Blythewood and Forest Acres...

...or just Forest Acres, and even then, not so much. Woke up sick Friday morning. Mentally sick from the beat-down I took the night before, getting dropped no less than three times on the first Thursday night ride of the year. Physically sick from a sore throat and head cold. Not ideal circumstances coming into the first races of the year.

Ignoring the sore throat and pretending to feel better wouldn't make it go away. Saturday, feeling even worse, I faced a 2-hour drive and the prospect of doing the Blythewood crit in the cold rain. Deciding to cut my losses and have any hope of meaningful racing this weekend, I forfeited my entry fee for Saturday and focused on feeling better, enjoying some time at home, and getting ready for Forest Acres on Sunday. Sunday's forecast: rain, 51 degrees, and demoralization.

Rode up to Columbia with a former teammate now riding for Team CBC. The conditions were cold and soggy, and the course looked gritty and oily. It offered a sweeping downhill finish and a hilly backside. There would be no resting on this one and my focus was all wrong. Instead of trying to be near the front on the last hill section (a key to winning), my mentality switched to staying with the pack and not crashing (a guaranteed loss). This is something I apparently had not learned well enough last season.

After a brief warm up, I stripped off the layers and had enough time for a few practice laps. The steady rain and 49-degree temps made the backside hill feel stiff and the downhill absolutely hypothermic. With no time to spare for the start of the CAT 3/4 race, the layers went back on.

I'll cut the story to about as short as I cut my race. I got popped off the back after only 2 laps, meanwhile, a CAT 3 was soloing off the front to victory. At this point it would have been merciful and prudent to just pull off. I dreamt of warming myself in the car and waiting for the finish. Instead, not wanting to quit, I decided to try and at least get in a good workout and likely a pneumonia too. I was going to finish. I was going to get lapped by the field. Each lap became survival mode. I began looking for the laps to go sign; looking at time past (another no-no).

As the laps counted down, people encouraged me over the hills. This made me feel good and lame at the same time. One fan in particular kept shouting, "Okay, go #424, alright!" I wanted to tell him what to do with that #424.

Soon enough it was over. Shivering and cold, I was finished and finishing paid dividends. In addition to not giving up, I was rewarded 10-bucks for my troubles. I felt guilty for taking it, but it would recoup some of my losses and pay for lunch. Despite my poor showing, I'm glad to have done it. It reminded me that my attitude must change and that I still have much work ahead.