A Day At The (Bike) Races

Bicycle Racing in Prospect Park
The Pete Senia Memorial Race
Sunday, October 3, 2004. 6:30AM
Category 5

On August 1, 2004, I bought my first road bike that was good enough to race. As I talk about on my bike page, I've been riding my whole life but never, raced. After getting my Trek 1000 and riding it for a few days, I knew I wanted to race. But first I had to start training.

I set up an excel spreadsheet and started planning and logging my distance, trip times, MPH max & average and my heart rates and zones. I went at it pretty good during August and early September, but then work got in the way and it started to get dark a little too early to safely ride in Brooklyn.

By now it was the end of the season and I'd pretty much blown my chances to get some races in and start learning, but at the last minute I found a race in Prospect Park scheduled for a Sunday in early October. It was the Pete Senia Memorial race presented by the Metropolitian Cycling Association.

The hell with it, I'd give it a shot. I applied for and received my racing license from USA Cycling. I started posting to a private blog about my training rides and started posting to rec.bicycles.racing and reading all I could get my hands on about the strategy and tactics behind racing. I learned more in this one race than I did reading all that...

Below are a few entries from my training blog.

"Got my heart rate up to 189 today. My max is supposed to be 180. Yeah, baby. Kept it there for about 30 seconds before I had to recover at 175, which is still awesome and in my anaerobic zone. Stayed anaerobic the main portion of the ride. It seems that I can get there with less lactic acid build up and cruise for a good amount of time. Studying training manuals and using the heart rate monitor and cyclometer really, really help. Had an awesome ride on Sunday. Added some steep hill work to the usual 10 mile lap route and did almost three complete laps in good time."
"Fell off my bike for the first time in my life. Funny scene. I "went clipless," meaning I replaced my regular pedals with pedals that attach to my shoes via a cleat in the pedal and shoe. You "clip out" right before you stop and if you stop before you clip out... you go down. I went down. But it's all good now. Insanely good actually. The power increase feels like 40%. I usually cruise at 15MPH into a particular strip where there is a heavy headwind off of the water and today I blew through that at 21MPH. I got up to 36MPH on a downhill, too. The connection to the bike is radically different. You don't worry about foot position and all that. You just pump out the cadence. The bike becomes part of your legs. Awesome"

"I got to ride a $3,000.00 carbon-fiber Trek Madone for a mile or so. Great bike. Less nervous front end, easier jolts on the tarmac, the shifter returns are perfectly placed when riding the brake hoods. Nice. One day I shall own a bike like that. Back to the dojo on wednesday. Rock."

"Another good one in tonight. Lots of bugs out. They were smashing my shades, helmet and face the entire time. SPLAT! I got some good drafting practice in with two different racers. Kept up the entire time, too. This race is not going to be easy. I guess that's the point."

"My legs are killing me, my knees are shot, I've hit a weight plateau and my ass is feeling it. I need to do everything right to even have a chance of finishing. Warm up, eat right, hydrate, stay in the pack, keep the gaps close, have the bike in perfect running order, recon the course a few times prior, avoid the crashes, stay at the front, get a good night's sleep (race is at 6 f*cking thirty AM) and keep training."

"I just want to finish. If you don't finish, you get a big fat D.N.F. next to your name in your stats. F*ck that."

"I am not ready for this race. Riding without a team pretty much ensures you don't have a chance. Been a few weeks since I trained hard, Central Park kicked my ass the two times I rode it and my knee kills me when I wake up. I'll be the heaviest rider at the startline, I'm sure. Nevertheless, all the plans are in place, my sister is taking us in the Jeep, I've been studying the strategy and tactic books, the two-way radios are purchased and I've got my game face on. Coming in last isn't as bad as not going for it, so f*ck it. Do or Die."

"I'm working from home today, but decided to get as many miles in as possible during a long lunch. Geared up, hopped on and took off. It's way hot in NYC. Anyway, I do the usual route today but I see this guy .25 mile ahead, obviously a racer. I decide to try to close the gap but I just can't. We're at about 26MPH and despite my best effort, no luck. When I get to the finish and turn around for another 10 miles, he's rested a second and takes off after me. He gets right into my draft and "sucks my wheel" for at least a mile. At that point he takes the lead and
I drop into his draft. "Cool" I think, a mini paceline. We'll take turns pulling." At about the 3 mile mark I figure it's my turn to pull and I take the lead. Well, this guy was having none of it this time and he took off. Tore my god damned legs right off. I gave chase and did ok for 2 minutes. Problem is, my heart rate hit 189. That's theoretically impossible for me to keep up for more than 20-30 seconds without needing to recover, but I did and I paid the price. I dropped to 14MPH and realized my ass was firmly kicked. He passed me on the way back with not even a nod. Damn."

The morning of the race, we wake up, get all the gear together and hop into my sister's Jeep for the quick ride over to the park. I pay my fee, get assigned #730, get a warm-up lap under my belt and wait for the whistle. Below is the blog entry from after the race. It says it all.

Regardless of the outcome, my fitness level is on the increase, I'm eating better than ever before and I am really looking forward to next season. I'll never be a real racer and I doubt I'll ever win, but racing is so much fun and a great way to stay in shape I can see myself signing up for quite a few more before my legs fail me.

Got Dropped, Got Lapped, Got Beat...

"I knew I was going to come in last, but I didn't think I'd get my ass handed to me like that.

I screwed up at the start. Instead of laying back and letting the group I was in find the pace, I shot off the start line. I went balls out for a few hundred yards and the first time I looked back, I was alone. I knew right then and there I screwed up. I was already a little winded and I had no one to draft with. A few hundred feet more and I heard the paceline behind me. And then they blew by me and I couldn't fall in behind them. I gotta tell you, I was dejected and knew I was in for a hard, lonely ride. I was right.

After the second lap, I was definitely panicked and afraid I couldn't make it. Especially after that first hill. It's about 3/8ths of a mile long, and steep. And I knew I had to hit it 7 times. Honestly, I thought about quitting. But there was no way I could let that happen. If I had to crawl on the pedals, finishing now took the place of winning.

Laps 4 and 5 were easier and I started to settle into a groove. My feet were numb from the cold and my legs were quivering from the exertion, but I felt pretty good. Until my group lapped me. I guess that's to be expected, as riding solo is so, so hard.
As I passed the start/finish line each time, I saw Melissa, Kari Anne and my friend Michael taking pictures. Fact is, that embarrassed me as I was sucking hard.

Lap 6 wound down and I hear "one more lap" shouted at me. That spurred me on. Until I hit that f*cking hill again. I mashed my way up the hill, asked one of the Marshals "did I win?" and enjoyed her howls of laughter as I hammered the last 2.5 miles to the finish. I was hurting at this point. When I read the cycling magazines, I'm always amazed by the suffering the riders are showing on their faces and now, for the first time in a real way, I relate 100%.

Each breath set my lungs afire. Like shards of glass instead of cilia. My kidneys were throbbing and my whole body was strained to the max. And the pros were doing 15 laps!

When I saw the landmark telling me the finish line was around the next bend, I put my head down, dropped to the drops and hammered my way home. I crossed the finish line and coasted to a stop. I was afraid to get off the bike, I swore I was going to drop to my knees if I did. I made a U-turn and coasted back to my supporters and was met with hugs and kisses. I had no interest in my overall time, I just cared that I finished. I couldn't breathe, could hardly walk and was soaked to the bone in the cool morning air.

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