Basically, I got dropped on the first climb.
Now, leading up to this race I was having some of the best training rides of my life, objectively. My power numbers are higher than they've ever been, my nutrition has been excellent, and my life is very low in stress and high in quality sleep. I spent the week leading up to it working on my mental preparation. I have a beautiful new-ish bike that was functioning perfectly (well, until the flat tire, but that's actually pretty irrelevant), fantastic equipment, food, support, etc. Shouldn't this equal improved results?
This is how my emotions went during and after the event.
"I'm getting dropped." - comic incredulity, in other words, disbelief.
To Cody, "I suck, I'm no good at this, I'm going to quit bike racing. I'm a failure." - bitter depression, obviously. Give Cody a gold star for talking me down from the ledge, by the way. Poor fella.
To my co-workers/family, "I don't want to talk about it." - denial.
And finally, "I understand what happened. This is what I can do to not have that happen again." - acceptance.
During my painful (Zone 5 interval) training ride today, I realized that I just totally choked. My legs weren't so great, there were skinny people on the front making it hard, it was a steep hill. I spent so much time mentally preparing for the race that instead of just riding intuitively and sticking on the wheel ahead of me, I started over thinking. I got in my own way, stuck in my own head. I want a do-over. But there are no do-overs in life, just next time.
I've got to go now, because Cody's coming home with baby ducks. Seriously, guys, Baby. Ducks. Can we all agree that there's nothing cuter than a baby duck? Of course we can.
By the way, I'm just joking about that whole stages of grieving shit, you know? If the worst tragedy that happens to me is to get dropped in a bike race my life is pretty sweet.
Seriously, there's going to be like, 6 of these at our house any minute now!!!
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