A VeloLoser is Born

Not too long ago, I got it into my head that I'd like to start racing.

I've been a cyclist for years, always with a decidedly un-racer-like attitude and approach. Sure, I follow and enjoy professional cycling, but for me, bike racing has always been something to watch, not to do. Just because I enjoy movies doesn't mean I want to become an actor.

So I'm not sure exactly when - I think it may have been around mile 75 of this year's rainy Black Bear Century - but it became implanted in my brain that racing was the next thing for me to do on a bike.

I was on a bike nearly constantly until I was about 20 - when my white Atala was stolen in Burlington, VT on the one and only night I left it locked up downtown overnight - but have only recently come back to cycling regularly, about three years ago. But in those three years, I've accomplished most of what I've set out to do on a bicycle. Not that I set out to do anything amazing, but I've turned the bicycle into my primary form of transportation, I've commuted through the harsh Michigan winter, I've completed several centuries, each one easier than the last, and I've grown stronger, faster, healthier, and happier.

So what's next? Like any addict, enough is never enough, so in the process of trying to improve my century time, I realized I had begun to train sort of like a racer. So why not race?

But it's more than just "why not." I actually want to race.

And so I've decided that, since I know absolutely nothing about racing - until two weeks ago I still wasn't sure of the difference between Cat 1 and Cat 5 - I'll document my steps into racing. At the very least, my foolishness and failure will give you someone to laugh at, but maybe, in a few years time, I'll be able to look back and laugh at myself. Whether I'll be laughing as an actively competitive cyclist or not remains to be seen.

As with anything new I've ever tried. I find that it helps to psych myself up by cataloging the many reasons for my imminent failure and humiliation. Such collections can include specific deficits in my abilities and experience as well as symbolic attributes which point to my unsuitability for a particular endeavor.

In the case of competitive cycling, my list of shortcomings and incompatible attributes includes, but is not limited to the following:

• My main bike is a touring bike with 38mm tires, full fenders, front and rear racks, Brooks saddle and bar-end shifters.
• Instead of shaving grams off the total weight of my bike, I often load 20 or 30 pounds in my panniers in case anything goes wrong on a century ride.
• I am afraid of carbon - frames, forks, components, everything.
• I happen to like SPD pedals.
• My "racing" bike has a Brooks saddle and bar-end shifters.
• I like to wear wool jerseys.
• I insist upon stopping at stop signs and red lights.
• I'm not in great shape. I'm not in terrible shape. I ride every day, and I also run and lift weights occasionally, but I'm not what I'd consider an elite athlete.
• I'm slow. Actually, I don't know how fast I am, because stopping at stop signs really affects my average speed. But at the very least, I'm pretty sure that I'm not incredibly fast.
• I have no experience and very little knowledge about bike racing, and I'm sure my lack of knowledge will lead to my doing or saying something stupid at least once, and will do much to amuse and/or annoy more experienced cyclists that I encounter.

Of course, the list can go on and on, and does, but the truth is that this negative thinking doesn't stop me from doing anything that I set out to do. Sometimes it can be a motivating factor, providing me with a series of smaller obstacles to overcome or disregard, rather than being overwhelmed by the depth of my ignorance.

And so, equipped with little more than determination, I begin my quest to begin bicycle racing. I know that I will probably lose a lot of races along the way. I might even come in dead last a few times, but I'm prepared to do that. Not everyone can be a winner, but there are no winners without some losers.

So to all of those who will inevitably beat me: You're welcome.