Have only raced Red Kite once this year.
Haven’t raced on the Livermore course all year.
Enough build up.
Arrived and ran into Dillon Chang. He had raced the race before me and was leaving. He wished me good luck. He couldn’t stay. He had brought his family and they had other obligations other than watching me suffer.
Registered.
Pinned on my number.
Warmed up.
Began the race.
Slotted in.
Pushed a little.
Sat in.
Felt okay.
Halfway through the race and the pace slowed.
Decided when the pack slowed to go. Went too early.
Jumped away from the pack with eight laps to go.
Got away from the pack for nearly a lap before getting caught!
Swung out and to the left alone. Put in a little dig.
Turned the corner and no one followed. I smiled inwardly.
Hit the long stretch against the wind by myself.
I tore down the stretch alone! Looked back for someone. No one was there.
Turned the third corner and suddenly halfway across the stretch felt the fire in the lungs. It was as if the first two corners didn’t count. My chest was on fire. My nose could not suck in enough air. Yet I was so close to swinging around the last corner before the start/finish line and having a moment of glory.
Bother.
I looked to turn the corner and be ahead of the pack before getting gobbled up.
I kept waiting for my recovery to kick in. I was talking to my body and trying to will it to calm down and recover. It refused to listen to me.
Bother.
One hundred feet from the last corner and a lone rider zipped by me and paused to see if I had anything left in the tank. Of course, it would have been nice to have some help earlier. The lone rider pushed past me and led the rest of the pack past me. The pack gobbled me up. Bother.
Lost my glory moment.
Tried to recover. No recovery. Drag.
Had a lot of fun. Rolled around the course a couple of more laps and the race was over.
Finished last.
Raced another race.
Flatted with five laps to go.
Felt good in the second race.
Love racing.