Landmine Classic Race Report

I spend a decent amount of time taking good-natured jabs at myself as a way of keeping my enormous ego in check reminding myself I can always do better. Sometimes I even get feedback that maybe I'm too self-effacing. But today, there's something that needs to be said.

I am awesome.

That's right, I said it. I mean I know everyone's been thinking it for a while now, and a some of you have said it, but I guess it's time that I said it too. So what brought about this sudden pronouncement? It wasn't really any one thing, but sort of the combination of several things, with yesterdays Landmine Classic race as the straw that broke the camels back.

It probably shouldn't have taken Timberman for me to realize that it isn't who finishes first, but who finishes, and even those who had the courage to start. I hate it when people compare sports to war, but I'm going to make this one exception. Wars aren't just won by the soldiers that survived, but the soldiers who gave their all and didn't make it to the end as well. In sports, the goal isn't nearly so dramatic or important, which is why I usually dislike those kind of analogies. But it is a battle against yourself, one that sometimes no matter what you do, you can't win, which I learned at the MA State Triathlon,

But yesterday, in my first mountain bike race, I won that battle. I didn't win the race, in fact I wasn't even close. In fact, I was last. But I finished, and it was awesome. And thanks to some really nice people who hung out to watch, I have the following picture to show you:

I'm not very good at applying blackface

That's me riding my new mountain bike, but what's that on my clothes and legs.. and face? Well, my friends, that's dirt. And how you might ask, did that get there? That would come from something like this:

Ok, so it was like that except it was a root or a rock, on a dirt trail in the middle of the woods instead of a traffic cone in the middle of someones back yard. I distinctly remember hurtling towards the ground before the impact and the hard landing before the bike hitting me. And it hurt. 

At first, I was entirely sure I'd broken everything, including perhaps the ground I landed on and the bike that landed on top of me. It was the kind of fall that happens suddenly, and you don't have a chance to tense up, which I guess worked in my favor. My arms wound up mostly under me, and I landed somewhat on the right side, including my face. I had the wind knocked out of me, I scrapped up my knee, and I was a little dazed for a minute, but I was otherwise unharmed. 

I was down for a minute and as soon as I could catch my breath, I wanted to get up and get myself and my bike out of the way because there were other riders on the course. I figured as much as crashing hurt, getting run over had to hurt worse. I've crashed once before, last summer at the end of my first ever long ride (28 miles), and that time I scrapped up my knee and bent the bike a little. This is the first time I've crashed mid-race. I wasn't down more than a couple minutes, but it felt like a quite a while. 

The fall came just a half mile after I flatted going over a sharp rock, which seemed insignificant in comparison. I'd forgotten how easy it is to change a mountain bike flat, with only 4 minutes between flatting and being back up and rolling. Between the fall and the crash, Id probably lost 6 minutes, but to be honest, I was pretty sore. While I was mid-pack when I flatted, and was near the back before the crash, I decided that it was better just to make it through at as hard a pace I could manage regardless of where I finished. Especially with the most technical portions of the course yet ahead of me, I took my time with the difficult parts of the course.

In the end I wound up riding a 1:27 time for the 7.2 mile course. I was last by about 20 minutes, but I had a terrific time. I learned how hard mountain bike racing is, and how sore your rear end is after a hard day of bouncing around on it. Today, my face hurts, my rear end feels like It's been target practice for a place kicker, and I'm going to have a couple new scars on top of my old scars. But getting to the end made the whole thing worth while.

This is your body. This is your body on mountain bike.

And that was just the beginning. Because I missed the 2:30 train back into Boston, and with the commuter rail not until 4:30, I rode to the closest red line stop to catch a train back into town. Of course, that meant a 9 mile ride up to Braintree, and almost missing another train before I finally got to relax on the way home. In the end I rode around 20 miles on the bike, crashed, flatted, and finished a mountain bike race. 

I'll leave you with a few more pictures of the race.

It's like any other race, except in the woods...

and the bikes look like this...

and the starting line looks like this...

and the 15 minute wait for the first timers to go after everyone else.
(Yes, those kids beat me.)