My (Lance) Cup Runeth Over

I remember when I loved Lance. When he was someone I looked up to. When he was a superhero on a bike. I remember watching him go for #5 thinking my world would end if he didn’t win. I remember the deep connection I felt to his cancer survivorship having watched my Grandmother perish from the disease when I was 13. I remember the strength I used to feel watching the yellow Livestrong bracelet dance on my wrist before the fad started and after it died down.

As I sit here right now, though, only a few months after the big announcement, my Lance tolerance cup is well over filled and spilling out onto the table and all over the floor. He is no longer the hero with which I once identified.

Who really believes he is coming back solely to further the Livestrong mission into a global initiative? Don’t feel bad if you still do. I bought into it at first, also. But now? No way. In the dozens upon dozens of articles I’ve read over the last 2 and a half months, I have heard very little about cancer. I’ve relived all the old doping allegations. I’ve heard about how stupid the French are. But, nothing so far about cancer. I’ve been reminded about his 7 Tour de France victories (as if I could forget). I’ve heard about old and new disputes with Greg Lemond, another self serving narcissist. No cancer. More doping, more insistance of not doping. We heard a blurb about his charity working together with Simeoni’s charity, but that was after we had to witness the back and forth and back and forth over the 2004 Tour controversy. More doping, no proof of doping, more allegations of doping, the French are stupid. No cancer. Hey look! Lance is in a wind tunnel! More doping, more arrogance. More Astana controversy. No, I swear this is about cancer. Now he's afraid of French fans. AURGH! Enough already!

Enough.

Lance’s hero status for me has gone downhill since his retirement. Not because his incredible sporting accomplishments have diminished in my mind, but because the yellow bracelet is no longer dancing on my wrist. It went in the garbage the day I read that he reportedly allowed his 6 year old daughter to take Ashley Olsen to show and tell at her Texas school. The only thing Lance seems to care about more than his cancer charity is his own face. I have to agree with Mike Celizic of msnbc.com; Lance has become a “drama queen” and a “narcissist.” There’s simply no deep connection to have with either of those.

Mental Block Party

Now that the stitches are out and the contusions have been reduced to bearable, it’s time to look ahead to my return to racing. Physically, I’ll be ok. In a few weeks I’ll be back to the fitness level I was at the time of the crash. No big deal. I wasn’t all that fit anyway. The bigger barrier to jump over is the mental game my brain will play with me.

That game is this: you go on 1000 rides without mishap. You crash once. That becomes the one and only ride your brain will remember. And it will make unending attempts at convincing your body that you will now crash each and every time you head out on the road (or trail).

Getting over that mental block is serious business. If you can’t move on, you’re likely to start riding and racing with intrepedation, which will, in turn, lead to more crashes. So, it’s time for me to saddle up and hit the gravel road… figuratively, though. Not literally this time.

Crash Into Me

I’ll get to the point. I crashed at the Hawksnest Cyclocross race. Last lap (although I didn’t know it at the time), final descent, 50 yards from the finish. Lost my wheels in a gravel section and went down on the rocks. 5 sutures in my knee and 7 in my hip and a lot of missing skin and deep bruises on the right side of my body. I was in second to last place at the time of the crash and about to be lapped by the woman who finished second. What a bunch of shit.

It just caps the frustration of the last 18 months. I can’t seem to regain the fitness I had back then – a promotion at work, a new work schedule and more responsibilities have really hampered my training hours and it really shows. But, that doesn’t keep me from expecting more of myself. It only serves as a constant disappointment when I don’t finish well. Some cyclists are perpetually in shape. Even when they are “out of shape” they keep a pretty high level of fitness. My body, I have learned, does not work like that. I lose fitness easily and quickly. I gain weight easily, as well. My BMI, although at a healthy level, is quite high for a cyclist. My frustration goes all the way down to my team kit that doesn’t fit right because I’m 15 pounds too heavy to race right now. Looking like an idiot doesn’t exactly feed into the confidence needed to step to the line of a race you know your going to lose handily. Seriously, I’m the cyclist’s version of Erkle when I come to the line.

The bottom line is this: I have no business racing right now.

The bottom/bottom line is this: I’m gonna do it anyway. And I’m gonna take each ass whoopin like a woman. I’ll slowly learn how to race cyclocross. And I’ll get better. And I’ll be a better racer in the springtime because of it…fingers crossed.