How a season goes wrong

1. Starting too early. A subscriber to periodization, I began base aerobic training for the 2009 season during the first week of December 2008. The roads were fit for riding by the second week of March, which means I was on my trainer every week for over three months. Some may have the mentality for this, but apparently I do not. By the time the weather turned reasonable, I was already burned out. My rides seemed disappointing, I never felt like I was improving, and it took a long time to get out of that fog.
2. No specificity. Mountain biking and track racing are staples of my season. My "burning out" in March, which I now clearly understand was overtraining syndrome, was misdiagnosed by my primary care doctor as postconcussive disorder. I underwent a battery of $$$ tests, and for months was instructed not to race or ride off-road. As a a result, I missed a ton of conditioning. As an added bonus, the idea that I may have a brain injury that may affect my long-term activity level was extremely depressing. A neurologist found no PCD and gave me the green light to resume a full spectrum of activity, but not after the months of waiting had already drilled a hole in my riding season.
3. Stress. This year was intensely stressful. Just when things were turning around for me on the bike, in June I went off to a week of CISSP bootcamp. It was an intense, 100+ hour hell week of studying and testing, culminating in a 6-hour examination. At the end, I was completely and totally fried. Mentally ravaged. And for the four weeks it took to get my results, I spent every day wondering if I would have to go through it all over again. Even after I found out I passed, it took weeks to mentally come down.
4. Not riding. I did what I thought made sense, given that I had missed so much time on the bike - I went for strength in the gym, hoping to help bridge the gap. I worked out with Sarah every week, making terrific gains. However, each workout took a few days to recover from, which made the scheduling of meaningful on-bike training difficult. Not only this, but the translation of workout strength to bike strength just wasn't there. I never felt like it was converting for me. But no matter what, I wasn't getting the saddle time. There is no substitute.
5. Bad fueling. You'd think I'd have this nailed by now, but years later I still don't have it. I blew it on Mt. Wash by misjudging the conditions and running out of water in the heat. I wasn't feeling too well to begin with, and no way would I have PR'd this year, but even still, I haven't been able to find the magic (tolerable+effective) combination of electrolytes and carbohydrates. HEED and gels, together, are just not getting it done for me. Recently I started learning about Nuun, which I am planning to try.
6. Poor self-awareness. Reading all this, it's easy to see that I should have low expectations coming into cyclocross season. But being frustratingly competitive, I went head first into the CX season finishing near the tail end of every race, wondering where the improvement over last season was. I beat myself up week after week, racing through illness until I realized that throwing in the towel on being competitive this year was not only a good idea, but absolutely necessary for my health (in all respects). Looking back, I should have embraced this year as a fun off-year and taken it easy a long time ago.

Joe Friel wrote a blog post on off season exercise the other day that really helped level my perspective.

Sunday Drive

We're in the lefthand lane on 93 Southbound, around exit 37c in Woburn. It's a beautiful day and traffic is really heavy, and as usual on 93 everyone is following exceptionally close. Except me, in a sea of drafting massholes I'm the dick from new hampshire leaving two car lengths between our car and the one in front. Whatever, that's how I roll. What the hell do I know though.

From out of nowhere, this silver Dodge Intrepid comes flying by at what had to be 90+, darting in and out of lanes, of course using no turn signals, cutting everyone off in his path. Kristen said at one point he cleared all four lanes of traffic in one sweep, which given the traffic volume would have been something attempted only by a professional or an insane person. Last I checked, all the professionals were in Martinsville today.

This guy's luck ran out right in front of us. His last brazen sweeping maneuver landed him in the left lane, directly in front of us, on a collision course with the car right in front of us. He had no clue the car was there. At the last millisecond, with literally an inch between him and the car, he realizes he's about to crash and cuts the wheel hard back into traffic. Here we go.

At the same time, he starts fishtailing wildly at highway speed in the middle of the road, while I nail the brakes to avoid colliding with him. I glance at my rearview and a whole trainload of traffic is headed right up our ass. The old lady behind us is bearing down hard on our bumper and I'm gambling there is no way she knows how to drive. Somehow while the Intrepid is snaking all over 93, miraculously missing all traffic, I get off the brakes, cut into the highway to avoid getting rear-ended, avoid traffic and brake again, and then amazingly miss the Intrepid as it recoils to perpendicular back into our direction directly in front of us and slams headfirst into the median guardrail. The trip into the median sends up a shower of dirt, mud, and auto parts which somehow leaves the Civic unscathed, although in need of a bath to be sure. A little hard to see, but I get the car pulled over and stopped in the median to make sure we're actually still alive. I'm just sitting in the car shaking, holding the wheel repeating "I can't believe we're still alive I can't believe we're still alive".

We walk back toward the Intrepid. I can see that both bags are blown and a head has clearly struck the windshield on the passenger side. A kid is already out of the car, on the phone with who knows, bleeding from the head and neck. He has really dark skin so it's difficult to make out the extent of his injuries. I'm looking all over for the passenger, and it turns out there isn't one. It takes me a minute to figure this one out. No seatbelt. The kid must have been thrown onto the dashboard like a rag doll when he hit the guardrail to have hit the windshield on the opposite side of the car.

This Dodge Intrepid handles pretty well.

This one, not so much.

Kristen is asking him if he's okay; he's on his feet and talking on a cell phone, so as far is I'm concerned I could give a shit. If it were a legitimate accident, different story. But driving like that, I have zero sympathy. The difference between the Intrepid eating the guardrail and slamming headfirst into Kristen's side of our car was probably bullshit luck.

The State Police arrive. After talking to the driver of the Intrepid, the trooper heads our way.

"What did he say happened?" I ask.

"He said he was cut off."

I start to laugh a little. "Now let me tell you what really happened."

The Major

I don't think there was ever a formal introduction, so here's The Major. Quite possibly making an appearance in next week's Orchard Cross costume race.

2008 Kona Major Jake - 54cm
Love the frame, love the color; probably a hair too small.

King Headset
Something you just have to do

Stella Azzurra Bellagio carbon fork

A little flexy for my taste, but it was $100

2002 Bontrager Race Lite wheelset

Have not disappointed; surprisingly durable

Michelin Mud 2 tires

These are always the right call; tire pressure is the only decision to make

Kore Race+ Brakes

Road inserts, almost no shudder, and they're white

42x12-27 drivetrain

Ultegra 9 shifter is on its last leg, but the FSA isis carbon pro crank spins wonderfully, and the XTR short cage rear will not be defeated. USA-made Vuelta ring hasn't puked up a chain yet.

XTR M970 pedals

An eBay steal, they do the job

Not up to much

Haven't been up to a whole lot lately. Rest. That, and getting the house in some kind of livable state after months of neglect. Hey we have an office again! It only took over a year. Sort of an indictment on where my focus has been.

I've been sick off and on for about three weeks at this point, and I think I'm finally on the verge of health. Of course I didn't help matters by racing in Providence last Saturday.

Hopped up on steady stream of Mucinex D (which for the record contains Pseudoephedrine, which is on next year's UCI banned substance list - le dopage!) and Advil, I trotted out there and started warming up on my trainer at 6:30 in the morning. By 6:35 I was already sweating. Like Jimmy Tango vibrating heat bead sweating. Probably shouldn't have been out there, but what's new.

All in all it was actually an okay race for me. I finished 49/71, which exceeded my expectations. I even had a sprint in me at the finish. I sat on a wheel for a good long time coming up to the line, and then bolted; unfortunately, someone had been doing the same exact thing to me. I don't think there has been a more furious sprint for 48th place in the history of cycling. I crossed the line and immediately started dry heaving.

The one thing I took away from the race was that if I can have a mediocre finish feeling that sick, I certainly have a respectable finish in me if I'm healthy.

Being sick forced me to ride with a greater awareness of how I race, given that I couldn't give 100%. Among the things I noticed:

1. I really need to work on skills. I run barriers well (as well I should), but dismount timing, remounting, cornering, all need work. They're inconsistent and the time these things cost me adds up. I wish I had been able to attend the cross clinic a few weeks ago, but of course I was sick.

2. Starts really need work. I can never seem to get clipped in right away. When you have a bad start, you get mired in the pack. In cross, this means you lose. You get stuck behind traffic, people run into you, and you become the victim of others poor skills and bad lines. You'll almost never overcome this and then bridge. It is so important to gap the field at the start. But of course if you're sick and perpetually exhausted, that's not exactly possible.

Hence rest.

Toast

Supposed to race in Providence this Saturday morning. I'm sick again - terrific - so we'll see how that works out. Being sick twice in a three week span is basically a cry for help that I need time off.

Raced at UNH last night. 11/14. I definitely have what it takes to hang with the group, that I know. But something is just not there. I don't have the snap. No fire. No initiative to go with them. Physically I don't think I've had "it" since April. Mentally, possibly just as long. It's definitely not there right now. Last night I was very casual and didn't have it in me to push, save for right at the very end. This is overtraining syndrome ladies and gentlemen.

If I'm even healthy enough to go on Saturday, that will be it for a while I think; probably the season. I may poke my head out once in November or December for a fun race, but for now, I'm toast.

I'll part with this observation:

Last season, I posted my best Wash time ever.

This season, I posted my worst.

Last season, I started my base training that February.

This season, I started the first week of December '08.

Saturday in Gloucester

I'm awake by 4:30am, and up fifteen minutes later. I get up, get dressed, and head downstairs. It's still dark out, so I flip on an outside light to see what I'm in for this morning. Rain. Sweet.

Kristen and I are in Gloucester by 6:30. I'm one of only a handful of racers here. I'm early, as usual. No one else in my section of the parking lot except a wild rabbit. Still dark. I look up at a streetlight, and the rain is coming down in sheets. This is why I bring extra gloves and shoes I guess. I suit up and head out onto the course for some warmup laps. No one is out here. No one else is dumb enough to be out here right now. It's basically a small hurricane.

I get through maybe a lap and a half, and I've had it. I'm already drenched. Both sections of the course that run directly along the coastline are positively miserable. As one rider in the startup grid put it, it was like getting a face full of 'noreaster. You'd round a corner and it felt like you were hooked up to a parachute in the driving rain.

We stood in the starting grid for a good 15 minutes. A handful of others and I were already shivering, and taking shit from some of the guys with a little more body fat, who seemed perfectly content.

It isn't even 8 in the morning yet.

The whistle blows, and we're off. I'm about four rows from the back. I still cannot start these races for the life of me. You really have to just take off with reckless abandon and somehow not blow up. I don't do that. I don't know what the hell I do. I go out kind of hard, but never really gain more than a few positions, and then by halfway through the lap I've already imploded.

Also within half a lap, the course is already chewed to hell. Everything is swampy, muddy, slippery, and soaked. And then it rains even harder. All the lines I found during warmup are still there, but it hardly matters because the field is 80% gone. I don't know what the hell is going on with me this year. I have nothing. I basically abandoned all hope of racing singlespeed this year by the end of lap one. There's no way I have it. Especially in conditions like this.

I shoulder my bike for the mud wall run-up, and I forget to grab the handlebar, which swings around and punches me in the mouth. Terrific. I'm soaked, covered in mud, and now I'll enjoy a few laps of bloody mouth taste.

At one point, as if my shifter was somehow connected to my inner reservoir of motivation and will to live, it simply stopped working.

Going through the same stretches of water, completely re-saturating your lower half - it took a few laps to get used to that. It's like a miniature electrocution every time.

My tires - Michelin Mud 2 - actually did really well. In fact, they were awesome. Even as things basically degraded into pudding. Problem is, I have no experience racing in this stuff. Also, due in large part to last year's crashes, I have no balls whatsoever. By the time I figure out that I'm being overly cautious, it's far too late.

I don't know how many laps we did. People were steadily overtaking me the entire time, passing me in the same spots. Spots where I just had nothing, no matter what I did. I thought for sure I'd be lapped. I heard 1-to-go with about a lap and half left, and I was ready to be pulled, just like last year. As I round the corner to the pavement, the race marshal is standing there with the clipboard, uninterested. She lets me go. Terrific. Another lap in the mud typhoon.

I try to finish with one of my teammates, but I can't even muster the energy to hang with him for more than a lap. Almost ten minutes after the winner, I cross the line 75th of 83 in 47 minutes or so. 99 racers were registered; who knows how many DNF'd or simply had the good sense to stay in bed.

I beelined for the tents, said hi to Stu Thorne (the man behind CyclocrossWorld, the team I ride for), and booked it back to the car. The rain was still torrential. Not wanting to soak the driver's seat, I cram into the backseat, which is loaded with gear, and perform no end of circus-like contortions to peel my race outfit off and get into some dry clothes. Everything is drenched, so I throw the bike in the car too; why the hell not at this point. It's been through enough not to have to ride home on the roof.

It's 9:03 in the morning. This is cross.

An Epic Gloucester on Tap

This weekend is one of the biggest, if not the biggest, cyclocross races of the year 'round these parts - The Gran Prix of Gloucester. It's a two day event, but I'm only in for Saturday. Still trying to get my endurance under me.

Last year, Gloucester was a rough go. I finally had my singlespeed gearing dialed in, but a pre-ride concussion, coupled with a thrown chain in the middle of the race blew up my day. Weatherwise, it was nice. Cold, but sunny.

This year, and Saturday in particular, looks to be epic 'cross weather. The stuff you see in pictures. Tonight's light rain will slop things up, and tomorrow's expected deluge, paired with 20mph winds, will make this race a complete mess. Not to mention I go off bright and early...at 8am. Cold, dark, miserable; that's probably what we're looking at.

In a race like this, the playing field is leveled. No one has traction. No one is guaranteed to stay upright. Speed is not going to be your friend today. It's all about bike handling, tires, and luck. Three things I generally try to stock up on.