tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24232802241755032922024-03-04T23:53:38.704-08:00Columbia Cycling: Drafting off a TaxiRiding in straight lines through Central Park daily.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-61613703678698500372010-11-23T11:54:00.000-08:002010-11-23T12:38:02.638-08:00Broken Wrist Update<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yesterday my life got momentarily awful, like an impending storm the morning before a super-technical criterium, then all of the sudden brightened like a sky that miraculously clears up just before said criterium's start time. You see, my father is part of this thing called a family business. It has to do with agriculture and real estate in California. So, as a result of the family business-ness I fall under the umbrella of my family's California agriculture-workers' insurance plan. As there aren't many lemon farmers outside of California in this here wonderful nation, the insurance coverage gets more and more spotty the further away you get from the Pacific Ocean. Finding a doctor that will take my insurance in New York is about as fun as racing Grant's Tomb last year (it isn't). So the first two hours of my day yesterday were spent making call after call, looking for someone who 1) would admit to accepting my insurance, 2) was actually working on the week of Thanksgiving, and 3) could see me on Monday or Tuesday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After two hours of dealing with disgruntled employees of various health services providers, I finally found a doctor who would see me - and better yet one that was right across the street. So I went. And I waited. And I waited. And I bemoaned the annoying mega-wrap splint that was put on my arm in the emergency room and had subsequently cut off almost all of the circulation to my right hand (but was just shy of being severe enough to risk taking off the splint). Finally, after a million phone calls to my dad needing his social to get them to accept my insurance, and a walk to the ATM because they don't accept credit card copays, I finally got in to see someone. Who promtly sent me down 6 floors to radiology for x-rays. A half hour later I was back in the waiting room. The amazing P.A. somehow took pity on me and beckoned me into a room as soon as I walked in the door. She took of the splint, poked my hand until I winced, and sent me right back downstairs. They needed more x-rays of different angles. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">By this time it was about noon. The people in radiology were doing what I am usually doing at noon: eating lunch. But instead of telling people, they just ate and let us wait. I spent the better part of the hour playing with my unsplinted hand and trying to remember how to move it. Two days without moving your thumb is apparently enough to forget how it works. Finally, oh finally, I got in for another x-ray after the same nice P.A. called down to radiology worried that I had yet to reemerge. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I went back upstairs. I was directed to the doctor's office. Not his waiting room, not an exam room, but his actual office, where I was pleased to find my x-rays sitting on a screen. He came in. He looked at them. He poked my hand. The PA came in and they discussed. He muttered about how terrible the x-ray tech was at her job. Finally, he told me that I needed more radiology: this time an MRI. He showed me a skeleton hand and pointed out the small bone between the thumb and the wrist that protrudes slightly. This, he said, is what he thinks is broken. But he needs an MRI to be sure. He had the P.A. get me a brace. A wrist brace! It was small and dainty and when they slipped it on I could actually maneuver all five digits. All of the sudden I had twice the mobility that I had with the splint and thought I might actually be able to type (hello, interwebs!). I felt like Wormtail when Voldemort gives him the magic hand, except for the whole evil thing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Come back and see me next week after the MRI, the doctor said. I literally skipped out of his office. Well, walked with a lighter step, and headed straight for the Wafels and Dinges truck parked on 114th and Broadway. But that's a different story.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEXzQd0z3LVC69DcsR_QKsjuMdctRhIFSojKa8xea6be1rGC2-5dzPnbmAkoW8e7TNcEVXmDf19Qiy4buNg7Uig3X0ECEAnh0mWsaqtAbsgtfURGKeOVRI5uoWpgkxY0W6d-NFQ_Ywp5p3/s1600/brace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEXzQd0z3LVC69DcsR_QKsjuMdctRhIFSojKa8xea6be1rGC2-5dzPnbmAkoW8e7TNcEVXmDf19Qiy4buNg7Uig3X0ECEAnh0mWsaqtAbsgtfURGKeOVRI5uoWpgkxY0W6d-NFQ_Ywp5p3/s320/brace.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My Chamois Butt'r and I will still probably be grinding away on the trainer for three weeks or so. What a stupid, stupid, stupid rock that my hand landed on. Whatever. Have I mentioned I still got a medal?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">AND POINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNTS. Sometimes I love being a girl.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The moral of this story is that when you race your bike you shouldn't fall, because sometimes a 40 minute race turns into 10 hours of ER and doctors' waiting rooms. Ooops.</div>Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-72196346131135334332010-11-20T15:20:00.000-08:002010-11-20T15:20:42.894-08:00Why I love 'crossYou can break your hand on lap one and just run with your bike until someone finishes. Then you get points, and in this case, a medal.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkpkPNKWoSphpjtGBJRLWQZpBOLAmAXAWLJX9V0PUY9iBNBUPkZxjc_QqxvxJ4byZc6e0xyddrPWjHkDHWp8ttXwR6fvYeHpyWvJ4W7E8MI8r3z-8zf9zVY_W_nLY5du6tk5UeMESxRYhX/s1600/arm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkpkPNKWoSphpjtGBJRLWQZpBOLAmAXAWLJX9V0PUY9iBNBUPkZxjc_QqxvxJ4byZc6e0xyddrPWjHkDHWp8ttXwR6fvYeHpyWvJ4W7E8MI8r3z-8zf9zVY_W_nLY5du6tk5UeMESxRYhX/s320/arm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Let this be a lesson to all: DFL>DNF.<br />
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More updates when I figure out how to type with this thing.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-44598825685874031272010-06-10T11:02:00.000-07:002010-06-10T11:02:23.562-07:00Summer UpdateThe hiatus is over and summer racing is in full swing! On the agenda in the next couple of weeks is the Harlem crit (June 20) and the Fitchburg Longsjo Classic stage race (July 2-5). Be on the lookout for race reports and other colorful updates, coming soon!Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-23161424491611310292010-04-26T18:19:00.000-07:002010-04-27T10:23:25.143-07:00Columbia Cycling presents...Easterns Bingo!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm1lMjG1KpBqFOY8asdccYoj0dprJJs276LKL5hXdRSgf2WOfr1VmeVJ0hIZhj-VINPi_IoJ3LMKupvSNEFFUQkIDYG0uIioDj6_dk5qz6Fzr1Ul-IES8QQuxCkBPPK0KS3BEM4LCnxiaT/s1600/bingo_easterns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm1lMjG1KpBqFOY8asdccYoj0dprJJs276LKL5hXdRSgf2WOfr1VmeVJ0hIZhj-VINPi_IoJ3LMKupvSNEFFUQkIDYG0uIioDj6_dk5qz6Fzr1Ul-IES8QQuxCkBPPK0KS3BEM4LCnxiaT/s400/bingo_easterns.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Epic fail! I'm sure other people had something a bit different, but even though I cheated and gave myself credit for things I should maybe only get half credit for (I definitely saw a guy in cutoffs, but was he from UVM? I have no idea; also, it didn't rain until we hit Connecticut on the way home), I still missed out on bingo! If only someone had drawn blood... But this does give a good idea of what you may have missed at Easterns. If anyone else from the team has anything to add, let me know, we may get to bingo yet.<br />
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*Please note that inappropriateness has been blacked out to protect names and reputations - mostly mine.<br />
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- ShaneShanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-5558550128996776142010-03-22T06:40:00.000-07:002010-03-22T06:40:54.441-07:00The slinky race<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I realized today that I don't really have a pain face. I had never thought about it until I mentioned that today was the hardest race I've ever done. And someone said, "Really? It didn't look like you were hurting that bad." It upset me for a minute. I thought about it. And I realized that I've been trained since I was three years old to perform stoically: to seem serene even though you are breathing heavy and close to vomiting. Roller skating is a pretty-type sport. A lot closer to dancing than to bike racing. You put on a face, you perform, you leave your emotions (and your grimaces) in the pit with your coach.</span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">On top of this, I'm not a vomiter. I didn't (I'm told) vomit as a baby. In my memory, I can only think of two times it's happened: after a bad chimichanga at the Rio hotel/casino in Vegas, and after an accidental overdose of acetaminophen after having my wisdom teeth out. If I was a vomiter, today would have been a vomiting day. Instead I've been stuck with this low grade stomachache that persisted for roughly 6 hours after the end of my race. </span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">But that being said, I don't think I've ever been more happy with a bike race result. Of the 40 minutes we were racing today, I was dangling off the back, yo-yoing between on and off, for roughly 35. But not only did I finish with the pack, I was genuine, coming-across-the-line-somewhere-towards-the-middle-of-the-group pack fodder. Considering I got dropped during both Rutgers races, sat in a van fixing people's problems during Grant's Tomb, skipped Stevens, DFL'ed* during the circuit race yesterday, and spent the grand majority of today's crit thinking I was mere seconds from from popping off and being pulled, I'm ecstatic. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Today was really a show of who has been doing their top-end and jump intervals. And who has handling skills. There seemed to me to be three groups in the pack: the first third was simply plain stronger than everyone else, or had a good mix of strength, pop, and handling skills; the second third had the pop to jump after each turn and catch back on the pack; the last group had fantastic skills, but not so much pop. There were a few of us who were having trouble getting back to the pack on each turn, but going through the turns without hitting the breaks caught us back up every half lap or so. Then, invariably, we would come to turns 2-4, and the middle group would hit the breaks (hard), sending us back 30 feet and we would once again have to pop and sprint in order to hang on. Back and forth, like a yo-yo. Or a slinky.</span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I remember looking up at the lap cards when 12 to go was showing and thinking that I might last another lap. Maybe two. But somehow, I worked through it. I finally caught a break when there was a crash just before turn 6. I had to skid to avoid it, and thought I had been gapped permanently, but ended up getting a lucky break and the pack decided to take a half-lap rest. Since I had momentum coming up to them, and knew there were only two or so laps to go, I just kept going, and tucked in right towards the front of the pack. I am not sure those girls have ever seen me before. My intention was to help my teammate up there if I could, but it took roughly 10 seconds for me to realize that it probably wasn't going to happen. I just hung on to strong wheels for dear life and glided in for a well-deserved 18th.</span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">*DFL = Dead Fucking Last, a position I cherish in hilly races, considering DFL > DNF (did not finish)</span></span></div></div></div></div></div>Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-17610491645926384392010-03-18T07:01:00.000-07:002010-03-18T07:05:46.741-07:00Why I love Triple TsAbout halfway through last season, I realized that TTTs are my reason for living. Well, TTTs are at least my reason for bike racing. In anticipation of the first TTT of the season, I decided to share with the ECCC blogosphere why I love them so much.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. TTTs operate within a controlled environment.</span> Ok, I know the environment isn’t totally controlled. Last year at Philly we got rained on, Shane got a flat, and then a flock of geese slowed our TTT to a clipping-out halt. When I say, “controlled,” I mean that in general, there are no surprises. I know what to expect from each of my teammates in terms of speed and length of pull, how their elbows look when they wave me forward to take my pull, what their complimenting voices will sound like when I peel off the front (“good pull, Liz!” or the ever-famous “you got it, girl!”), who will take us down hill fastest, and who can lead us uphill the fastest. With all the uncertainty in bike racing, especially when one is still fairly new to the sport and is still going through the “ZOMGWTF” stage, TTTs provide the most controlled environment a bike racer can ask for.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. Nobility. Glory.</span> As the weakest rider in the Columbia WB quad last year, I grew to appreciate what it is to be a noble teammate and go down in glory. There something totally awesome about wasting yourself for your teammates only to have them leave you behind on the course. Last season, this moment usually came about 3/4s into the TTT. Inevitably one teammate would propose that we “pick it up a bit.” At that point, I would take my final pull, peel off, and say, “go on without me.” It’s pretty glorious to drain your tank for your teammates.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOG6KXnyASy5Nc5bKHcnURm1v5M3-7uI7FuY570MnqPm3dtffBUcR81AgYRqUPJCdn6-sTCyGj0xud9A7iEGHeljMJ1lbV-d83jwEDOh3MAqbdKoYyVGCIzHUV9kddvEQMRLs5khm6vyXA/s1600-h/TTT"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 172px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOG6KXnyASy5Nc5bKHcnURm1v5M3-7uI7FuY570MnqPm3dtffBUcR81AgYRqUPJCdn6-sTCyGj0xud9A7iEGHeljMJ1lbV-d83jwEDOh3MAqbdKoYyVGCIzHUV9kddvEQMRLs5khm6vyXA/s320/TTT" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449973955375584786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. Team work. </span> This one sort of goes without saying since the word “team” is in the title, “team time trial.” But, I love the teamwork involved in a TTT. As someone who is no stranger to a reverse breakaway, it’s not often that I get to work with my teammates in a mass start race. Hopefully this season I’ll be able to break out some bad-ass team moves. Until then, the best time I get to work with my teammates is in a TTT. It may sound cheesy, but being part of a team is probably half the reason I’m into cycling (the other half is because I like to measure the circumference of my calves as my legs get stronger).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4. It’s fun to win.</span> Last year, the Columbia WB squad took fourth place at Philly, fourth place at Army, and first place at X-Pot. Taking fourth place was pretty cool, but taking first place was really cool. Seeing the four of us lined up in the Velocity Results photo was too fun. I think that little photo is motivation enough for us to kick some ass this year. So watch out WBs, the Columbia Killer Bs are back! And we’ve got a pretty fierce group of women this year.Lizzzzzzzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15184218572616195023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-15821405828038544362010-03-17T18:48:00.000-07:002010-03-17T18:48:47.102-07:00Wheelin' Around<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
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After running around frantically for two days getting permits from 548386930458943 city agencies, plus the torrential downpour this weekend, coupled with a 5 day visit from mumsie dearest (I don't actually call her that if you were wondering), I haven't been on my bike much since the middle of last week. I don't think 15 minutes on the rollers on Monday counts. So today I really needed a hard workout. Short, fast, the kind that are perfect to do in Central Park in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday.<div><br />
</div><div>Except not. I forgot a little detail: today is the most drunken day of the year in NYC. And I happened to plan my ride right in the middle of the green zone, as the parade was making it's way along 5th Ave. While I didn't see any dishy men in skirts, I did see plenty of drunk, fat tourists walking in the middle of my lane. Not the normal type of walking in my lane where they are just oblivious to all other types of traffic, but blatant, I am drunk and I just want you to fall off of your bike-type of walking in my lane.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.collegepublisher.com/media/paper694/stills/wkb7ltjz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://media.collegepublisher.com/media/paper694/stills/wkb7ltjz.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="http://images2.fanpop.com/images/photos/6500000/Celtic-Thunder-NYC-St-Patrick-s-Day-Parade2-celtic-thunder-6555775-600-450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://images2.fanpop.com/images/photos/6500000/Celtic-Thunder-NYC-St-Patrick-s-Day-Parade2-celtic-thunder-6555775-600-450.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>So, instead of waiting for my head to explode, I called it quits on the park loops and did Harlem Hill repeats for 45 minutes. Ouch.</div><div><br />
</div><div>You would think that I would have learned my lesson. Almost. But not exactly. My next task of the day was to go pick up something at Rob's down on 23rd St. The worst thing about going to Rob's is the walk. The easiest subway is the R-W. Which stops at 23rd and 5th. One then has to walk all the way past 2nd. It doesn't seem like it would be that long. But it's half the island, and takes about 15 minutes. So today, I decided to bring my skates. While riding in the park (where I get all of my brilliant ideas), I decided that it was beautiful outside and I should take my skates for a spin, since there was no way I was getting my bike down to 23rd St with all of the parade traffic. And what better way to break them out than to get from 5th to 2nd aves? Right? Wrong.</div><div><br />
</div><div>To be fair, I did get there in roughly half of the time it would have taken me to walk. But I forgot a few things about my trusty Carerras in the year or so that I have let them languish under my bed. One, they don't have any <a href="http://www.slapshotuk.com/images/Roll-Line-artistic-toe-stop.jpg">toe stops</a>. Second, they still have figure skating wheels on them. Which are super hard and made for doing things like <a href="http://photos-g.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-sf2p/v45/12/61/1065240072/n1065240072_30002691_6774.jpg">this</a> (me) or <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PmzZ_ZquP_g">this</a> (not me) on an indoor, sealed hardwood floor, but not made for skating over pavement. Not to mention, they are $150 skates. Meaning they don't fit that well and the cushions on the plates are crap.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=5aea2226d0&view=att&th=1276ee48aeb58295&attid=0.1&disp=inline&zw" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=5aea2226d0&view=att&th=1276ee48aeb58295&attid=0.1&disp=inline&zw" width="320" /></a></div><div> </div><div>This story is getting a bit long, but let's just say that 15 years of roller skating is the only way that I made it through the throngs of drunkards and uneven cement on 5 blocks of 23rd Street alive. Nothing is easy in New York. That being said, now I know that all I need is some outside wheels and decent toe stops to make the crosstown bus a thing of the past.</div>Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-61378943975362647742010-03-15T15:34:00.000-07:002010-03-15T16:05:22.891-07:00I thought I was the man, and then I moved up a categoryIn the first bike race of my life I got third place. And it wasn’t even that hard for me. I mean, I only got third because I forgot to sprint in the big ring. So I thought I was the man. But that, as Jet Li might say, was a mistake. Because I was about to get served. After “conquering” the D category—I’m sure the Romans defined conquering differently than doing well in <span style="font-style: italic;">one</span> event—, I decided to cat up to C, where, I thought, I’d find some riders my own size to pick on. That’s funny because after two C races, I don’t feel like the man anymore. Actually, I feel more like a small boy. A small, quadriceps-deficient boy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ7dUHCxFguLSncA8hEeIrDjsrHSpETggnQbMqDfYMN_YgtpkIXn-8-txpa-DnjiF3GTT8T2jKWGbj-DZu0Uc9HxZMBQVyDUmKAIB06w6_03dVIpYjHx77dpnzBU7z65qvbI-20K9EhZM3/s1600-h/DSC_0170a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ7dUHCxFguLSncA8hEeIrDjsrHSpETggnQbMqDfYMN_YgtpkIXn-8-txpa-DnjiF3GTT8T2jKWGbj-DZu0Uc9HxZMBQVyDUmKAIB06w6_03dVIpYjHx77dpnzBU7z65qvbI-20K9EhZM3/s400/DSC_0170a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448996584105392402" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In both C races, I hung on—barely—to finish in the bottom half of the pack. I really shouldn’t have thought it would go any differently. It’s not like there’s some other, better league for collegiate cyclists in the Northeast, and the ECCC is where the scrubs compete: if you race bikes at the collegiate level, you compete in the ECCC. So naturally, the competition should be good, and it is. Which is great. I wouldn’t want it any other way. It <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span> be hard to just hang on. That way, you're forced to race a smart race, because it is going to come down to who has five percent left for the sprint, and who doesn’t. This is something I’m learning, the hard way—I did not have close to five percent left for the sprint. Is it possible to have a negative percent left…?Jstokeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06318648315802963931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-17978901473732415712010-03-13T15:41:00.000-08:002010-03-13T15:41:29.838-08:00Our new mottoColumbia Cycling: we put on races in hurricanes.<br />
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Despite the awful weather, we had a steady turnout of riders throughout the day. I and all the others that were sitting in the registration van watching (decidedly NOT racing) were very impressed. Being from California, I feel that there is but one phrase to describe today's events: gnarly dude.<br />
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It's time for me to get warm.<br />
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- ShaneShanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-65089053597482997172010-03-08T20:05:00.000-08:002010-03-08T20:12:30.000-08:00Racing season went off with a bang this weekend as we all (some) headed down to the dirty Jerz for a weekend of Rutgers racing. I didn't go into the weekend with very high expectations. You see, I spent the better part of the last six months here:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://hphotos-snc3.fbcdn.net/hs001.snc3/10870_1230044505651_1065240072_30725172_195273_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://hphotos-snc3.fbcdn.net/hs001.snc3/10870_1230044505651_1065240072_30725172_195273_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Despite the fact that this one little race called the Tour de France ends roughly 2 km from this very spot annually, Paris is not very conducive to riding a bike. Especially when you live with a host family that isn't excited about your dirty bike being brought into their house. So I went to Paris sans velo. I felt naked.<br />
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To make matters worse, they have these crappy little bikes called Velib's, which are stationed all around the city and cost less than 1Euro per day to use.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/7f/Velib_2510.JPG/800px-Velib_2510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/7f/Velib_2510.JPG/800px-Velib_2510.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Which is great if you are a high-heeled Parisian woman who just needs to ride a mile or so to get to your high brow job at the post office (everyone in Paris works at the post office). It's not great if you are a newb to the city who knows what it feels like to ride a Trek Madone. Even if I could bear to get on a $50 plastic bike-like object, it wouldn't actually do me any good transporta<span style="font-size: small;">tion-wise. When cities are built over the course of several thousand years, they tend to look like this:</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9URvrxYU5XW5Y1qfd4ES-OcXPlmRwmKu3OPfpt53RJOu4vj3H0V7z3-pRoAO6N_0kgi0PzPDHFLQ6ftllkZ1F3TS0jhFlZrOH51FiuUbRh-Kdn2x8CLT7A2oBluRllOej7VGwQw2uic7Q/s1600-h/paris_map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9URvrxYU5XW5Y1qfd4ES-OcXPlmRwmKu3OPfpt53RJOu4vj3H0V7z3-pRoAO6N_0kgi0PzPDHFLQ6ftllkZ1F3TS0jhFlZrOH51FiuUbRh-Kdn2x8CLT7A2oBluRllOej7VGwQw2uic7Q/s320/paris_map.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">When you don't know the language, nor the traffic patterns, nor the direction you are going, it's best to stay on the sidewalk. So while the ECCC was busily combining my racing category with some really hardcore women who were undoubtedly training twice as hard as I would if I were home, I was spending 4 months walking around the city dreaming about poor Roxanne all cooped up in some random apartment in Inwood (<a href="http://www.racewheelrental.com/">thanks to these guys</a>).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">The point is that I showed up to Rutgers this weekend on two months of training (ish) after four months of nothing but macarons and then was thrown to the dogs (bitches; and by that I mean the A women in the most respectful way "bitches" can be construed). I felt like it was my very first race all over again. In the sense that I had no idea what was going to happen and in the sense that staying in the pack was a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:49-aspetti_di_vita_quotidiana,_vomito,Taccuino_Sanitatis,_Ca.jpg">vom affair</a>. Sure enough, I got dropped. Hard. I spent the better part of the weekend chasing the main pack. On Staurday there wasn't a chance. On Sunday, however, four of us were just dangling past the edge of the field. I might have had the energy to bridge the gap had I not spent a good deal of it shouting at our disorganized group to get in a straight line and PULL. Dear B women: please learn how to ride in a paceline before Grant's Tomb. I don't want to waste my breath.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">It's one thing to wheelsuck or block when you are in the pack or in a break. Those are tactical concerns. It doesn't mean I'm not going to yell at you, but at the end of the day I at least understand it from a logical perspective. But when there are four women dropped off the edge of the pack, there are less than 10 miles to go, and you are just hanging out on the side of the other three, what's going on in your mind? "Hmm...let me just hang out here in the wind, doing as much work as the person on the front pulling but not actually helping the group get where they want to go." I feel like this girl got told that she should block for her teammate during the race (who ended up winning I think), but no one bothered to tell her that once she was dropped that rule was void.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">As much as the racing this weekend really sucked on the scoreboards, there's really nothing like the first race of the season to get you pumped up. It's interval time. It's time to get my legs moving and train the Parisian laziness out of my muscles. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">And, I can bittersweetly report that after a 6 month effort to reduce skin discoloration on odd parts, the kit tan is back after one 60 minute circuit race in short sleeves. I think I have the unique blend of Native American and Italian blood in my veins to thank for that physiological phenomenon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Next week: Grant's Tomb. It looms large, like the heaping mass of stone that it is. </span>Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-26437841296589364612010-03-08T12:27:00.000-08:002010-03-08T12:27:53.582-08:00Outfit of the week<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHohVzj9pgGMWo-UdZsraGOXp_788wpvkrDcl3hsNjPbpilY4NUAHXiEHt_vLCdv_jYEPTRE7ZzVuDiQq65w1vgfVDZmerw56jc11hxSWukzmv5KA_mjldWPXzcGzdGd7_0jby6hERxmZ7/s1600-h/DSCN1236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHohVzj9pgGMWo-UdZsraGOXp_788wpvkrDcl3hsNjPbpilY4NUAHXiEHt_vLCdv_jYEPTRE7ZzVuDiQq65w1vgfVDZmerw56jc11hxSWukzmv5KA_mjldWPXzcGzdGd7_0jby6hERxmZ7/s320/DSCN1236.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClPAZPDYTI2fdZkAa2tV4vwZuyteKO8-bvf1Y5X8S9-5zom9mzyASjTu4w3dSMoFji496gpY8CoXgmmM65xGt2R50HvFSbbvM5ONP2DYAdLsihXlYEpEy1pRbJMEy8tsmJQpnqmvENb3U/s1600-h/DSCN1252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClPAZPDYTI2fdZkAa2tV4vwZuyteKO8-bvf1Y5X8S9-5zom9mzyASjTu4w3dSMoFji496gpY8CoXgmmM65xGt2R50HvFSbbvM5ONP2DYAdLsihXlYEpEy1pRbJMEy8tsmJQpnqmvENb3U/s320/DSCN1252.JPG" /></a></div>Mikey, representing the Jerz with the white track pants...<br />
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Or Nate representing babies everywhere with the reindeer costume??<br />
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Cast your vote in the comments, the winner will announced sometime this week!Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-67165404965258155592010-03-08T11:18:00.000-08:002010-03-08T12:39:49.178-08:00My First RaceThis past weekend, at Rutgers, I raced a bike for the first time. For me personally, there was a lot riding--yes of <span style="font-style: italic;">course </span>the pun is intended--on these couple of races. And it was more than being able to tell people that I didn't shave my legs for nothing. Over the past couple of months, I've invested a lot of time and energy in this thing. It probably wasn't much compared to what more serious cyclists do, but for me, it was a lot. And besides the actual training, I had made bike racing one of my main things. I told my friends about the training, and how much I cared about it; I told <span style="font-style: italic;">myself</span> I cared a lot about it; I gave up other activities to make time. And what's more important than your time?<br /><br />So I was naturally anxious about the answers this weekend would provide to some of the questions I'd had for months: would I enjoy racing as much as I predicted I would? would I do well enough to justify all my training? and what the hell is a crit, anyway?<br /><br />Well, I got my answers all right. To sum up, racing bikes is just about the funnest thing I've ever done. Ever. Sure, it helped that I did well, but the main thing was the feeling of being in the pack, going over twenty miles per hour, my senses heightened and my focus laser-sharp. Everything happens so quickly. At one point during the crit, there was a crash right in front of me. It took everything I had to avoid it and stay on my bike. But after narrowly escaping the crash by going off-road into the dirt for a few seconds, and sprinting to catch back up with the field, I found myself smiling. Because that's what it's all about--the high stakes; the danger at every corner; and the rush of getting out alive. All I can say is, I can't <span style="font-style: italic;">wait</span> for the next race.Jstokeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06318648315802963931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-88973302966163672152010-03-08T06:07:00.000-08:002010-03-08T06:07:11.568-08:00It's coming!With one weekend down and seven to go, it's time for Drafting Off a Taxi to come back in full force. Look for updates this evening or tomorrow morning, and of course, the winner of this weekend's Best Outfit...<br />
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- ShaneShanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-41151055326906573102010-02-14T15:35:00.000-08:002010-02-14T15:35:15.559-08:00Never Gonna Give Up Blogging<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>If you haven't noticed yet, the Columbia team is really unique. There are many different definitions of unique. <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/1c/Flatiron_building_by_day_september_20004.jpg/436px-Flatiron_building_by_day_september_20004.jpg">This is unique</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Whats-Your-Poo-Telling-You/dp/0811857824">So is this</a>. <a href="http://www.urbanoutfitters.com/urban/catalog/category.jsp?popId=APARTMENT&navAction=poppushpush&isSortBy=true&navCount=18&pushId=APARTMENT_WHATSNEW&id=A_COLL_BIKEGATEWAY">And this</a>. Oops. I forgot that riding a fixie in skinny jeans no longer qualifies as unique. <a href="http://blogs.villagevoice.com/runninscared/archives/2010/01/hasidim_v_hipst.php">But THIS sure does</a>. Anyway, my point is that we've got the grit of New Yorkers, even though some of us may have grown up on a farm and still have the urge to join in the "Slowing! Turning! Drinking!" frenzy when in a WoB crit. We are still more likely than most to take you out for not holding your line. Unique. Define it as you will.<br />
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We recently chose a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ">team theme song</a>, which is really great. You should check it out. Notice that it is linked rather than embedded. It appears that some people (namely, Rick Astley) have a stick up somewhere about this little thing called copyright. Whatever. Now, you might be thinking, what has this got to do with Columbia cycling? A lot is the correct answer. We go to college. College means taking a second look at things, going deeper than the surface level (unless you are an engineer, in which case, you do the math). So let's look into how this song could possibly be the perfect musical representation of Columbia cycling.<br />
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Let's first look at the first few lines of the song: "We're no strangers to love...you know the rules, and S-Oh do Iiiiiiiiiiii." We'll then skip to "I just want to tell you how I'm f-EEL-ing..."<br />
1. If you know anything about our team you know that we are plagued by inter-team-relations. We are no strangers to love. Platonic or otherwise.<br />
2. We are specially trained to talk about our feelings. We're from New York. <a href="http://www.dogdepression.net/">Even dogs have therapists. </a><br />
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Now let's move on to the chorus: "Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run A-round and DE-ssert [sic] you...ect., etc."<br />
This obviously refers to our killer team time trialing abilities. It's all about teamwork and trusting one another. Also, note the diction, "never gonna run." That's right, because we don't run. We ride.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72wleUAGOeJ7DkCGih_-z8NP7kOVv-9l0ZnrCGv9TPiQni4KrsftOWeZ_elReYkton4wpMRweIlQcom6Gr7wfbppKDARKLrfW8nahrU88GZyNRQhxFIrVcuqBkoMfH04mbCFXRkKTGFBs/s1600-h/photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72wleUAGOeJ7DkCGih_-z8NP7kOVv-9l0ZnrCGv9TPiQni4KrsftOWeZ_elReYkton4wpMRweIlQcom6Gr7wfbppKDARKLrfW8nahrU88GZyNRQhxFIrVcuqBkoMfH04mbCFXRkKTGFBs/s320/photo.jpg" /></a>If you watch the video, you will notice some key symbols which also make this so clearly meant to be our theme song. Notably, the fashion-forward late '80's apparel, which obviously points to what a killer style we have as a team.<br />
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There is also a tumbling bartender. For this last one, I'll let others make the inferences that they will. I can't give you all the answers.<br />
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Now, while I've got your attention, let's take a second look at this photo. Columbia (we're unique, remember?) decided to go on a training trip to Pennsylvania the last weekend in January. Remember that weekend? You were inside on the rollers probably, because it was roughly 15 degrees outside (in NY, NJ, and PA). This riding in 15 degree weather prompted some really fantastic fashion choices by the entire team.<br />
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This prompted me to declare 2010 the year of the"outfit of the season" competition. Each week, I will be taking photos of some of the best outfits every weekend (probably mostly Columbia, but watch out, ECCC). Others will be encouraged to submit their entries I will then declare a fashion-forward winner of the weekend. In May, there may be a winner for the season. They may win a prize. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/What-Not-Wear-Trinny-Woodall/dp/1573223573">It may be this</a>.<br />
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Stay classy, San Diego.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-7020862084180623732009-08-09T08:06:00.000-07:002009-08-09T09:48:38.296-07:00A full weekend before Saturday was overI've successfully survived a full day of track racing. And whatever amount of tan that lost as a result of my limited training over the past couple of weeks, Saturday definitely made up for. It all started on Friday night, after a nice nap in the back of Austin Byrd's father's car on the way down.<br /><br />I got set up with a place to stay about 800 meters from the track itself. Those that live there call it "The Stone House." If you can imagine, it's a two story farmhouse, made of stone. The current residents include two sometimes trackies and former Penn State ECCCer's, as well as two girls living their for the summer and training at the track, one from South Africa and the other from New Zealand.<br /><br />So the first leg of the trip was the watching, learning, and having fun portion. After getting there, Andy, who lives in the house, volunteered/was assigned to babysit me, which he did handily all night. We made dinner, then headed to the track to watch the Friday night pro racing. I got a free pass by holding the Echappe Equiptment sign while he took the wheels in as a vendor (he works part time with Gabe it seems; Echappe is everywhere these days).<br /><br />We were at the track until almost midnight, and it was good fun. I'm not sure if it was the big lights and slightly zaney announcer, or the world class talent, but it was certainly more exciting than the typical night at Kissena, much as I love the place. We sat up in the stands for a while, then headed down to the center of the field to mix and mingle as things were winding down. Andy knew pretty much everyone, and was the unoffical social chair, promoting the party that was going on afterwards. As a result, I got to meet almost everyone there, a few of them twice.<br /><br />After the track, there was the party. During the road season, I think that we underestimate the value of partying the night before an ECCC race (just to be clear, I say this in jest). I made a ton of new friends, including one of the girls that I would end up racing against the next day. After an hour or two of more talking than drinking (some of you are disappointed, I know), I called it a night, and still got back to the house for a good 6 hours of sleep (only once disrupted by barfing sounds coming from the bathroom as the rest of the gang filed in around 5 AM).<br /><br />On Saturday, I woke up, had my traditional pre-race big bowl of oatmeal, and headed to the track. I was pretty early, so after registering, I was able to get a good warm up and release some of the butterflies in my stomach, having never raced on so steep of a banked track. I also got used to my bike, as I had never ridden it before. I borrowed it from Kissena for the occasion, and it was not the one that I usually use, but it ended up being a little bit better, in my opinion, than the one that I've been using. I think that I'm better suited for a 52cm with a really high seat than a 54, since my torso is so short.<br /><br />After my warm up, things started getting exciting. Andy showed up with the wheels, and a set of rollers, both of which I desperately needed. After Fitchburg, I've decided that it's never worth it to do a TT with crappy wheels and a regular helmet. My schedule for the day ended up looking like this: Flying 200m, 500m TT, match sprints, 16-lap points race, Olympic sprint. This meant that the first two times that I was on the track were time trials, so I sprung for Zipp 808's courtesy of Echappe for those two events. And then Austin (my ride, remember?) was nice enough to lend me his sperm helmet. I was rather amused that the retail value of my getup went from about $400 to about $3,000 in a matter of minutes, but it was worth the fraction of that that I paid to look good. Thanks Gabe and Andy.<br /><br />The flying 200 was, okay. I did it in 16:00 flat. To be fair, the first time I did it a month ago, it was something in the 18 second range, so I'm getting better. But I still wasn't high enough up on the track or going fast enough when I hit the 200m line. I think I could get it to 15:00 or under with just a little technique work. Anyway, that put me at the bottom for the sprints, but that's another story.<br /><br />The 500 was better. It's weird, because I was talking to one of the other girls, from Temple, who had never done this before, and all she could talk about was being held at the start. I don't know why I never have had a problem with that--it seems almost natural to me. Anyway, I still didn't get the best start. I probably lost a good second and a half to two, though it was better than in the charriot race last Wednesday at Kissena. But once I got going I thought I did pretty well. I still was a little shakey, I remember coming around turns 3 and 4 swerving over the red line a little bit. I could have held it a little more steady, but still I think I really like that event. I ended up getting 3rd in the women's combined (collegiate and USCF). I think it was 2nd for the collegiate points, which was the best I finished all day.<br /><br />The sprints came next, which were more of a joke. As last place going into them, I had to race against 1st in the flying 200, which ended up being this out-of-competition racer who I had observed to okay in the pro field the night before. AND I picked 1st position, meaning I was obligated to lead for the first half-lap. She ended up jumping from behind me before we were even around the first lap and beading me by about 75m. The repechage was a little better. it was 3-up (the three collegiate women, if that says anything), and I tried to do the same thing that was done to me the first time. I was behind the other two. I surprised them, but didn't have enough to hold off Jessica from Penn State (the one I met at the party the night before). So I got 5th after she passed me coming into turn 3. But 5th is better than 6th, right? And it was a rush to be in the front for a while. To be honest, I didn't know that I had enough to race against any of the other 3 girls, so I thought it was worth it to go early, have fun surprising them, then take the 5th and sit and watch the semis and the final. It also gave me some time to run home to the Stone House, as I had forgotten my phone there.<br /><br />Next was the points race, which was easily the worst event. Beyond my lack of training, I'm admittedly just not quite comfortable riding in a pack on a track bike yet. My mind is my biggest weakness in racing, and something that I really need to work on for next season. I didn't defend my territory and most of the girls take positions from me without putting up much of a fight. HOWEVER, doing that race did restore my confidence in racing a little bit. I was more comfortable in the pack as the laps went on because I could tell that the girls that were riding with me knew what they were doing, unlike some of the races at Kissena. I'm looking forward to taking some time off, then really focusing my training for next year...I think I would also be a little more confident if I felt fit, which I haven't since about May.<br /><br />Anyway, after the points race, I took a quick cool down on the rollers (which are actually easier on a track bike, I've decided I'm a fan), and started to strip. Jess then came up, mid-change, and asked if I wanted to do the Olympic sprint--basically a two-person time trial, one lap per person--with the girl from Temple. The legs were pretty shot, but for the sake of sportsmanship and a little bit of fun and bonding, I said yes. So I put my jersey and shoes back on and hopped on my bike. I got position 1, so I only had to do one lap (sans TT equiptment, unfortunately, as Andy already went home), had a good time with Calyn (name spelling will be updated when the results come out), and called it a day.<br /><br />24 hours later (and almost 13 hours of sleep), I think I learned a lot, and now I've definitely got the track bug. Kind of because it's a lot of fun, and mostly because the people are great. I was only staying in the Stone House for 24 hours, but I felt totally at home 5 minutes after I walked in the door. I barely showed up with a bike, and was completely hooked up with equiptment, advice, and support from the minute I arrived at the track on Saturday.<br /><br />I'm a little bummed that I have to fly out of Newark the day of the Kissena collegiate races, but I could do the team sprint on Friday night...anyone???Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-36321122319450613402009-07-30T19:06:00.000-07:002009-07-30T19:22:47.530-07:00Rockleigh Report<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaEN3HGSz_Exp12cQB18GW41QkcfnPIoGDPMu5CH4ZrWiuJ-r_rN5WORNmUHTZpFNMTNbHtZ1tlXwkaGexIAIN265Ct0OlHlzDbtUrTlLPovINp4CzikAyXHsE4wgAp2jlBh3TVMT2YYlI/s1600-h/mikey_n_isaac.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaEN3HGSz_Exp12cQB18GW41QkcfnPIoGDPMu5CH4ZrWiuJ-r_rN5WORNmUHTZpFNMTNbHtZ1tlXwkaGexIAIN265Ct0OlHlzDbtUrTlLPovINp4CzikAyXHsE4wgAp2jlBh3TVMT2YYlI/s320/mikey_n_isaac.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364441985029147474" border="0" /></a>So Mikey, Isaac and I (Joe) made the trip to Rockleigh to take advantage of the break in the rain. I felt like I was able to put forth a pretty decent effort in the A field, despite discovering that pizza while delicious is not for pre race food. Because I knew I wouldn't be close to the front of the sprint I called it a race with one to go and just rolled in to the finish.<br /><br />The B field seemed to take it easy for most of the race, usually traveling 3-4 wide. Though they did keep things lively with a crash right in the middle of a straight right in the middle of the race. This unfortunately put the unknown Columbia professor off the back of the pack, but being the true warrior he is he battled on for a solid bit more. Then when he was ready to pack it in I convinced him to instead take a free lap and jump back in with the field (rockleigh is a training race after all), he even flew the Columbia colors on the front for a bit after rejoining the field. Given that he had been dropped he was required to sit up with one to go. Isaac with a premonition of things to come did likewise (there was a gruesome crash in the finale). Mikey was the lone Columbia rider to battle it out to the finish on the day, probably finishing towards the sharp end of the pack.<br /><br />We followed it all up with a ginger ride home, praying the sidewalls on our tires held out. Not Columbia's best day ever, but we flew the colors, and we'll be back next week.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16731000435611683534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-68927618064049081862009-05-29T08:07:00.000-07:002009-05-29T11:02:44.474-07:00Business in the front, Party at the backLast night, with mist misting away in the tri-state area (Manhattan, northeastern New Jersey, and the Rest of New York), three of us decided to take a little trip to the first of Rockleigh's weekly crit series. Rockleigh is a Thursday evening race some 15 miles outside of the city with two fields: men's pro/1/2/3 at 6 pm and the rest at 7.<br /><br />I, being the adventuresome female that I am, decided that it would be a good idea to give it a try, even though I would be racing against some of the fastest B men on my team and their peers. I knew I could have some trouble when my HR went skyrocketing trying to stay in Joe's draft on the ride to the race. When I got there, however, I was surprised to find not one, but two other women there to race. Score. Isaac met us there, and after a few minutes of spinups to attempt to keep warm in the May drizzle, it was off to the races.<br /><br />For most of the race, there were two words on my mind. One was wheel. And the other was suck. And wheel suck I did. Now, starting in the back of the pack was not the best idea. I knew it wasn't when I was lining up, but I didn't have quite the confidence to shimmy my way to the front like I do with the WoB's (pronounced "Whoa-Bees," not wobs. Wob is a terrible name). So, the long and the short of it is, I ended up in the back of the field, with the rest of the sketchy cat 5's who can't take a turn at speed, so every lap was...speed, speed, speed along the finishing straightaway, brake hard from about 27 to about 17 mph, take the turn and then hit the gas out of the turn to keep up with the 4's (namely, Isaac and Joe) up front that took the turn at speed. Well, it turns out that I don't have quite enough pop in my legs to do that on every turn, so about 5 laps in my butt got dropped off of the back with one of the other women, a nice British triathlete.<br /><br />I know what you're thinking, but her wheel ended up being surprisingly steady, and I was content to ride it for another 6 or 7 laps. We were doing well, her doing her time trial thing, and me doing my watching her a** thing, until we got word that the field was right behind us. As Rockleigh is a training crit, they let the sufferers keep suffering as the field continues to lap them. At that point, we had a train of 4 or 5, and I was at the back. We probably should have moved over, but since I was bringing up the rear, I wasn't going to lose my draft if they didn't. As the break moved past us, it had to slow a little, which incidentally allowed Joe, who was bridging, to catch up to them. It's always nice to have a teammate reassure you as they lap you.<br /><br />We then proceeded to create many more problems as the field came up behind us. I lost my tri girl's wheel and had to try to maneuver through the peleton with many very large guys yelling at me. I was only there for about a lap and a half before some annoying Cat 5 moved out about 3 lines through turn 1, cutting me off at the back of the field and effectively relegating me to riding by myself for the rest of the race.<br /><br />The final 5 laps or so consisted of me following this *^*%$#@, who continued to nearly knock me out by standing up and pushing his bike <span style="font-style: italic;">backwards</span> as I was on his wheel. On the last lap we got passed again, with Joe looking strong in the front group. We only had about 500 meters to go when the peleton swarmed us, of course on turn 5. It's never a good idea to get passed by 40 people going much faster than you into the second to last turn of a race. But somehow, I survived. Unfortunately, since I couldn't contest the peleton, I couldn't put the moves on the guy I'd been wheelsucking for the past 15 minutes. Even though I didn't get to sprint him, I still busted out with a little acceleration in the last 100 meters, which completely cooked him. That's what he gets for not holding his line.<br /><br />After taking my warm down lap (tri girl still going, she must not have known that being lapped didn't mean that she had to make up that extra lap), I arrived at the group of guys including Isaac, Joe, and Raymond Junkins. They were just chilling, talking about the race.<br /><br />"How'd you do Joe?" I asked after a minute or so, knowing that he had to be in the top 6.<br /><br />"Oh, I won," he replied casually. Oh, right, no big deal. Wait, just kidding, that is a big deal. Apparently there was a party at the back <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> a party at the front.<br /><br />And then we rode home in the dark.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-21805565102598878832009-05-06T07:36:00.000-07:002009-05-06T07:47:58.495-07:00What it means to be a Columbia rider......it wouldn't be a midweek ride without dodging Japanese tourist<br />riding the wrong way, with no helmets, while taking pictures in the<br />park. Or better yet, the swedes who roller blade, the wrong way, with<br />no helmets, down the center of the road, while staring down on coming<br />traffic.<br /><br />Oh but nothing beats our home grown New Yorkers, walking out directly<br />in front of your bike, while on their cell phones and pushing the<br />"speedster deluxe jogging stroller"... apparently they didn't realize<br />that model doesn't come with airbags.<br /><br />[Additionally, there are the overweight deliverymen swerving around on their bikes that most definitely don't fit them...<br /><br />And the paparzzi that occasionally snap a bunch of pictures of you in hopes that you might be some odd bit of royalty and make them a few hundred bucks...<br /><br />And the triathletes snaking along on their their <span style="font-style: italic;">foldable</span> bikes with carbon wheels and tt bars (true story)...<br /><br />And the SUV's that think they are badass by driving around the Harlem Hill barrier at aound 45 mph and nearly killing everyone minding their own business on the west side of the park...]<br /><br />Oh how I love NY<br /><br />Commentary by Aimee Layton, with bracketed interjection by Shane FerroShanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-3958247767437033262009-05-05T05:26:00.000-07:002009-05-05T07:33:45.400-07:00Race report: PSU<object width="445" height="364"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/iol0B-clFFM&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/iol0B-clFFM&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"></embed></object><br /><br />Yeah, that's good, but what about this??<br /><br /><object width="445" height="364"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/g4tHQYZfvhE&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/g4tHQYZfvhE&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"></embed></object><br /><br />There's your shout out to the Men's C;s, although Rob has already posted that first one to the ECCC listserv, so if you are one of those that check your email every 5 seconds to procrastinate from the impending doom of finals, you have already seen it.<br /><br />It's funny, because I feel like this weekend did the exact opposite of building us up (except in vertical feet). First, there was the TTT that was kinda flat, but not really at all. I was also pissed for that race and attempting to take it out on the false flats until I realized that that was hurting me a lot, and I might not make the 10 miles if I kept it up. I also made the smart move to get to the line early which 1) made my teammates late while they were looking for me and (2 in my rush I forgot my glasses, causing me to get dirty spray in my face for ten miles. And it wasn't really raining very hard, so there was none of the "kick it into your face, then wash it right off" kind of thing from Yale. Long story short, I ended up riding slightly outside Liz's draft the entire way as to ensure that I could actually see her and not slam into her.<br /><br />I think the highlight of the TTT was our men's A team, which consisted of two A riders and a D rider getting his butt kicked so that we could finish.<br /><br />Once the weather cleared up a bit, it was time to start the road race of doom. Hats off to all the climbers in the field. Not many people on our team were in that category this week (apologies to those of you that were that I may be skipping over--but I did offer you the chance to blog and tell your side of the story and had no takers). Something about living on a pancake of an island. The problem with road races is that they are really really really really long (one really for every lap the men's A's did). And you can't really see anything, so you just sit around eating cookies, doing space legs, making inappropriate comments, and making a fool of yourself on random tandem bicycles. And, in my case, dancing around to RIT's (?) music choices, most notably "Stacy's Mom." What a classic. Next year I propose that we buy our own team iHome. Dancing is something we really could use more of at bike races.<br /><br />While I am not yet completely off the subject of the road race, I'd just like to say that I channeled Carrie a little bit in being pissed that our race was only 21 miles. It took me until about halfway up the climb to get warmed up (see: me getting dropped), but afterwards I was picking up speed and feeling good. I was ready for another lap. I could also have used another lap for training for Bear Mountain this weekend, but c'est la vie. I finished. Which is more than I can say of all the other road races this year (curses to flat tires and dehydration).<br /><br />Now, on to Sunday, skipping over the mediocre small-town Italian joint and the smoke-filled first floor of the truck-stop Ramada, the crit. I had been looking forward to this all week. Now, when we rolled up in the misty haze, there were quite a few looking at the chicane sequence with timidity. I was either too confident or too stupid to notice how scary it was. Either way, it worked out in my favor. I pretty much figured that it couldn't get worse than <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiegoYPk7JSHHIB3TJ1SNm8fZj8GFPaGmgfwJt3YSdAV6EtVqHBE7PsgKXegrynLO7jQkGS0iw6Ids3G1UwMDY8NmmVXF2LnNKXDnZMBgrOa4jKuOFjm0iCYalY_fkycAuAQfk1Ur0XFSka/s1600-h/crash.jpg">this</a>, and if it did, at least I knew that I'd have my favorite photographer/ER doctor to come to my rescue (if you were around for the Men's A bunnyhop-over-the-haybale scene you know what I'm talking about). Of course, I spent so much time worrying about what time I should get queued up for the start that I got to the line a little late and ended up in the 2nd row. Which put me in the 2nd group. I tried to play it smart. In some ways, that worked out well for me. When I was close to someone going into the chicane, I went to the outside of the corner on the 2nd turn, which saved me from getting caught behind Carrie's crash. At the same time, after about 5 laps when things started settling down, I wasn't quite smart enough to realize that two of the girls in my group of four had teammates up the road, hence, perhaps I should have done a little more work than I did to try to pull them back. But now that I think about it, if they were blocking, they weren't doing a terribly good job at it because we were going decently fast. There were a few obstacles over the course of the course--one being Army riding with a flat tire and try to pass on the <span style="font-style:italic;">inside</span> coming into the chicane. I almost felt like pushing her into that corner that she wanted so badly, but was content to growl at her and promptly pass her again on the next straight away. The one time that I let her in front of me coming into turn 5, something pops off her tire and she goes skidding into my lane. Another match burned catching back up to the group. But at least I felt a little safer on the course. That is, until UVM (Emily, I think) kept clipping her pedal on turn 4. Props to her, though, for never going down. I was impressed, even though it scared the bejeezus (how the hell is that word spelled?) out of me every time it happened. Interestingly enough, I didn't even notice that it happened coming around the last turn on the final lap and nearly took all of us out. I was busy cursing myself for not being ballsy enough to make a move before the turn (which, now that I know that we all almost ate it, I guess that was a good move, last in a field sprint is better than eating pavement and getting a DNF; see DFL>DNF).<br /><br />Anyway, that was that. There was lots more that happened, but I have a review session now. Plus, by not writing about anyone else, I can passive-agressively motivate other people to write about it. Right guys?<br /><br />That being said, hats off to Dave Collier, with a wicked move for a 2nd place finish in Men's C's, and of course to Mags, who kicked ass without even wanting to. And a word for all of my WoB teammates, who raced like hell (in the good way)--did you hear that we got a shoutout from the announcer at our race for fielding such a large (and attractive) team??<br /><br />I am going to go figure out how to write without parentheses now.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-7898227432908238892009-05-01T19:50:00.001-07:002009-05-01T19:52:46.999-07:00Penn State: TTT T-minus 9 hoursAnd so the craziness begins. Since 3 PM, we've already had a wheel rack fall off the van, stopped on the side of the highway in the rain, been forced to eat Taco Bell for dinner, embarrassed each other thoroughly in the vans, gone to the wrong hotel, and indulged in Guinness cake. Should be a good weekend.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-67806446810638044922009-04-29T18:20:00.000-07:002009-04-29T19:13:44.099-07:00This is how we roll<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRF7-HNKs6IGIB0iJgT8bsutFz7CRSDtJQR4NNAhOHhyIU86QeQHWKsNd0rIRZZ4nNCpidULsp9oglziacqEmEZAMnm44IxHL6zPQZxMgSfYzL649hggxs2GwSsg1rEjCptgSrnPTcKCES/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRF7-HNKs6IGIB0iJgT8bsutFz7CRSDtJQR4NNAhOHhyIU86QeQHWKsNd0rIRZZ4nNCpidULsp9oglziacqEmEZAMnm44IxHL6zPQZxMgSfYzL649hggxs2GwSsg1rEjCptgSrnPTcKCES/s400/photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330300810447752930" border="0" /></a><br />Supporting child labor, one glass at a time...(Just kidding) More like getting up Churchill, one glass at a time.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-75988286073454428532009-04-26T19:35:00.000-07:002009-04-28T17:39:39.601-07:00Blood, Sweat, and Tony's Tears.No photos this week, as our queen photographer decided to ditch the Northeast for the South. But plenty of stories. This weekend was a story of blood, sweat, and tears.<br /><br />But mostly sweat.<br /><br />The weekend for me started off with a commotion. I showed up for call time 15 minutes late with a paper due Monday still sitting on my laptop in that not-quite-close-to-finished stage. Then, I ended up in the dirty van with the boys through the traffic of weekenders trying to escape the city on the first really nice weekend of the spring. Around midnight we rolled into Fitchburg.<br /><br />A mere 5 hours, 45 minutes later, we were up for breakfast and call time. Perhaps one of the most precious moments of the weekend was the look on every single teammember's face when the guy at the front desk nicely asked us to park our bikes outside rather than stacking them against the breakfast tables. Asking that of a cyclist on a race morning with <6 hours of sleep is just asking for a death stare. I would feel more sympathy for the guy if there was a better breakfast. But, alas, there was no fruit (no fruit!), at one point we ran out of coffee, and my glutard self was very glad that I had brought my own oatmeal.<br /><br />Saturday started off really well. We got great results in the TTT, with the Killer B's taking the win in the women's field and the Men's B's and A's taking 2nd and 3rd, respectively. Everyone was really excited until about 11 AM, at which time the theme of the day was starting to sink in--it's really freaking hot. With highs reaching into the 90's during the road race, the majority of us were just in it to survive. (I did not, but that's another story for another day). The highlight of the day was probably Alex Bremer soloing in for the win in the Men's A race after hours upon hours of watching riders come through the feed zone in the blazing sun.<br /><br />Saturday night took us to the wonderful world of Olive Garden, where we made merriment while attempting to ignore the annoying server girls that just kept coming back with thier outgrown roots and fake blond smiles. ...<br /><br />...to be continued when I have less than 20 pages to write before going to Penn State. Feel free to expand with comments.Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2423280224175503292.post-84329792797736975992009-04-13T06:45:00.000-07:002009-04-14T06:15:42.648-07:00Lux et Velocitas - Recap<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu32yGWK6PjrVzSLAgGknYcK51_0HS57K27gByc-lqFS20DFk1qceAt6ipPRQc-rYNAQCVpEopyMiwnlM-9oVZ49y3HyiNSHTPt5xCgodqMsBwxMURPrgA36dUSVDwiA3zsG9LQve6Xgy3/s1600-h/yale_2nd.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu32yGWK6PjrVzSLAgGknYcK51_0HS57K27gByc-lqFS20DFk1qceAt6ipPRQc-rYNAQCVpEopyMiwnlM-9oVZ49y3HyiNSHTPt5xCgodqMsBwxMURPrgA36dUSVDwiA3zsG9LQve6Xgy3/s400/yale_2nd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324174788247904290" border="0" /></a>I've spent a significant portion of the morning reading through the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ECCC</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">blogosphere</span>, which perhaps shows my dedication to cycling, or alternatively shows my lack of dedication to academics. However, because of my blog-stalking, I came to realize that my own team is severely underrepresented in said <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">blogosphere</span>. There is no reason that Columbia shouldn't have its own blog centered around our well-rounded athletes (see our photo of the week competition for definition of "well rounded").<br /><br />I am also jealous of the other well-written blogs out there. Mount <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Holyoke</span> has a tiny team with some big attitude.<br /><br />While I am ready to get our version of the story told, I also realize that I have a less-than-heroic weekend to relay. My racing this weekend can mostly be summed up with this photo:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiegoYPk7JSHHIB3TJ1SNm8fZj8GFPaGmgfwJt3YSdAV6EtVqHBE7PsgKXegrynLO7jQkGS0iw6Ids3G1UwMDY8NmmVXF2LnNKXDnZMBgrOa4jKuOFjm0iCYalY_fkycAuAQfk1Ur0XFSka/s1600-h/crash.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiegoYPk7JSHHIB3TJ1SNm8fZj8GFPaGmgfwJt3YSdAV6EtVqHBE7PsgKXegrynLO7jQkGS0iw6Ids3G1UwMDY8NmmVXF2LnNKXDnZMBgrOa4jKuOFjm0iCYalY_fkycAuAQfk1Ur0XFSka/s400/crash.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324233573671986386" border="0" /></a><br />About 5 laps into the Women's B race there was flailing and skidding and bikes strewn everywhere. No one is really sure what happened (something to do with our field being afraid of the potholes on the inside of turn 5 and needing to jet from the middle to the outside line without notice), but what I do know is that I went completely over the handlebars, and either Becca's or Anne's bike left a nice dent in my helmet. I like to think that my previous roller skating career was just practice for the crashing that I'll be doing as a bike racer.<br /><br />The upside of this incident was that I got this really cool photo of it before the photographer had to take off and do his ER doctor thing with the people that went down harder than I did. Also, if you notice, going head over heels meant that I skidded on my shoulder/arm warmers rather than on my legs, meaning my decision to wear embrocation as opposed to leg warmers did not result in a bloodbath of legs meeting pavement. Not that the pavement could have penetrated my Vaseline-layer of steel.<br /><br />Though I wasn't hurt, I was shaking rather violently. I have never been able to make a decent decision while running on <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">adrenaline</span>, so I chose to take a DNF rather than a free lap. Of course, as the field passed me, I calmed down enough to be ready to jump back in the race. About 15 seconds too late. So I had to take my anger and disappointment out on the roads of New Haven and the rollers, instead.<br /><br />This comes after a day of suffering through the rain on Saturday. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">ITT</span> wasn't too bad (meaning I was only a minute and a half behind the leader, rather than the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">embarrassing</span> 4 minutes from Army), but the circuit race was a bit of a disaster. As you can see from the above picture, riding on a flat road on a clear day is dangerous enough in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">WoB's</span>, so I had no desire to fight the pack for 45 minutes when soaking wet and unable to see more than 5 feet in front of me. So I made the decision to hang at the front, even though I took the risk of screwing myself at the end.<br /><br />The first decent was awesome, as I decided to do something unheard of in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">WoB's</span> -- pedal downhill. I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">gapped</span> the field by making about a 5% effort. Maybe this says as much about my ass as it does about my pedal power, but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">whatevs</span>. Anyway, I did lots of controlling the field for the first 3 1/2 laps, but by the time we hit the last climb I was beat. One of the Yale girls launched an attack right before we got there, I put out way too much energy, gassed myself, and wheezed my way up East Rock for a wonderfully unsatisfactory 27<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">th(ish)</span> place finish. Bitches.<br /><br />In other news, the team's got nothing to complain about. Mostly because Maggie is awesome, but also because of great <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">crit</span> finishes from Carrie (with yet <span style="font-style: italic;">another</span> spectacular lead out from Nicole) and Dave, who came out of nowhere to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">sqash</span> the D Uncertainty Principle.<br /><br />And lets not forget what we learned this week:<br /><ul><li>Burned down diners are not out of the question when it comes to picking a restaurant</li><li>If you want to make new friends, hide candy around your van</li><li>Always preview the course</li><li>Be nice to the people at the front desk in your hotel. Always.</li><li>When someone cuts you off, throw a banana at them</li><li>When someone throws a banana at you, get out the jar of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">JIF</span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"></span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"></span></li></ul>Shanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13396498297252960123noreply@blogger.com1