I’m a … Sprinter?!

The Tuesday Night World Championships was tonight (because, you know, it’s Tuesday). Last week we raced in a freezing cold rain–I actually wore the same combination of base layer, knee warmers, and heavy gloves that I wore in the early spring races in March and April. This week we had some ominous thunderstorms roll through. Strangely, though, it is a lot easier to race in the rain when it is 70 degrees instead of 45 degrees.

As I was warming up, I felt like this would be a good race to write off. I felt sluggish and uninterested. I couldn’t force myself to get my heart rate up and all I really wanted to do was go home and take a nap. Correction: another nap. Nevertheless, I sucked it up and lined up at the start line for the race, 35 minutes plus 10 laps. (It actually ended up being something like 40 minutes plus 10 laps because the race promoter got distracted by something.) At least it was sunny and dry when we started.

The first couple of laps were mellow paced, but the attacks soon started. And I found myself not only chasing down some of those attacks but also initiating some of them. What happened to that sluggish feeling? That desire for a nice nap with Muttboy? That feeling was gone, and I found myself having … fun. I felt sort of invincible, as if my heart, lungs, and legs would do whatever I wanted them to do.

Halfway through the race the rain started. It came pelting down in a real spring deluge but it was actually sort of pleasant, helping to keep me cool. I felt that the rain was sort of immaterial, not at all important, and certainly nothing to worry about. It was just part of the scenery.

As the race progressed, I decided that I wanted to be like Tornado Tom Boonen, the awesome Belgian sprinter. Tommy is a big guy, like me about 6’4″, but he has a lot more power than I do, although that really goes without saying. What I like, though, is the idea that all Tom has to do is stay near the front with the help of his stellar Quick Step team and then punch it hard at the end with his phenomenal sprint. I like thinking that I could have my team do that for me–keep me protected and ready to sprint hard and win. Since that’s not really going to happen because I have nothing near the talent Tom has, I can only dream of being a sprinter and trying my dirty little sprinter tricks.

I forgot my desire to be a sprinter like Tom, though, when a guy from Pawling took off with about 6 laps to go. A fairly disorganized and halfhearted chase started, and I tagged along, playing the sprinter bit by staying behind one of my teammates, hoping he would get me up to the front. I saw, though, that no one was going to make it–all five of the guys in the chase were falling apart, and if I wanted to bridge up to the breakaway, I would have to do it alone. So I did: I dropped my sprinter fantasies and sped off to chase the leader down.

As I chased the leader down, my sprinter fantasies changed to rouleur fantasies. I could be the big diesel like Jens Voigt, a big, tough motor who can roll all day long at impossible speeds. I settled into a rhythm and chased at 26-27 mph all alone for two laps, my heart rate high but in the sustainable-all-day range. I caught the guy, and we tried to work together, and did so for a while. At one point, we had about 30 seconds on the pack, but it didn’t last. We got caught by the hard charging pack at the start/finish line with one lap to go.

I was annoyed that my hard work for 5 laps was going to come to nothing, so I decided to use a little more of my remaining energy to push hard to stay at the front of the pack. As we rolled down the hill and the leadout trains started to set up, I again played sprinter and tucked in behind some strong guys. My heart rate did what it was supposed to do and dropped back almost instantly to an easier level (my recovery times have been awesome lately). The line snaked its way to the finish and the sprints started. I watched carefully and saw a line open up to the right. One of the leadout guys was there, but I knew I could easily jump past him, so I did and opened up the throttle. I passed nearly everyone and finished second. Maybe I really do want to be a sprinter.

The race, though, was marred by a crash. As Dorothy points out in her race report, she was one of the victims of an inexperienced rider. I have been watching this guy for the past four weeks and trying to avoid him since it seems he wouldn’t be able to hold a line if it had a handle on it, and his riding style is best described as “stay away from me!” I feel a little bad about the crash and think it is partly my fault. I knew he was a bad rider, so, as the veteran, maybe I should have taken the time to teach him a little about bike handling and safety in a pack. If I had done that, Dorothy might not have had to crash.