Don't call it a comeback

This is not a story of redemption, or a feelgood story of the little team that could.  This is not a race recap where the hero vanquishes his daemons and prevails.  This is just a story of me racing a race that took me down a few notches and let me know that fitness is a state that you either reside in or out.

I felt good going into the race last year, had visions of grandeur at least.  I moved up into the top ten and climbed with the leaders, and then over the top I was dropped.  No big deal, I let the chase group catch me and tried to do some work to catch the leaders.  This went on for awhile, and then alarmbells and the body started shutting down so I pulled the plug. 

I did everything right, I was training with power, I was on the bike logging hours.  I was on track to peak for my A race, everything was good, and there I was dropped.  What was the deal?  I can't hang with these guys?  I'm better than this, right?  I'm sick.  I'm tired.  I'm dying.  I have no top-end.  That's right.  I had no high intensity training under my belt.

How many more excuses can I come up with?  I went to Hell's Kitchen with no intentions of winning, but with a goal to finish with the pack.  Getting dropped was painful physically, but mentally it had me wondering if I was really wanting to race bikes last year.  So, this year was an affirmation of my desire to race bikes, but also of wanting to have fun doing it.  What is the point, if you can't have fun?

I had a great day today racing with some teammates and a blast road-tripping.  I did what I came to acomplish, I raced my race, climbed with the leaders and did some work in the break.  Oh yeah, I had fun.