A First, But Not Last

On Saturday I entered and finished my first bicycle race. Ever. In my entire life. Okay, you get it.

I've been a cyclist for years, but I’ve never really had the urge to race until recently.

Since the end of July was a bit late to begin road racing, and it took me about a month to even figure out how to find out where races are, I decided I'd begin by racing cyclocross. I chose the local-ish Kisscross cyclocross series as my point of entry.

After attending the first race of the season - as a spectator - watching and reading as much as I could, getting some running in, and practicing a little, I entered my first race on Saturday, October 3.

Pre-race Jitters

I woke up early, and very nervous - not about anything specific, just a general feeling that things were going to go horribly, and that I'd spend a painful 30-45 minutes hearing the laughter of those who would rightly mock and ridicule me as I huffed and wheezed along the course.

The anxiety whittled down my appetite to nothing, but I managed to have a couple of pieces of toast before hitting the road.

On the way to the race, I drank lots of coffee, and listened to music loudly, but I wasn’t really feeling super energetic. The day was rainy and cold, and I really felt more like lying in a chair reading a book, or going back to sleep, than racing. But I’d committed myself to racing, and today was the day. And somewhere far in the back of my mind, I knew that this was what I really wanted. So I drank more coffee, turned the music up, and drove on.

What’s everyone doing over there?

I arrived at the course about 45 minutes later than I had hoped, and by the time I had registered I had just a little bit of time to ride the course before the C race begin. It had stopped raining, and there were a few moments where the sun was peeking through the clouds, so I was starting to feel some excitement.

I’m glad I rode the course, as I otherwise would have had no concept of what I was in for, or how long a mile could feel (I’ve since learned that the course was actually 1.56 miles) but I did so without warming up, and then, concerned with time, rode much too hard for a preview, completing the lap out of breath, heart racing.

Here we go! My goal? Don't get lapped by the kid.

After the preview lap, I felt my headset needed to be tightened (I’d hastily put the bike together the day before) and my tire pressure decreased. I was riding to my car to make adjustments when I heard the pre-race chatter through the bullhorn. I looked across the park to see 30 or so riders gathered. Oh No! Everyone's lined up to start!

I quickly rode over and up (the start was atop a small hill) to the back of the starting group, now out of breath again, and settled in just as I hear “starting in 30 seconds.” I decided to stay in the back of the group, convinced I’d just get run over in my current state.

Hey, this isn’t that hard!

The course started on a pretty wide section, and moved pretty slow for the first minute or two, so I was able to move up about 8 spots fairly quickly, and after the first hill, which I rode up quickly and comfortably, I feel pretty good, and energized. Hey, this isn’t that hard!

Wow, this is really hard!

This feeling lasted only until I got to the end of a run-up with log barriers that began the second lap. I felt horrible for most of the second lap - really horrible: nauseated, overheated, dehydrated, dizzy, disoriented, and drained. Basically, I’d bonked - already. What was I thinking? I was feeling way too overheated – so much so that I could really think of nothing other than how unbearably hot I was. I managed to remove my vest and toss it to the side of the course without stopping. This was a huge relief, and I started to cool down a bit as I approached the barriers.

At the end of each lap there was a flat, grassy, and slightly sandy section, over which I found that I could comfortably stand up and pedal at a lower cadence in a larger gear, keeping my speed up enough to finish the lap without losing much time while bringing my heart rate and breathing back under control. As the lap ended, this strategy seemed to have worked, and I approached the third lap feeling somewhat better - not great, but at least not completely devastated.

Out of Body Experience

The run-up at the start of lap three went much better, and from then on I felt pretty good, at least within the scope of the pain and exhaustion I was feeling. Somewhere near the middle of the third lap, I began to feel… nothing, with a bit of a chill mixed in. I wasn’t sure if this was endorphins kicking in, or if the cold I’d been fighting for the last few weeks finally caught up with me – right here, right now, in the middle of my first race. Either way, it didn’t matter much. I was starting to have fun, and was determined to finish, even if it meant walking my bike across the finish line.

Huffing, wheezing, suitable for framing

Fortunately, the feeling of disconnectedness from my body was working in my favor, and I pushed forward in a dreamlike state where there was only me and the course. Unfortunately, this also meant that I soon lost count of how many laps I had done, and kept grinding out laps until I was sure that I had done at least five. I’m still not certain that I didn’t actually ride six laps, because as I rolled in to the finish, I saw a couple of riders I was sure I’d passed in the first lap were walking their bikes away from the finish line, red-faced and glassy eyed. It’s entirely possible that they re-passed me at some point during my out of body experience, but aside from trading spots with another rider a few times, and passing one other rider at the last large climb of the last lap, I only remember riding alone in the large space between those I’d passed early in the race, and those I never had a chance of catching. That said, I did sort of black out for awhile, and I really don’t think I had an extra lap in me, so it’s likely that everything is as it appears.

Either way, I wasn’t last – I was actually nine spots ahead of last - and as far as I never got lapped, which were two possibilities that I came to the race accepting, even expecting. My goal was only to finish, and I’m happy to have exceeded my expectations. For me, not losing really felt like a win.

The whole event was awesome: food, cider, amazing cookies, and especially the support – B and A riders were gathered at the barriers and the run-ups cheering and ringing bells, which for me was a real boost. At one point a spectator and his young son urged me to pass up a rider about 20 feet up from me. "He's looking weak, take him!" I remarked that I was feeling pretty weak myself, but it did give me a bit of a boost and soon I caught up with the other rider and kept my lead on him through the end of the race.

Lessons Learned

I've spent the past few months reading, watching videos, and practicing, but I learned more during those five laps - even during the preview lap - than everything else combined. Among the valuable lessons I learned, or relearned were:

• Don't overdress
  You'll warm up faster than you think, and if you've got too much on you'll use way too much precious energy trying to cool yourself down
• Get to the starting line on time
  It sounds easy, but after a preview lap my attention quickly turned to the last minute adjustments and I lost track of time, and before I knew it I was rolling up to the start already out of breath
• Eat something
  Not just some toast - you need fuel. Get up early enough that you can have something that will provide you with some fuel without upsetting your stomach. Also, stick so whatever energy bar you prefer in your jersey to nibble before the start. When I'm riding a century, I like to stick chunks of Clif bar on my stem to grab when I'm feeling low. I should have done this on Saturday. Sure, the food would have probably gotten dirty, but what's wrong with eating a little dirt if it'll save you from a devastating bonk.
• Hydrate
  On the days leading up to the race, and the morning of, drink water. As much as you can. You'll need to go start well hydrated. You will need it. You'll probably not be carrying water, as bottle cages will just get in the way. If you can, figure out a way to carry some water with you, in a jersey, or recruit someone willing to hand you a cup or a bottle when you need it. I'm thinking I'll enlist my 6 year old son at my next race.
• Tire Pressure
  My race-day tires were rated at 50-70 pounds. I ran about 48 pounds of pressure in both tires, but should have gone a bit lower. Doing most of my riding on the road, I tend to like the speed and responsiveness of higher pressure, but for this race I really think I could have gone as low as 40 or so. The lower pressure feels a bit sluggish at first, but later in the race when your muscles are fatigued from the constant impact you’ll hurt less. Also, I suspect that the improved traction makes for an improvement in overall speed.
• Gears
  The night before the race I quickly transformed a touring bike into the bike I'd be racing, but didn't take the time to switch out the 48/36/26 trekking crank already on the bike. Most of the time, 48 was too much, and was really a bigger outer chainring than I needed, but the 36 was too small for that purpose. I'll be switching to a 42/30 I've got in the garage before the next race.

Surprises

• Dismounting and remounting
  I expected to have some problems here, especially with the remounts. In practice, I just wasn’t getting the hang of doing this is a smooth motion. But somehow, during the actual race, something clicked, and I found myself hopping back on the saddle without much trouble.
• My hastily converted touring bike
  After switching out the tires and stripping the bike down to the bare essentials, I was surprised to find how well the bike performed. I’d been practicing on a converted single-speed rigid mountain bike, but the touring bike felt much more capable for the job. I was also surprised to learn that the touring frame I rode has the same head and seat tube angles as the Redline Conquest and several other common cyclocross-specific frames.
• Shouldering
  I noticed in some photos that I was shouldering the bike at the barriers. I don't remember doing this, although I don’t remember doing anything else either, so I'm glad to see that I was able to hoist the bike into position without giving it any thought.
• The hard parts
  It turns out that the hardest parts of the race were things I didn’t give much consideration prior to the race – the hills, the run-ups, the roughness and variety of the terrain, and how long 30 minutes can seem under such extreme circumstances.
• What? No recumbents?!
  Okay, that’s not a surprise. But there was one tandem team, who were quite impressive at the barriers.

Cyclocross is probably the hardest thing I've ever done on a bike. I am sore today in places that I never feel sore after road riding, even a cold, rainy, hilly century like this year’s Black Bear. My shoulders and biceps hurt the next day, as did my shins and inner thighs.

I've generally been drawn to road racing because I've spent most of my time on the road, and really grown to love the smooth, fast speed that comes from the road, but after one race, 'cross has me hooked. I really enjoyed everything about the off-road experience, including the complete absence of cars on the course.

Maybe I’ll have to try some mountain bike races in the spring.

In the meantime, I’ll definitely be racing the weekend after next – maybe twice – and I plan on doing a bit more preparation now that I have a better idea what I am up against.

Hup!