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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. |
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#2
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Hainan Mountain Bike Race
Then I ride home. Slowly.
Wow! Great story, so much drama. Have you had the leg looked at lately rms |
#3
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Hainan Mountain Bike Race
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? |
#4
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Hainan Mountain Bike Race
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 |
#5
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Hainan Mountain Bike Race
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. |
#6
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Hainan Mountain Bike Race
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." |
#7
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Hainan Mountain Bike Race
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. |
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