Zach helping dial in my headset the morning of the downhillLast year was not the finest showing a competitive cyclist could have. But of all the mishaps and poor performances of my last season, the one that stands out as the grand failure, where things didn't just not work, they failed horribly, was the Downieville Classic.
Brief overview: Someone in the world has a photo of me leading the field of Sport All Mountain riders up the initial road climb just after the start. I did so for about 400 yards feeling very strong! It was around mile 2 that all of this changed and all the little things that ever haunted my racing, be it stomach aches, exercises/dust induced wheezing, headaches, or garden variety leg bonk, began to take hold. But what made it all the more intolerable was that each of those ailments I just mentioned worsened as the miles ticked away. By the time I reached the summit of that initial climb, just 6 miles into a 30 mile race, I was wasted. I threw up shortly after having a pep talk with Joe Pessano (probably the best man I could imagine for the random pep talk). Mistake #2 (mistake #1 being the one where I thought it was appropriate to lead the field up the first 400 yards of a 30 mile race) was misinterpreting the joyous feeling you get shortly after vomiting as recovery. The effort I put forth in the minutes after first throwing up only solidified the state of dehydration and exhaustion I had already subjected my body to, and after that point there was no feeling of recovery after throwing up. It was only constant and persistent. This about caps off the race for me, which I consider to have ended at the end of the Sunrise Trail. After that, it was just a matter of how I was going to make it into town on my own two feet. I did, ever so slowly and by the help of my guardian-angel, Zach just ahead of the sweep crew some 2 hours after the last of my class had finished.
There were a great many mistakes that I have ruminated over for the past six months since that event took place. So many things I would have changed, done differently, or just been able to see in the moment. But, of all the things that could have been learned in a day like that one, one thing that stands out the most is that the effort you put forth toward a goal or an event can actually turn around and bite you. Effort generated is potential energy and will release in any direction. What separates amateurs like myself from seasoned professionals is the knowledge and skill to release that generated effort properly.
Lesson #1: Dehydration kills
I have traced everything that went wrong that day in no more than two degrees of separation to dehydration. Every symptom I felt that day is explained by dehydration. The history and order of occurrence of each of my activities lead to dehydration. So the most important lesson I learned on a first hand basis is that dehydration will ruin everything, and it is so very easy to slip into that zone while racing.
Lesson #2: You are as fast as you are, and no more.
Blasting off the gun and attempting to lead a pack of very strong riders up a very very demanding climb, in heat and smoky air and at eleveation was not something I was prepared to do. But I let excitement and nerves get the better of me and I lined up right at the very starting line in front of everyone. Not that this enthusiasm wasn't good, but what was wrong was I didn't know my pace, and when I didn't know that pace, I wasn't going to adhere to it. Like Yogi Berra said, "If you don't know where you're going, you'll probably end up someplace else." Know your pace, know your pace, know your pace! My goal for the next year in Downieville is to know that pace, and stick to it no matter what is going on, even if I'm last out of the gate. I knew my pace on the downhill 17 miles, and I had all eyes focused on that. I knew I could be fast in that section, and I still do, but I never even got there because i blew up well beforehand.
Lesson #3: Listen to the signs, and take time to fix them.
Your body has a graduated system for alerting you to something wrong. It's a lot like a kid trying to get his mother's attention. "mom, mom, Mom, Mooom, MOM!, MOM!!" If you don't listen to the first signs, eventually your body will scream at you, and it screams in the form of pain. Listen early, and fix it! If you are blown up, hosed, cooked, wasted, sore, achy, crampy, or just plain unhappy. Stop, breathe, fix it. Stretch, drink water, lie down. Seriously, who considers lying down in a race? But this is Downieville. It's not a race, it's a marathon. You need to survive as much as you need to win, and you need to survive to win! If I start to hear the early signs of anything this year, I am stopping and fixing it! I'll make up time on the downhill!
Lesson #4: Failure is good!
Downieville changed everything for me. It humbled me as a rider and a human. It made me not the guy lost in the pack, or the guy on the top of the podium, it made me the guy leaning against his bike throwing up on the side of the course (sorry I had to be wearing your logo on that one Stace...). I'm sure a lot of people actually still remember me for that! But, what I realized was that I had just hit bottom. There was no further down to go! In fact (and I hate to think of this) if I had DNFed do to injury, or had to been lifted out of there. In competition there's some degree of dignity to that, and in a way your saved face for it! But for me, truly, I hit bottom. What I realized after having been down there, is that ain't so bad! And once you realize that rock bottom ain't so bad (dignity/pride wise) you aren't afraid of it anymore. I never thought I was afraid of it before, but now I realize I was terrified of it! I was terrified of looking like "that guy", the racer who lost it all, or couldn't handle it. But the truth is, we're all going to blow our shit one of these days. I'm just happy I did it because i now don't have to worry about being there again! I can only work upward from that.
Brief overview: Someone in the world has a photo of me leading the field of Sport All Mountain riders up the initial road climb just after the start. I did so for about 400 yards feeling very strong! It was around mile 2 that all of this changed and all the little things that ever haunted my racing, be it stomach aches, exercises/dust induced wheezing, headaches, or garden variety leg bonk, began to take hold. But what made it all the more intolerable was that each of those ailments I just mentioned worsened as the miles ticked away. By the time I reached the summit of that initial climb, just 6 miles into a 30 mile race, I was wasted. I threw up shortly after having a pep talk with Joe Pessano (probably the best man I could imagine for the random pep talk). Mistake #2 (mistake #1 being the one where I thought it was appropriate to lead the field up the first 400 yards of a 30 mile race) was misinterpreting the joyous feeling you get shortly after vomiting as recovery. The effort I put forth in the minutes after first throwing up only solidified the state of dehydration and exhaustion I had already subjected my body to, and after that point there was no feeling of recovery after throwing up. It was only constant and persistent. This about caps off the race for me, which I consider to have ended at the end of the Sunrise Trail. After that, it was just a matter of how I was going to make it into town on my own two feet. I did, ever so slowly and by the help of my guardian-angel, Zach just ahead of the sweep crew some 2 hours after the last of my class had finished.
There were a great many mistakes that I have ruminated over for the past six months since that event took place. So many things I would have changed, done differently, or just been able to see in the moment. But, of all the things that could have been learned in a day like that one, one thing that stands out the most is that the effort you put forth toward a goal or an event can actually turn around and bite you. Effort generated is potential energy and will release in any direction. What separates amateurs like myself from seasoned professionals is the knowledge and skill to release that generated effort properly.
Lesson #1: Dehydration kills
I have traced everything that went wrong that day in no more than two degrees of separation to dehydration. Every symptom I felt that day is explained by dehydration. The history and order of occurrence of each of my activities lead to dehydration. So the most important lesson I learned on a first hand basis is that dehydration will ruin everything, and it is so very easy to slip into that zone while racing.
Lesson #2: You are as fast as you are, and no more.
Blasting off the gun and attempting to lead a pack of very strong riders up a very very demanding climb, in heat and smoky air and at eleveation was not something I was prepared to do. But I let excitement and nerves get the better of me and I lined up right at the very starting line in front of everyone. Not that this enthusiasm wasn't good, but what was wrong was I didn't know my pace, and when I didn't know that pace, I wasn't going to adhere to it. Like Yogi Berra said, "If you don't know where you're going, you'll probably end up someplace else." Know your pace, know your pace, know your pace! My goal for the next year in Downieville is to know that pace, and stick to it no matter what is going on, even if I'm last out of the gate. I knew my pace on the downhill 17 miles, and I had all eyes focused on that. I knew I could be fast in that section, and I still do, but I never even got there because i blew up well beforehand.
Lesson #3: Listen to the signs, and take time to fix them.
Your body has a graduated system for alerting you to something wrong. It's a lot like a kid trying to get his mother's attention. "mom, mom, Mom, Mooom, MOM!, MOM!!" If you don't listen to the first signs, eventually your body will scream at you, and it screams in the form of pain. Listen early, and fix it! If you are blown up, hosed, cooked, wasted, sore, achy, crampy, or just plain unhappy. Stop, breathe, fix it. Stretch, drink water, lie down. Seriously, who considers lying down in a race? But this is Downieville. It's not a race, it's a marathon. You need to survive as much as you need to win, and you need to survive to win! If I start to hear the early signs of anything this year, I am stopping and fixing it! I'll make up time on the downhill!
Lesson #4: Failure is good!
Downieville changed everything for me. It humbled me as a rider and a human. It made me not the guy lost in the pack, or the guy on the top of the podium, it made me the guy leaning against his bike throwing up on the side of the course (sorry I had to be wearing your logo on that one Stace...). I'm sure a lot of people actually still remember me for that! But, what I realized was that I had just hit bottom. There was no further down to go! In fact (and I hate to think of this) if I had DNFed do to injury, or had to been lifted out of there. In competition there's some degree of dignity to that, and in a way your saved face for it! But for me, truly, I hit bottom. What I realized after having been down there, is that ain't so bad! And once you realize that rock bottom ain't so bad (dignity/pride wise) you aren't afraid of it anymore. I never thought I was afraid of it before, but now I realize I was terrified of it! I was terrified of looking like "that guy", the racer who lost it all, or couldn't handle it. But the truth is, we're all going to blow our shit one of these days. I'm just happy I did it because i now don't have to worry about being there again! I can only work upward from that.
The race wasn't all failure. I managed to finish, which meant that I was able to compete in the downhill the following day. I managed a 6th overall fastest time in my class (which didn't do squat to my overall finish results due to the previous days results). In the end the ability to turn in a good run that second day boosted my moral significantly. I chose to race that race in the same sweaty, dirty, vomit covered jersey that I did the day before.
Unloading the bike for the weigh-in the morning after the Cross-Country.This year should be different. I feel far more "mature" in my racing. I will train hard for that race, but I will train in a relaxed and disciplined manner, only pushing as hard as my body will allow for the time that I am in. I've said it before, but I can't say it enough. Zach saved my ass out there that day. I would have been in trouble if I didn't think he was there making sure I'd get out. I couldn't be thankful enough to him for it. Once I made it down, the whole team was there rallied up to meet me, and that made me feel amazing... The IV fluids did wonders for my mood too. =)
Number plate and IV bruise.
2 comments:
Well, it may not be so bad once you're down there, but I think you've put in your time. Next season is all up and up for you! Watch out world - Jesse's BACK!
Oh and I promise I won't drink your celebratory Downieville beer this year :) That will be one well-earned brewski when you cross that finish line.
Jesse... I remember the sadness I felt when I caugght you barfing twice and realized you were succombing to the limitations of your body yet your mind was rearing and ready to go.
Words of wisdom: One should always start out their day with a big breakfast of muscle milk and corn chowder.
Then you'll at least have something worth throwing up!
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