Monday, February 26, 2007

It's been a while since I've posted. Mostly cause I'm a lazy bastard, but also because...let's just leave it at I'm lazy. It's been a bunch of months since I last posted but everything is pretty much the same as it was then. If I'm not at work trying not to laugh at the latest proposed schedule then I'm on my bike. Racing has started again though and that has provided the impetus to jump start the blog.

Saturday I made the mistake of allowing Pruitt to talk me into doing Ronde Ohop. Don't let his 'I'm a nice friendly father of two sunglasses rep' exterior fool you. That man is responsible for all that is evil in the world. Ronde Ohop in particular. If I cut straight to the chase I got a rather unimpressive ninth out of twenty-odd starters. Now comes the part of the post where I make excuses for why I didn't win. Little known fact, but in addition to that 30 points required to upgrade from a cat 2 to a cat 1 thing, the only other requirement for becoming a cat one is that you solemnly swear to provide at least three excuses...pardon me three reasons, three explanations for why you didn't win any given race.

Without further ado,

1.) The sun was in my eyes.
2.) Kenny was there and his hair gives him magical powers.
3.) I got boxed in in the final sprint.

OK, there's my three, but given that it was cloudy and rainy all day, the sun in my eyes excuse doesn't hold much water. Also, Kenny wasn't there, and I don't think that any group had more than two finishers by the end, the whole boxed in at the sprint thing isn't going to fly either. On the bright side, I did have a few mechanicals. After lap three of 20 I couldn't get into my big ring, and I had to stop twice to fix my brakes (the first time after rolling straight through turn one despite having my levers pulled all the way to the bar). I know, I know, what kind of a sissy wants to slow down in a race; the idea is to go faster. Generally that's true but when turn one is at the end of a downhill and takes you through a big pile of gravel and mud it's a good idea to shed a little speed. After getting gapped off when I couldn't stop, I kinda lost my motivation a bit and just rolled the last half (that's bike racer lingo for I turned into a little bitch).

I thought that last season I peaked a bit early. I was doing well up through Walla Walla (late April), and then I wasn't able to put together any good results until the Lake Washington Velo series (late summer), and that was more luck than fitness anyway. The luck being Todd Herriott saying hey, you want to win this one? Let me drag you around the course for 8 laps and then lead you out into your pathetic slow motion sprint. I of course said that sounds nice, and then proceeded to suffer like a dog as he dragged my big butt around the course. This was compounded by the fact that my big butt is a solid foot above his little one so my lower calf got a nice draft but the rest of me was SOL. That and Todd puts out 500 watts before he starts to sweat.
Jamie fall down go boom
I also started racing the track which provided valuable entertainment to everyone in the stands

I've intentionally tried to avoid coming into the early season too hot again, and judging by Ohop I'm doing a fine job of going slow. We'll see how going from my 105 equipped, fully fendered rain bike that won't shift or stop on a bumpy muddy dirt trail to my brand spankin' new Dura Ace decked out Madone (sans fenders) on an actual road works out. I'm guessing I'll still be slower than I want to, but in theory I want to be slower than I want to right now.

That makes my head hurt.

And remember, Michael Pruitt is the source of all the evil in the world. Anton (the Pleasure) Jackson and Todd (the Punisher) Herriott realized this before I did and have started the pre-season with a bout of psychological warfare by emailing him with tales of how they are planning to crush his body and spirit this season. Pruitt counters by questioning what a man who garnered 12th place at the US Pro national championships last year is doing talking trash to a 36 year old father of two that trains two hours a week, and what a man who refers to himself as 'The Pleasure' is doing...wait--who refers to themselves as "The Pleasure?"


See you fools at Mason next week.