sorry for the guy; he's out here on a wonderful day, surely being entertained by some crazies tear-assin' through the woods.


It's just ... damn, be thankful for what you have and can do.


"You better take a fool's advice, take care of your own. One day they're here; the next day they're gone. ...'' -- New York Minute, Don Henley.


Feeling better about my predicament on the final lap of three, all that good feeling came to an end with an endo and landing on my back. I keep a multi-tool in my middle jersey pocket and I landed on that denting me good at the waistline. Took me a few minutes to recover -- and another rider passed me -- but I managed to finish the race.


Perspective. At least I'm able to ride. At least I'm able to roll up to the starting line. At least I'm able to experience the good, bad and the painful.

FSCS 3: Blank!

It's October and the weather's slowly getting less oppressive, which means it's great to be on the bike. On Sunday, the weather was glorious for the third race of the Florida State Championship Series in Gainesville.


Then my 40-plus Expert race began and thoughts quickly went from glorious to gory.


Here's what went right:


















Here's what went wrong: Let's see, should said list be done alphabetically or order of importance? Never mind. I won't bore you.


If I was a horse, I'd been shot. I quit after three laps, completely broken by the demanding Hailes Trails. My poor effort has made me realize whatever I'm doing in training isn't adequately preparing me for the stresses of these races. I'm not sure if my volume and/or intensity is too low. Am I in such poor race shape that I need to give this more time to come around? I know I'm not overtrained. I go into all my breakthrough workouts fresh and ready to ride hard. This has been a problem in the past; on non-racing weeks, I ride four days a week, averaging 10 1/2 hours/160-175 miles.


But when the races begin, the pace feels over my head, incendiary. I have to cut my effort to avoid blowing up.


I've trained consistently since April, never missing a single workout because of sickness. My Functional Threshold Power is at an all-time high (245 watts). I'm lean (134 pounds).


But when I get on my mountain bike, I turn into Jelly. I'm likely not riding enough off-road (violating the specificity training principal) but that wouldn't completely explain my inability to compete to stay out of last place.


It's time to reflect and re-evaluate. At least the weather's turning and it's pleasant to be on the bike. Even if that bike isn't going very fast.


Addendum: On Friday, Joe Friel tweeted a line that I and others should remember when things aren't going as planned:


"Good or bad, you are not your last race. Let it go.''