I'm not giving up, yet...

There was a Georgia State Cup race this past weekend, which also served as a SERC make-up race as well as a way to fill up the weekend. Weekends without racing feels weird, and since we don't get the New York Times on weekends, there's really no reason to get up out of bed unless you're going to a race. So anyway, Alexis and Kim and I were going to go but at the very last minute we convinced Mikey "Bon Jovi?!?" Viertel to come along with us.

The race course was dumb, but props still to the folks you built it. It's hard work building a trail, I know, but riding a just built trail is just as hard. Especially because then you have real expectations, not just fantasies. But racing isn't supposed to be easy, so I won't complain...but since I'm already at it, besides not being easy, this course was uncomfortable. Nothing a few minutes with a Pulaski couldn't fix, but whatever...

Anyway, following the individual time trial, dinner at the Golden Corral, and a trip to the liquor store with Mikey, we sat around the parking lot conversing with some Vantaggio girls. At some point, the conversation privatised and I was informed of a something the boy of one of the prior blahg posts had said. Instead of quoting him, I'll quote the Avett Brothers with what immediately went through my head: "Don't tell me its over because that's the worst news I could hear." I realize I was at a bike race and supposedly am called a Pro and perhaps should behave as such, but my delicate little world that is this, at times, very difficult experience of growing up was absolutely shattered. I'm no where near getting over this boy and am in a perpetual state of feeling destroyed because of it. This was just bruising on top of bruises.

The next morning, finding out I could get my entry fee refunded, I spent what would have been my warming-up time throwing rocks at an exposed root 15 ft away. I was getting pretty good at it, and somewhat distracted from feeling sad, when Kym the Miracle Worker (who was also my main competition) came over and ever so carinlgy slapped (by which I mean realistically consoled) some sense into me. Embarrassed for having exposed myself as young and lacking perspective, I took her advice to suck it up, suit up, and go race. I did and got second to Kym. I'm fine with that. I admire that woman so much, so standing slightly below her on the podium just serves to provide a metaphorical visual of how I look up to here. Or something.

On the starting line, too, still mentally not into the race, Homeboy Whose Name I Can't Remember from The Hub bike shop told me good luck and there'd be a beer waiting for me at the end--he had witnessed my earlier displays of sorrow and thankfully didn't judge me, at least not to my face. Homeboy is part of the best team under any tent at the SERC's: Team Wake and Bake. They ride 29ers, which I don't like because I'm 5'3" and I have a hard time accepting innovation, but I forgive them because they are a team chock full of great riders and even better personalities. My first female role model in a long time (Kym has since butted her way into this hard to obtain position as well) Rebecca is on their team. I would post a link to her blog but her last name is spelled like Tomaszewski but with six more s's, z's and w's that I don't know where to put. Anyway, she's a badass. Look out for her.

I'm losing focus. Okay...right, team Wake and Bake. They rock. Following the Athens SERC (i.e. the beginning of me admitting to myself that sometimes my emotional/mental state does indeed severly affect my racing, not very pro of me, I know...), they immediately ushered in the little wayfaring bike racer that I am, let me sit under their tent, drink their beer, and talk about nothing important with them. And then Homeboy at this race being there once again for the litter wayfarer. And Kym, and Alexis, and Mike, and everyone else, and Terry and Doug from Gone Riding being like dang yeah, get yourself a refund and not asking questions. The mountain biking community is freakin incredible. Loosely knit and geographically disperse, but incedible nonetheless. And so I thank them...and further wonder why some people have to take it so seriously (see previous post) that they miss out on the post-race tent parties and the development of weekend friendships that really do mean so much.