Josh, Stan and I headed out to Fitchburg to squeeze in the last race of the season — the New England Regional Championships. They combined the 35+ and 45+ fields, but told us the results would be separated. Now If I could just figure out who the old guys were that I needed to hunt down…
Josh lined up in the 2nd row, I lined up in the 5th row. Temps were in the mid 20s and the ground was hard, frost-covered and anything but smooth. Since this was the last race, I gassed it hard from the start and was psyched to find myself in the lead group.
I moved up from the 40s to 26th, then 20th, then was running 5th in the 45+ crowd. With 1.5 laps to go, I was finally having a great race and could almost envision standing on the podium in front of the massive crowd of at least 20 people there to spectate.
Then disaster struck. On the backside of the course, a stick got caught in my brakes and mangled the brake arm, twisting it right into my spokes. The rear wheel wouldn't budge and I couldn't free it.
My first thought was to DNF, but I was surrounded by high orange mesh ski fencing and couldn't get off the course if I wanted to, so I shouldered bike and started running. I ran a half lap to the pits (my back is now killing me). No neutral bikes were available (note to self, that second bike in the pits idea is a "really a necessity honey"). I got some help freeing my brake and zip tying it to the frame -- no rear brakes, but at least I can finish.
By now, most of the race had passed me by. Ticked, flew out of the pits in a rage and found out this anger motivation thing is actually a pretty powerful race tool. I managed to actually catch most of the guys who passed me and finished 12th in the 45+. Psyched — but, oh, what could have been…
Josh had a recovery Belgium Ale ready at the finish. Who knew that stuff was full of iron, manganese and protein? I had a second.
Josh finished 7th in the 35+ and when I left for a basketball tourney, Stan was running in the top 20 in the 55+. Highlight video here: https://vimeo.com/55715166
This was a great season. To the band of brothers that formed to practice cross and bring horrified looks to the faces of early morning dog walkers in Weston, Wellesley and Auburndale — I can't wait to do this again with you all next year.
