Hainan Mountain Bike Race

The girl I once jokingly referred to as "my nemesis" has recently been
seen taking refuge in her position as a bike shop employee to be too
busy working at races to be racing at races but it doesn't take much
to notice that she also hasn't been training or even really riding.

The self proclaimed fastest woman on the island hasn't attended a
race, whether bike or foot, in years. She doesn't like to lose. It
might just be that she trains enough that she won't lose but she's not
willing to take that kind of a chance. She knows to the second what
her times were on the time trial course and how much quicker they were
than your recorded times but event after event after event there is
always some last minute reason why she couldn't show up.

For sure, there was a respectably large field of women in competition
at the mountain bike race. But for the woman who took first and for
myself there wasn't really any question of who would be ranked how.

Or there shouldn't have been anyways.

I haven't trained for the last two weeks.

I've barely ridden my bike at all in fact.

The Cycling Association had an 80km mountain bike trip mostly geared
for lower level riders. Their trips and events are all like that.
The fast people show up and they probably hang out together near the
front but it's not like it's real riding. If the boys had
consistently been going normal speeds I wouldn't have been able to
keep up with them but sprints and other general horseplay
notwithstanding there were long stretches where they cooled off and
let the rest of the group catch up. Because of these intermittent
rests I was able to stay with them the whole morning.

I like it when I manage to stay with the guys in front. It makes me
feel good. Not just from an adrenaline point of view but also a
successful endeavor sort of thing.

At lunch, however, my leg was hurting. All down the left side and
about an inch under the knee. Close my eyes and think real hard about
where the pain was coming from and I'd find my hand right over the
break sites and the ends of the rod. Pushing, even pushing hard, on
the place where the rod was inserted (which is always how the one
surgeon in the US has determined that the rod isn't causing any
problem) didn't make it hurt any worse but it was very obvious that
THIS IS WHERE THE PAIN IS.

It's never hurt before when I bike.

This is why I bike.

Even though my leg has been getting worse in the past few years biking
has allowed me the luxury of denial. I had to go somewhere without my
bike before I was forced to realize the reason I hadn't gone grocery
shopping in almost a year wasn't because "I don't like to lock my
expensive bike up outside" but because "I can't make it through the
grocery store without pain."

It's never hurt before when I bike.

And now it does.

I gave myself two rest days and then I tried to do a solo training
ride. I left the heart rate monitor at home and went slower than
normal. Pain started by the first U-turn and I went straight home
instead of doing another loop.

Another rest day. And another. The evening training rides are social
and I went that Friday even though I knew I wouldn't be riding with
the racer boys. I spent the out and back with the middle aged women
talking about work and romance. Still riding very slow, it didn't
start hurting until I was most of the way home.

It used to be I couldn't leave the house with my safety blanket - a
bottle of prescription painkillers - enough to make sure that just in
case I got kidnapped by terrorists I would still be safely doped and
pain free for at least the next three weeks. Eventually I got over
this. Long after any physical dependence was gone I slowly weaned
myself of the psychological dependence until it got so I could
actually travel a weekend away or more without them.

For various reasons I average slightly less than one pill a month. I
take half pills. Sometimes I even take quarter pills. Mostly I take
over the counter stuff and even that not very frequently.

Right now it's two to four aleve a day and that's just to manage day
to day life.

I haven't trained. I haven't ridden. I haven't seen the mountain
bike course. And I'm in pain.

But I don't give a damn. I'm going to race.

I. Am. Not. A. Cripple.

Good thing amateur races don't have doping control cause I'm pretty
sure three aleve, two percoset, a red bull, and a coke for two laps of
a 1km mountain bike crit might normally be considered a bit of an
overkill. (Depending on their skill men have a slightly different
course and do three or five laps.)

I see the lady whose going to win and congratulate her ninety minutes
before we start. The two of us take a lazy loop of the course which,
like all mountain bike courses set up by the cycling association, is
surprisingly technical. They do this by way of apologizing to the
fast people for having to have such a short race.

When in doubt I unclip and I walk. When there is any question of
there being any doubt I walk. I walk over things and I walk down
things and I walk up other things. I'm not a very good mountain biker
to start with and I'm not going to risk crashing.

Another practice loop, this time with about fifty others. I get
frustrated by the crowd at one of the technical bits and instead of
walking around them I run around them, run down the hill, run through
the mud, run back up the next bit, and clip back in once I get on the
sidewalk.

Then I go and sit down and try not to let anyone see me cry.

After the waves of pain have gone away I get some cinnamon massage oil
from the first aid kit (don't ask me why, it's a Chinese first aid
kit) and dump about a third of the bottle on my leg. Like menthol oil
it also has some numbing properties. Like menthol oil the usage is
normally a few drops at a time.

The race starts on pavement but immediately moves to a U-turn through
lumps of mud and unconstructed road, back onto pavement, pavement,
pavement, flat unconstructed road, mud puddles, a sharp sandy turn,
more slimy mud, another sandy turn, uphill over some lumps and bumps,
a two foot drop off, down a curb, across the road, back into another
construction site, down a hill that ends with a sandy curve that
getting anything short of just right will make it impossible for you
to get the right path on a singletrack (literally one tire wide)
between deep puddles of slime and back up a sharp incline where you
again must be in exactly the right place or you risk going over and
tumbling into a mud lined pit, down a hill, across the mud, up three
feet onto the sidewalk turn down the road and start all over again.

It's beautiful.

I negotiate the first turn in fifth place. It's crowded and passing
isn't really possible. By the time the pavement ends I'm in fourth.
At the first sandy turn I'm catching up to third. Negotiating the
Pits of Slime and I'm in third. I'm off and running heaving my bike
up onto the sidewalk rather than attempting to ride any of it. Every
time I get off the bike I lose time to second place but I can't risk
crashing and her performance on the pavement is laughable. If my leg
participates then there will be no question of my taking second.

Second is where I belong. The woman in first would be first even if I
had been riding. She's actually a decent mountain biker. When we
train together she's not as strong as I am on the road but when it
comes to mountain biking she actually has two important things I lack
- confidence and skill.

Approaching the slime pits the second time I lap someone. Lapping
someone always give me a warm and fuzzy feeling. Because the right
approach is so narrow I have to get off my bike and run the whole
bit. She's blocking my ability to be in the right place at the right
speed. Second has overshot and dismounted to avoid tumbling into the
mud pit and I'm running running running great big leaps that I can
feel in my teeth and know I'm not only going to regret tomorrow but
will regret in about five minutes time when the adrenaline goes down a
bit.

I block the rideable approach to the sidewalk and clip in but she's
also off her bike and she goes around me climbing up and she gets back
on faster than I do and takes off down the road sprinting like crazy.
And I know I've lost. I will be third.

But then, the last technical bit, the final U-turn through the mud, we
are both off our bikes and she's burned up. She can't do the last
twenty meters of pavement after trying so hard to escape me and I ride
across the line in the traditional hands free victory gesture.

As soon as I brake I am off the bike and on the ground with my leg
stretched out. I will myself not to give in to the pain. I fail to
watch any of the other competitions but I will myself not to give in
to the pain. Eventually people come over and lift my bike and me off
the ground. I don't cry. Even when they make me stand up again and
go over to where we are having a group photograph I don't cry. I
grimace. I make ugly faces. I wince. But I do not cry.

I. Am. Not. A. Cripple.

Then I ride home. Slowly. In the bike lane. Being passed by cargo
trikes. But I do not cry.

Then I ride home. Slowly.

Wow! Great story, so much drama. Have you had the leg looked at lately


rms

On Mar 30, 2:47*am, Marian wrote:

Then I ride home. *Slowly. *In the bike lane. *Being passed by cargo
trikes. *But I do not cry.

I'm glad to hear you percevered. So, cinnemon oil, eh?

rms wrote:
Then I ride home. Slowly.

Wow! Great story, so much drama. Have you had the leg looked at lately


In theory I'm getting surgery some time soon. I'm currently caught in
red tape. The local hospital's orthopedics department flat out
refused to do it (didn't just hem and haw but flat out said "we don't
have the skill") which is actually an okay thing since, even though
they are cheaper, they don't have the necessary insurance codes.

-M

Nice story. Very well written. Do you maintain a website with your
postings over the past year or two?

--Mike-- Chain Reaction Bicycles
www.ChainReactionBicycles.com


"Marian" wrote in message
...
The girl I once jokingly referred to as "my nemesis" has recently been
seen taking refuge in her position as a bike shop employee to be too
busy working at races to be racing at races but it doesn't take much
to notice that she also hasn't been training or even really riding.

The self proclaimed fastest woman on the island hasn't attended a
race, whether bike or foot, in years. She doesn't like to lose. It
might just be that she trains enough that she won't lose but she's not
willing to take that kind of a chance. She knows to the second what
her times were on the time trial course and how much quicker they were
than your recorded times but event after event after event there is
always some last minute reason why she couldn't show up.

For sure, there was a respectably large field of women in competition
at the mountain bike race. But for the woman who took first and for
myself there wasn't really any question of who would be ranked how.

Or there shouldn't have been anyways.

I haven't trained for the last two weeks.

I've barely ridden my bike at all in fact.

The Cycling Association had an 80km mountain bike trip mostly geared
for lower level riders. Their trips and events are all like that.
The fast people show up and they probably hang out together near the
front but it's not like it's real riding. If the boys had
consistently been going normal speeds I wouldn't have been able to
keep up with them but sprints and other general horseplay
notwithstanding there were long stretches where they cooled off and
let the rest of the group catch up. Because of these intermittent
rests I was able to stay with them the whole morning.

I like it when I manage to stay with the guys in front. It makes me
feel good. Not just from an adrenaline point of view but also a
successful endeavor sort of thing.

At lunch, however, my leg was hurting. All down the left side and
about an inch under the knee. Close my eyes and think real hard about
where the pain was coming from and I'd find my hand right over the
break sites and the ends of the rod. Pushing, even pushing hard, on
the place where the rod was inserted (which is always how the one
surgeon in the US has determined that the rod isn't causing any
problem) didn't make it hurt any worse but it was very obvious that
THIS IS WHERE THE PAIN IS.

It's never hurt before when I bike.

This is why I bike.

Even though my leg has been getting worse in the past few years biking
has allowed me the luxury of denial. I had to go somewhere without my
bike before I was forced to realize the reason I hadn't gone grocery
shopping in almost a year wasn't because "I don't like to lock my
expensive bike up outside" but because "I can't make it through the
grocery store without pain."

It's never hurt before when I bike.

And now it does.

I gave myself two rest days and then I tried to do a solo training
ride. I left the heart rate monitor at home and went slower than
normal. Pain started by the first U-turn and I went straight home
instead of doing another loop.

Another rest day. And another. The evening training rides are social
and I went that Friday even though I knew I wouldn't be riding with
the racer boys. I spent the out and back with the middle aged women
talking about work and romance. Still riding very slow, it didn't
start hurting until I was most of the way home.

It used to be I couldn't leave the house with my safety blanket - a
bottle of prescription painkillers - enough to make sure that just in
case I got kidnapped by terrorists I would still be safely doped and
pain free for at least the next three weeks. Eventually I got over
this. Long after any physical dependence was gone I slowly weaned
myself of the psychological dependence until it got so I could
actually travel a weekend away or more without them.

For various reasons I average slightly less than one pill a month. I
take half pills. Sometimes I even take quarter pills. Mostly I take
over the counter stuff and even that not very frequently.

Right now it's two to four aleve a day and that's just to manage day
to day life.

I haven't trained. I haven't ridden. I haven't seen the mountain
bike course. And I'm in pain.

But I don't give a damn. I'm going to race.

I. Am. Not. A. Cripple.

Good thing amateur races don't have doping control cause I'm pretty
sure three aleve, two percoset, a red bull, and a coke for two laps of
a 1km mountain bike crit might normally be considered a bit of an
overkill. (Depending on their skill men have a slightly different
course and do three or five laps.)

I see the lady whose going to win and congratulate her ninety minutes
before we start. The two of us take a lazy loop of the course which,
like all mountain bike courses set up by the cycling association, is
surprisingly technical. They do this by way of apologizing to the
fast people for having to have such a short race.

When in doubt I unclip and I walk. When there is any question of
there being any doubt I walk. I walk over things and I walk down
things and I walk up other things. I'm not a very good mountain biker
to start with and I'm not going to risk crashing.

Another practice loop, this time with about fifty others. I get
frustrated by the crowd at one of the technical bits and instead of
walking around them I run around them, run down the hill, run through
the mud, run back up the next bit, and clip back in once I get on the
sidewalk.

Then I go and sit down and try not to let anyone see me cry.

After the waves of pain have gone away I get some cinnamon massage oil
from the first aid kit (don't ask me why, it's a Chinese first aid
kit) and dump about a third of the bottle on my leg. Like menthol oil
it also has some numbing properties. Like menthol oil the usage is
normally a few drops at a time.

The race starts on pavement but immediately moves to a U-turn through
lumps of mud and unconstructed road, back onto pavement, pavement,
pavement, flat unconstructed road, mud puddles, a sharp sandy turn,
more slimy mud, another sandy turn, uphill over some lumps and bumps,
a two foot drop off, down a curb, across the road, back into another
construction site, down a hill that ends with a sandy curve that
getting anything short of just right will make it impossible for you
to get the right path on a singletrack (literally one tire wide)
between deep puddles of slime and back up a sharp incline where you
again must be in exactly the right place or you risk going over and
tumbling into a mud lined pit, down a hill, across the mud, up three
feet onto the sidewalk turn down the road and start all over again.

It's beautiful.

I negotiate the first turn in fifth place. It's crowded and passing
isn't really possible. By the time the pavement ends I'm in fourth.
At the first sandy turn I'm catching up to third. Negotiating the
Pits of Slime and I'm in third. I'm off and running heaving my bike
up onto the sidewalk rather than attempting to ride any of it. Every
time I get off the bike I lose time to second place but I can't risk
crashing and her performance on the pavement is laughable. If my leg
participates then there will be no question of my taking second.

Second is where I belong. The woman in first would be first even if I
had been riding. She's actually a decent mountain biker. When we
train together she's not as strong as I am on the road but when it
comes to mountain biking she actually has two important things I lack
- confidence and skill.

Approaching the slime pits the second time I lap someone. Lapping
someone always give me a warm and fuzzy feeling. Because the right
approach is so narrow I have to get off my bike and run the whole
bit. She's blocking my ability to be in the right place at the right
speed. Second has overshot and dismounted to avoid tumbling into the
mud pit and I'm running running running great big leaps that I can
feel in my teeth and know I'm not only going to regret tomorrow but
will regret in about five minutes time when the adrenaline goes down a
bit.

I block the rideable approach to the sidewalk and clip in but she's
also off her bike and she goes around me climbing up and she gets back
on faster than I do and takes off down the road sprinting like crazy.
And I know I've lost. I will be third.

But then, the last technical bit, the final U-turn through the mud, we
are both off our bikes and she's burned up. She can't do the last
twenty meters of pavement after trying so hard to escape me and I ride
across the line in the traditional hands free victory gesture.

As soon as I brake I am off the bike and on the ground with my leg
stretched out. I will myself not to give in to the pain. I fail to
watch any of the other competitions but I will myself not to give in
to the pain. Eventually people come over and lift my bike and me off
the ground. I don't cry. Even when they make me stand up again and
go over to where we are having a group photograph I don't cry. I
grimace. I make ugly faces. I wince. But I do not cry.

I. Am. Not. A. Cripple.

Then I ride home. Slowly. In the bike lane. Being passed by cargo
trikes. But I do not cry.

In article ,
"Mike Jacoubowsky" wrote:

"Marian" wrote in message
...
The girl I once jokingly referred to as "my nemesis" has recently been
seen taking refuge in her position as a bike shop employee to be too
busy working at races to be racing at races but it doesn't take much
to notice that she also hasn't been training or even really riding.

I. Am. Not. A. Cripple.

Then I ride home. Slowly. In the bike lane. Being passed by cargo
trikes. But I do not cry.

Nice story. Very well written. Do you maintain a website with your
postings over the past year or two?

Most of Marian's stuff appears here...

http://www.chineseye.com/path-users-...erid=1406.html

....but I don't see this story.

--
Ryan Cousineau http://www.wiredcola.com/
"In other newsgroups, they killfile trolls."
"In rec.bicycles.racing, we coach them."

On Mar 31, 1:00*pm, Ryan Cousineau wrote:
In article ,
*"Mike Jacoubowsky" wrote:

"Marian" wrote in message
...
The girl I once jokingly referred to as "my nemesis" has recently been
seen taking refuge in her position as a bike shop employee to be too
busy working at races to be racing at races but it doesn't take much
to notice that she also hasn't been training or even really riding.
I. Am. Not. A. Cripple.

Then I ride home. *Slowly. *In the bike lane. *Being passed by cargo
trikes. *But I do not cry.
Nice story. Very well written. Do you maintain a website with your
postings over the past year or two?

Most of Marian's stuff appears here...

http://www.chineseye.com/path-users-...erid=1406.html

...but I don't see this story.

I do more than just blog for Chineseye and they are supposed to be
completely redoing their website so they asked me to put a hold on new
content for a while.

I've got a MarianInChina mailing list that dates back to my first week
in China over on Yahoogroups but, especially since I started writing
on Chineseye, I'm thinking I might want to play with some html and
make a website of my own with pictures and things.

My mother is a professional writer (of the really really gets paid to
write kind) and it annoys her that I don't send anything off for
publication but somehow I never get around to it.