Un, deux, trois: barrier attempts

So, the past two days I ventured out to some local soccer fields in order to attempt a few hours of mounting, dismounting (that's what she said), and running over my newly fashioned PVC cyclocross barriers. Both days were a splendid combination of warm sun, rustling breeze, and blue sky. I ran around for about an hour each day, and spent the rest of the time reading and working diligently on my fading spandex tan. It was so simple; no talking, only the inner monologue of my mind mixing mantras and visualizations in order to achieve desired results.

Throughout today's session there was little boy, no older than 7, who must have circled the field on his two-wheeler at least twenty-three times in the last half hour I was there. We exchanged word-less smiles as he whizzed along the paved path. With his blithe disposition, it made me chuckle to see him stop abruptly (ah, yes, foot breaks always bring back fond memories) and chase a squirrel up a tree with the commands of his tiny voice.

While rolling around on my road bike in the open fields, I recalled the last time I had been there: high school soccer practice. We played non-stop. Practice was everyday, even indoor in the winter, and I never ceased loving it. There was traveling and rec, varsity and extra training sessions with Bobby and David (phenomenal foreign soccer players, as well as fine individuals). The family we built around soccer was an invaluable blessing, one which I still feel the residual from today. Soccer, and the people it included, helped shape me into who I am, and that is something I will forever be grateful for. It is partly the reason I am once again rolling around in the same fields with autumn approaching (this was always the time of year that heavier practices started back up, a transition from summer camps and training into the season's games, and an overall peak time of year for fitness). I still have the same obsession, the same love and appreciation, except now I have a bike, and there is an entirely new world to explore and push the limits of. Although I miss those days when it felt as though I coud run forever under the September night's lights, when fall leaves crunched under cleats with every corner kick; although I miss the laughter and comraderie of the girls, and the intense focus of defending, stealing, and dribble-pass-dribble-shoot of each play--I know I have another family now, not a replacement so much, but rather one that runs on a parallel. I have Sula and a loving family of riders, all of which I am more than grateful for. I believe my years of soccer opened me up to numerous other worlds--inside and outside of myself--with mountain biking being one of the most eminent. Perhaps the family is not so much new as it is an extension of the former.

Leaving thin tire tracks through the grass today, I could almost hear a ref's faint whistle; I smiled inside, swinging my leg back over the seat, and knew this was exactly where I wanted to be.

Below is some video analysis footage, which should be interesting only to me. Nevertheless, enjoy.

Mt. Snow Retrospective

Wednesday July 16, 2008

10:02 AM

Bathing suit and pillow, jerseys and sports bras (multiple colors, of course), sunglasses and hair-ties, spandex and socks (the snowmen ones for race day), gloves and supplements, bottles, chocolate milk, Arnica gel, and shampoo; most importantly, though—the bike, the shoes, and the helmet. All else is negligible, either borrow or go naked, so long as you can ride your bike. We have all experienced the looming mental checklist that appears while accelerating further away from what we should have packed. It’s inevitable, and as the miles piled between us and New Jersey, a truck full of personalized and unfinished checklists slowly began to dissipate; replaced instead by individual hopes, expectations, apprehensions and curiosities about the weekend to come. The 2008 Mt. Snow National Mountain Bike Championships lie directly ahead of us, like a sleeping giant among the hills of Vermont, patiently awaiting our arrival.

2:37 PM

Upon arriving we made a beeline for registration in order to pick up our race plates and packets from the familiar lemon-shirted officials hovering about. Without much delay, our convoy sped over to the silence of a mountainside condo desperately in need of dwellers, and proceeded to inhabit it with brimming backpacks, bulging duffle bags, and enough food to occupy at least two fridges. As things began to settle and beds and floor-spaces were claimed, the fact that two males would be residing amongst a pack of six females for the next five days became a definite reality. Unlike the usual mountain bike escapade with “the guys” and you, the one girl tough enough to hang, this would prove to be an interesting experience in the dynamics of female interaction on multiple levels: as friends, as teammates, and as family. The potential was endless and the results would prove to be more than we could have asked for.

3:36 PM

At last, an opportunity to get out on our beautiful two-wheeled devices, the pre-ride! One minute we are wishing farewell to New Jersey, the next bustling about in an attempt to nest our condo into a temporary abode; and in an instant we were black and white and red uniforms marching up the belly of a sleeping giant. One lap brought the climbing aspect of Saturday’s XC race into somewhat of a perspective, and it was unanimously decided there would be quite a bit in the ascending department. The descents stood sturdy, rooted, semi-technical, tight, and fantastic; not atypical of classic Northeast terrain. All they needed to be complete was for the gods to open up a brief monsoon over their twists and turns, get things greased up a little, and consequently level the playing field—such things one can only pray for.

5:12 PM

As the others headed back to showers and dinner-prep, I decided to head out for another go on the course. I wanted to become more familiar with the water bars that stood in confidence on any number of the high-speed fire road sections. Without proper preparation and execution these seemingly small bumps, when taken at high speeds, could muster the strength to buck you from your carefree world, an event I did not care to experience. Later on I would make my way over to the Dual Slalom course in order to observe and synthesize the riders and their approach to dirt rollers; something which I learned a great deal from, watching a certain fluid beauty in their lifting the front wheel, while wheelying the back.

6:08 PM

The second lap ended up taking about two hours, for I unexpectedly encountered a nine-year-old boy named Robbie, his father ran the Kenda booth, donning a pair of flip-flops and attempting to make his way through the course on a bike that was rather big for him. At first I passed, but when my conscience kept at me, I looped back to check out the situation. Turns out that he “got scared sometimes, but not all the time” when he rode alone, and that “if I wanted to stay and ride with him he would not mind.” The flip-flops perplexed me, but I let it go and we shared a slow ride through the woods. I like to think we crossed paths for different personal reasons unbeknownst to us at the time; he needed the acknowledgment and companionship, and I needed to slow down, take some photos, and appreciate the experience at hand.

7:36 PM

My family of eight back at the homestead was a little worried that dark was closing in and I had not yet returned, but I related the story of a little boy, a big bike, and a pair of flip-flops, and they were relieved; how nice to have people around who care for you. After a communal dinner, followed by some very necessary Ben and Jerry’s, our female pack proceeded to form a stretching circle on the living room carpet, giving and taking different yoga poses and techniques, and initiating a bond over the day’s pre-ride. The positive aura of our dynamic was already beginning to take form, not just among the women, but among the two lone men and the rest of us ladies. From the beginning it was natural, nothing seemed to have to be said; we simply shared responsibilities and space, food and conversation; we worked together without having to work, like a good relationship should, and never once did we take each other for granted. The camaraderie was unmistakably genuine, a truly symbiotic relationship between a group of disparate individuals all with similar goals.

10:05 PM

A blanket, two pillows, teammate Marianne, and the shared space of a living room floor—the house had settled into that fuzzy charcoal hue of night, all was silent, and sleep was upon us. At the feet of a sleeping giant, one still awaiting our efforts to awaken him from slumber, we took to our own dreams, watching them on the backs of our eyelids, and drifted away.

Thursday July 17, 2008

6:59 AM

Homemade waffles, fresh almond butter, and plump blueberries—what more could one ask for in their breakfast wishes? The house smelled sweetly of batter slowly congealing, brewed coffee, and crushed almonds. Amid muffled morning-talk and sleep gradually exiting newly opened eyes we found ourselves once again seated, akin to The Last Supper, a family gathered at dawn. Another stretching session found its way in after breakfast and then a period of relaxation and reading, light conversation and naps before preparing for the initial Super-D course inspection—it was only in the week prior, at Windham Mountain, that several of us made our debut onto the Super-D scene, thus anticipation was on par with curiosity, and everyone was eager to experience the unknown.

2:11 PM

Lunch was consumed and spandex was slipped into, sunscreen applied, and water bottles filled. Five of six women in the house loaded onto their full-suspensions with slightly longer travel and headed towards the lifts. We are XC riders who have dabbled in downhill, and so a lift-ride to the top of the mountain (unheard of) is still somewhat of a novelty. With the astonished yet positive reactions from the local lift attendants and fellow riders, I suppose our girl-herd was also still somewhat of a novelty. Sometimes it slips my mind that a pack of confident and accomplished female riders can be seen as somewhat of an anomaly in the world of mountain biking.

Our crew got in three runs within the time allotted for Super-D practice, and I would be a liar if I did not say that those runs were sheer bliss. On a scale of one to amazing, they were pretty much amazing. The course commenced with a descent, rightfully so, into an open grassy area which held several hidden rock faces, steep enough to necessitate a move of your rear out over the back wheel. An off-camber right onto a neck’s-width skinny placed you atop the face of a rock and then dipped into various sections of highly satisfying singletrack. The course certainly demanded one’s attention, which made it that much more enjoyable; with medium-sized drops, scattered roots, fast fire roads, sprintable ascents, and double track interspersed with a notorious species of elusive water bar. As a result of the three runs, our group came away plastered with grins, chatting our way back home and already reminiscing lines and sharing personal technique. Riding and positive people, good food and sleep—the imperative staples of life were all present, and another day at Mt. Snow had come and gone.

Friday July 18, 2008

6:07 AM

Friday Morning brought the first, and second, of our XC races: semi-pro at nine and sport at twelve. As my own race neared (Saturday) and pre-race nerves began to eat away at the lining of my stomach and intestinal tract, consuming breakfast became more and more of a challenge, while holding it down remained an effort in and of itself. Not for everyone, but alas for a select few, as race day gets closer to becoming a reality, the volatility of a nervous stomach can become a fragile matter of balance and moderation. Anything and everything related to food becomes a means for the onset of nausea.

7:29 AM

Willie, one of the two males in our household, and I packed up sandwiches among juice boxes, a few beers and plenty of water, and soon enough we made our way by foot (I with bike in hand for another post-drumming pre-ride) to the designated drumming circle at the side of a long fire road climb. Art, the other male in our condo and the man behind Mt. Snow’s famed and beloved drummers, was to race semi-pro; and teammates, Marianne and Jennifer were to race sport shortly after.

It was a long day of maracas, cheese graters, bongos, and beating drums; but the extra motivation we gave to suffering riders as they chugged away, the rhythm for cadence we provided, and the appreciative smiles we received all combined to feed our ambition to keep on sending out a beat. We knew there would be times in our race tomorrow in which the drumming would become our lifeline.

3:01 PM

I headed out with teammates Aaron and Tom to cruise the second half of the course, check out the newly altered position of both my shifting and break levers, and get the legs going a little bit more than they had been hitting the foot pedal on a base drum. The pace was pleasant and we stopped to work several turns, attempting to decipher which lines would provide for minimum loss of momentum and maximum experience of enjoyment. After riding it was about due time to give several sets of legs a rest and cool-down in the pool. The moderately cold water became a sort of therapeutic weightlessness in which we could sink and rise, stretch, kick, hold breath, and glide. It felt as though we were at summer camp, and one knows that at summer camp abbreviated dips in the pool (or river) must be followed up by several intense matches of foosball and Ping-Pong (table tennis for the mature). After being shut out in both games of skill, I tucked my tail between my legs and headed off for a family meal of homemade lasagna and fresh salad, followed of course by ice cream—fulfilling enough to make me forget about my lack of table tennis skills.

I prepared clothing and bottles, laid out gels, CO2, and a multi-tool, and followed up with a once-over on the bike before practicing bottle feeds and drops with Aaron. It was a good night, indeed, and I was off to bed. To my surprise, though, just after midnight our room was awoken by the thunder and wind of a storm that seemed to have opened up directly over our sleeping giant. The intensity of the rain was akin to that of a waterfall, and with this I smiled to myself, feeling the energy of the elements and knowing what such a deluge would translate to on the next morning’s course. I imagined the giant chuckling a little to himself, his belly moving ever so slightly in his laughter.

Saturday July 19, 2008

5:27 AM

Fumbling fingers turn the grooved nobs of tableside lamps; eyes squint in confusion and disbelief as a new glow instantly fills rooms of slumber. Pairs of bare feet shuffle into bathrooms, make their way into a kitchen, and patter onto a living room carpet where white sheets outline the rise and fall of two semi-dormant bodies. The sound and smell of percolating addiction crawls into every corner of the morning and soon shuffling feet have legs and torsos, arms and fingers, minds, sinew and voice; we are almost awake. I am spreading sweet almond butter atop Aaron’s handmade bread, then pushing full berries of blue into the tawny paste, then drizzling honey and watching it slide slowly like lava into the spaces between. A refilled water bottle, hardboiled egg, and vitamins complete the picture and I am sitting in order to commence consumption. With two hours until race time the temperamental disposition of a nervous stomach is just about reaching its culmination in terms of intensity; breakfast is a forced operation, my teeth and tongue masticating but when it comes time for my esophagus to follow through with peristalsis, it is failing miserably and I am feeling the food creep down inside, only far enough to be out of sight. Eyes closed, I am inhaling the remains, allowing a vitamin and some water to float downstream. I am leaving the others to finish their pre-race meals, moving away from the table in order to finish getting ready.

6:03 AM

I am at the sink scrubbing a toothbrush and mint green gel over the white of my teeth. I am nauseous. I am refunding the morning’s bread, blueberries, egg, and honeyed almonds—six times over. An undigested vitamin is popping out among the mess; undigested everything is ejecting itself from my body. Although now I am worrying about not having enough nutrition and fluids to endure the race, I am feeling significantly better. I am praying that I have eaten enough at last night’s dinner, and hydrated enough over the past few days, to not be depleted for the upcoming hours.

6:55 AM

I am dressing in my Saturday’s best, smearing sunscreen, filling my back pouches, adopting two water bottles from the fridge, and heading out for a warm-up with the ladies. The morning is dew-laden and peaceful as we are making our way over to the base area. We are raising the rates of our hearts, getting into zones, and then letting them recede; we are sipping liquids, spinning lactic acid from shaved legs; we are nerves and concentration, hidden smiles and grumbling innards; we are preparing for the worst yet visualizing the greatest.

7:50 AM

After sufficient warm-up and multiple trips to the bathroom, we are lining up for staging purposes in the start/finish area. Officials are cracking jokes and scrawling fat black numbers across our calves. 36. Words of encouragement are coming from Marianne and are passing through my ears while I am absorbing the details of a moment in time. She is snapping a shot with her digital camera and the moment is being transfixed in pixels. The closer we get to the line, the more silent people are becoming. Thirty seconds. I am taking several deep breaths to open up the things that need opening. Fifteen seconds. I am in a tunnel, concentrated and determined to feel that light at the end. Go.

10:12 AM

I feel as though new barriers have been broken, personal ones, as I am letting tears of contentment make their way down my mud-splattered cheeks. Something clicked. Something within me had clicked and my inner mantras, combined with the drumming, took over to carry me through. Aaron’s words, “who wants to suffer more, you or them?” were one of my mantras, as was a Joss Stone tune, followed by the occasional repetition of the name Mary McConneloug. Who knows how certain mantras come about while racing, but if they keep you going then keep ‘em coming.

10:23 AM

I have never pushed that hard in my life, and when the three laps came to an end, I knew I had left everything out there. I knew I was undeniably satisfied with my riding and my effort, which was what I had hoped for, not to give up on myself. By the close of the race, I was fully aware that I had reached higher grounds on a personal level, and could ask for nothing more. The climbs were grueling. They seemed to scoff at you, daring you to cease your cadence. The giant egged us on and I egged on the giant. The descents were an amalgam of slick coffee grinds, off-camber root systems, and precarious, sweating rocks—it was heaven.

11:04 AM

Post-race nutrition most usually has to come in a liquid form, otherwise my stomach does not seem to take too well. Chocolate milk is usually the beverage of choice; and so, sipping on a box of cold cow’s milk I found pleasure in the realization that I would have the opportunity to race again tomorrow in the Super-D. I was grateful to be done, but excited about the idea of another race, one that would take about ten minutes as opposed to two hours. The notion was as refreshing as my post-race beverage of choice.

12:07 PM

After showering with all of my muddied clothing still on, including my shoes, it was back over to the tent for awards. Not only was I overwhelmed with my personal performance, but making my way to the podium for top three allowed me to fulfill one of several goals for the year. It was a blessing and I knew I had worked hard all winter for it—mentally, spiritually, and physically. Although it was rather unexpected, I knew I had it in me somewhere, and I was just thankful to have found it.

1:57 PM

My entire family from the condo, male and female alike, headed back up the mountain to drum for the last two races: pro women followed by pro men. Our teammate, Aaron Oakes, would most likely appreciate the support amidst the sear of a mid-day sun and a menacing pro field. Rhythms and chants sifted about in the humidity as riders seemed to find enough energy to give gratitude through grins, fist-pumps, and saddle-top dances. The energy was conjoint electricity, perhaps something that emerged from a shared suffering and a common goal.

4:45 PM

Back at the condo a few of us donned bathing suits and headed to the pool for some much needed weightless relaxation. The ensuing night’s activities consisted of attending the annual Naked Crit and staying up until half past four in the morning to talk and wrestle and simply be a kid again.

Sunday July 20, 2008

4:27 AM

I fall into a blissful state of sleep.

6:30 AM

Breakfast was had, though not much due to the previous morning’s purging escapade. This I do not care to repeat. My eyes barely care to remain open, but the Super-D course beckoned as we reached the end of a lengthy lift line for a pre-run. I was not quite awake, but after airing slightly off of a water bar at a reasonable speed and having my left foot unclip, I became quite alert. Superman slides along loose fire roads do way more for your senses than a cup of Folgers any day. With fresh blood painting my legs and a new sense of heightened awareness, I headed back up the lift with the team, five women deep, in order to line up for the le mains start. It was a sprint, with bike in hand, up a steep grass incline, to a mount at the red line atop the hill. Waiting around for too long of a time up top was reason enough for all of us ladies to need to empty our bladders several times over. At the line, hearing go, I reminded myself that I have been trail running on my off days and mustered first up the climb. Two girls ran by while I was attempting to clip in and hopped into the lead, and the race would finish the same—I am now aware that I must practice my uphill mount, or at least remember to wait until the ground is level before hopping on. An eleven minute adrenaline rush and then it was over, yet I was still high and wanting to do it again. Quick fixes are fleeting and ephemeral, but this one seemed to last a good two hours after. Awards were attended and my teammates in the women’s 40 plus open category took a podium sweep with first, second, third, and fifth. Once again, I unexpectedly yet contentedly slotted third in my open women 19-29 category. Without a moment’s rest, it was back to the condo to quickly pack and clean, shower and scarf down some food. Keys were returned and as soon as we had arrived we were gone.

Now.

For my family and my team, for my experiences and the people I meet along the way; for the races, for the effort, for the love, the perseverance, the pain, the blessings; for the support, for the challenge, for the opportunity to show I am grateful by living my passions—I am thankful. I am content in the present, yet I look forward to that which has yet to come. I am thankful.