Once again, decked.
I’m SO FUCKING TIRED OF CRASHING! I want to blame someone. Really. More than that. I want to have a goddamned tantrum. And then I want to beat someone’s ass. But it’s my fault. Gah, writing that makes me cringe. But it’s my fault. I coulda slept in, but instead I piled into Dan’s van at 7 in the morning and spent my entire day spinning around the 20 good minutes I raced like a drunk-shit trying to fight the coriolis effect.
I suck at cross.
Cold-ish, but not horrible, the first two laps were alright. Lots of roots and various chinanery to keep the unwary watchful. Little issues: right cleat not letting go at dismounts. NBD. 8 small curbs across a 100 yards of ex-swimming pool should have been a place to relax and get a breath, but since I can’t bunny-hop, each of these innocuous little bastards was like a tiny gravestone with my name on it. One in particular… I blipped the front, cleared, blipped the back, clipped it and… kept… going… forward. Over the bars, onto my head, shoulder, chest, elbow, hip, DICK (the world’s smallest airbag), knees and chin. I lay there for several minutes, making weird noises, sure I’d broken a coupla ribs, with riders whipping by doing that doppler-effect aaaaREYOUOKayyyyyy thing and a seriously concerned John Andre leaning over me, hoping I’d speak. Fuck. Day over.
Favorite moment, when the SRAM guy looked at my b-bike, which wasn’t involved in the crash, and tsk-tsk’d over the damaged it’d sustained. Guess I need to get that fixed, too…
Good: Dan Larino. Ate massive, 2x Zipp wheel-shit during his race and didn’t ever lose his mind or sense of humor. Stacey Barbossa, who wondered if there might be some beneficial swelling of the tiny-airbag apres crash. (No, but thanks for hoping.) Everyone who was nice as I tried to explain how my crash was different and special. (Like me. Only not.) My Helmet. I loves me some POC. Don’t care how ugly, when I bounced, I thought “Yay!” for a moment. Then went on to think some other things, because my brain wasn’t broken.
Bad: the guy who hit the deck after me and broke his chin. Or jaw. Or both. Or just the one part. Still not clear on that. But there was a shit-ton of blood and horror. This shouldn’t happen at a cross race. It just shouldn’t.
I’m not racing tomorrow at Sussex. I should. Everyone involved is awesome. I want to be top 10 in the NJBA B’s this year. But I’m creaky and tired and I’m gonna hang curtains instead.
Oh, and it’s gonna be 20 fucking degrees. And windy. Fuck You Cyclocross. I ate three pieces of pumpkin pie to spite you. I might eat another.