I Thought You Should Know

The alarm sounded and I was startled from my sleep.

It took me a while to wrap my head around the noise.

I reached over and slowly turned it off.

I flipped on the radio.

A song I would have rather not heard came on almost immediately.

I felt myself exhale a slow, deep sigh.

My lip started to tremble.

I felt the first of the hot, wet tears creep out of my eye and roll across my nose.

I heard it quietly hit my pillow.

I sniffled.

Blinked.

Exhaled.

More tears.

You were my first thought.

Not missing you.

Not loving you.

Confusion and pain.

Anger.

Frustration.

Sadness over the lies I willingly received.

Trust betrayed.

All the pain that you dished out overwhelmed me.

My disappointment in your actions smothered me and made me want to scream.

I heard myself sob.

I felt my breathing become shallow as it all flashed again in front of me.

This was how I started my Monday.

I thought you should know.

The P*nis Posse

2010 has seen me spending more and more time with a circle of males who, like me, just love to get out , regardless (most of the time) of weather and just tear it up on the cx bikes.

These are the boys who were happy to hop on their cx bikes with me in June (JUNE!) while others were freaking out about their road seasons…

Now, it is the close of the year and another snowy weekend, and yet again, my boys are willing to come out and play.

While not every Posse member comes out every time, there is always at least one willing to suffer through it with me.

(I wonder if they secretly draw straws…)

Because I know what my day would hold if I instead headed to the gym:

1. Spin class with a spin instructor who cannot ride an actual bike and who tells people when they may/may not drink water.  (Suck it, Biotch!)
2. Weights.  I didn’t do them yesterday, so doing them today without first having the fun of an actual ride would totally SUCK!
3. Chubby people in sugar comas who haven’t been inside the gym since March but feel guilty for all the carb-loading they did yesterday.  Typically, these people have no real intention to get healthy, but going to the gym the day after Xmas is “cool” and will make them appear “cool” to all their super cool friends who went to Wal-Mart instead.

Sooooo…I am taking this time to thank my Posse for braving the snow and ice to come ride with me.

Yes, it is all about me.

I know they will be suffering and having little fun on their cx bikes while I drag them around…

I know they will freeze their feet running certain sections and maybe even slide down some hills (like last week)…

I know the day will be torturous and non-fun…

…for them.

Personally, I am going to hang back and look at their pretty asses as they pedal around…

…and hope that one guy wears white again…but falls in snow (for see-though wetness fun) instead of mud…which just looked like poo.

Always Been…

It has always been this way.

Alone.

The odd outward perception of confidence and strength.

He taught me that.

When she left.

“…Back straight.  Shoulders back.  Chest out.  Stomach in.  Chin up.  Never look down…unless it’s a bluff…”

I would listen, unblinking, to whatever he said.

He knew.

He was strong.

He was composed.  Confident.  Balanced.

I was just an emotionally wrecked 10 year old who had just been abandoned for her mother’s preference for penis over the love of her children.

(Did she somehow not grasp the fact that her love of penis and need for all things male-related is what resulted in her eventual birth of two of the least appreciated children in our zip code?)

Truth: My mom actually doesn’t like sex so much as she has a strong need to be obsessed with the idea of being “in love”.  If there ever existed a women who drank the “fairy tale Kool-Aid” and now has an ax to grind because that nonsense is fiction and sugar with zero substance, this is THE woman!

“Sit up straight.  You don’t want to look like your mother, do you?”

No sir.  I did NOT.

Even at 10 years old, I knew she was a soulless lunatic who was better off absent than present.

That said, I was a 10 year old at a time when parents stayed (or at least were) married.

My parents had never married (because my father was actually BRILLIANT!) and I was therefore always a misfit.

(And a “bastard” and “sub-par” human…blah, blah, blah…)

The fact that I had a pulse and could prove my birth was irrelevant.

By the time I started school, I had a step-dad…which was weird as fuck because NO ONE had one of “those”!

WTF is a “stepfather?!?!?”

It didn’t matter what a stepfather was.

I didn’t like him and was a terrible liar, so it wasn’t believable to my peers when I called him “dad” and pretended that I was “just like them”.

I didn’t like him and he didn’t like me.

We didn’t even pretend.

I was 5.

By the time I was 10, I had already seen more shit than some people my current age have yet to see…even with free access to the internet.

I was so full of disgust and disappointment by the time I was 10, that I truly could not relate to my peers.

(I got my first Barbie when I was 8 and that was already too late.  I didn’t want to pretend about someone else’s perfect life. I was living that nightmare and it wasn’t fun.)

I chose more often to hang out with my aunt and her friends, who were on average, 15 years my senior than to hang with people my own age.

I tried to relate to my peers, but my reality combined with my envy for their nuclear families made this impossible.

I had already seen things that they could only imagine to impress their friends.

It was then, and remains to this day, a double-edged sword to spend time with my friends and their families during Christmas…because my mom was always gone and I could feel the pity oozing off the nuclear parents.

A pity so thick that one could slice it if they so chose…and it made me want to smack them.

My friends/peers mostly existed with false senses of security, because they had parents…and I wished for parents the way some people wish for a Lottery win.

I always knew I would not be afforded the pseudo luxury of a stable home.

There would be no “luck” or imaginary lottery.

While still envious of my friends’ comfort and confidence, it was during this time that I developed my smirk.

Not intentionally, but I watched it happen.

Suddenly, I was getting my ass kicked by strangers because I had a look on my face that made people want to smack me.

I still have it…but it is somehow more amused…sort of.  Mostly tired.

To top it off, I lived with my grandpa and my aunt (who was gay before it was trendy).

People I didn’t even know…from schools I didn’t even attend used to surround me and taunt me about my aunt being a “lesbian”.

I didn’t even know what that word meant…

Whatever it meant, it was pissing them off and they wanted to kick my ass over it.

I knew my aunt.

I had never seen her do something wrong, so I defended her against their anger as best as my pussy-ass could.

(Let me get this straight.  I am a wuss.  I hate (HATE) confrontation and anything that involves my skin feeling like it has been lit on fire…like a hard ass slap or punch to the face.)

FUCK!

Generally, these assholes would surround me in packs.

Never one on one.

After almost 3 years of getting my ass kicked in the new school for having a “different” family than what was traditional, I was simply tired.

That Christmas however, I was excited.

My mother was flying to NY to spend the holiday with us.

My grandparents had paid for her plane ticket and all she had to do was show up.

She knew they would cover gifts for us.

I had not seen her in 4 months at this point and a year before that.

As it got darker and darker on Christmas eve, I started to get stressed out.

Where was she?

No one would say anything or give me an answer as to where she was.

This was my first recollection of hating passive-aggressiveness.

Seriously, fuckers?

My mom chose some douchebag over her children, handed me a $20 bill, and left 2 days before my 10th birthday…and they thought I could not handle this alleged disappointment?

Really?

OK.

No one will answer me…so I will find her myself and at least get an answer.

I am now 13 and tired of lies and bullshit.

I quietly closed my bedroom door to save the shred of dignity I had left and without permission, I dialed her condo in Florida.

(Hey, long distance called used to be a big deal in 1985!  We had to dial like a 20-digit access code to get our MCI long distance rate…That alone took up time if you are shaking and mess up dialing in a hurry.)

No answer.

Crap!

Now I have to start all over with that bullshit long distance code!

I called her boyfriend’s house.

He answered.

She was there.

Me: “Hi.”

Her: “Hi.”

Me: “Where ARE you?!?!”

Her: “Well, you just called me so you know where I am.”

[blinks back hot tears and stares into dresser mirror searching for answer on my face as to why this woman prefers penis over her children.]

Me: “Yes, I know that you are at [name redacted’s] house, but my question is why you are not HERE!!!! You have  a plane ticket and I have been waiting all day!!!!

Her: “I couldn’t do it.”

Me: “Couldn’t do what?”

Her: “Get on the plane.”

Me: “Why?  We are your children and [name redacted] is Jewish and doesn’t even care about Christmas Eve!!!!  We have Midnight Mass and Christmas is TOMORROW!!!”

(Yes, I realize that my young mind was potentially using a dysfunctional marketing tool to sell her on Christmas v. Psycho & Penis, but I was 13.  Give me a break. Jesus was a pretty big deal and I had seen her boyfriend in a Speedo.  He wasn’t.)

Her: “I couldn’t come there and not have gifts for you and your sister.”

(That was a lie.  We had not received gifts in many years from her and I at least knew it.)

Me: “Mom!  We don’t care about gifts!  We want to see YOU.  You are our MOTHER!  We need you!  We miss you!”

Her: “What do you want me to DO?”

(She was asking, but not in an appeasing/compliant way.  Instead it was a victimized manner lacking in all accountability.  Even I knew this.)

What I said next was big.

It would change things forever between us.

I am pretty sure my grandparents heard my words and my tone.

They never said anything about it, but I know they were both shocked and a little proud of me.

I had never had a back bone…until this moment.

Generally, they thought I was weak (and a little dumb) because I would just blink at them wordlessly when they were angry.

I was neither dumb nor weak.  I simply knew that it was pointless to argue when they could not wrap their brains around the fact children are oft wiser and more attentive than they liked to believe.

Me: [screaming]  “I WANT YOU TO GET YOUR ASS ON THAT FUCKING PLANE YOU SELFISH BITCH!  THAT IS WHAT I WANT YOU TO DO!!!!!”

I slammed the phone down and sobbed.

I knew she was not coming.

I knew I was about to get in a lot of trouble for:

1. Making a long distance call without permission
2. Raising my voice to my mother
3. Not pretending to my mother that I was “fine” or “OK”
4. Using REALLY super bad words, Jesus’ birthday or not…I was in trouble.

The orange book cover I had seen my entire life on the book shelf kept popping into my head.

“I’m OK – You’re OK”

I was NOT O-fucking-K…and I feel pretty confident that no member of my family at that time had ever read that book.

For certain.

I laid there crying.

First really loud…then, that heaving/gasping for air crying of the truly exhausted.

My bedroom door never opened.

(I think they were a little afraid that I had either snapped or developed Tourette’s Syndrome and didn’t feel they could solve this problem prior to 12am in the house of God.)

I didn’t go to Midnight Mass at Good Shepard that year…or ever again.

I never believed that anything good ever happened on this horrible holiday…

…Until…

December 1992.

I looked into the eyes of my son who was only a few months old but who loved me with every cell in his body.

Though I knew he would never know if we had celebrated Christmas or not that year, I bought a tree and bought ornaments all in blue.

He was all that mattered.

Nothing SHE had ever done will EVER matter again.

I let him eat wrapping paper and drool on everything…and heard myself giggle…a real, genuine giggle…for the first time since my childhood.

18 years later, I look into his big brown eyes as he opens that last present…the best one…and see the pure excitement and comfort he has…that his mom will always choose him first…

…and never darken a holiday intended for celebration.

Festivus – Feats of Strength 2010

Dan told me that this was due yesterday…but in my typical fashion, I am late and he gave me a free pass to get my “beauty” sleep and do it today.

*smirk*

So, now that the Airing of Grievances has been completed, I proceeded to the Festivus Feats of Strength.

But whom to wrestle?

I mean, it’s not like I had anyone on my grievance list chillaxin’ at the pad…except The French Dog.

I looked at him. He stared back innocently.

He blinked.

I jumped down on the floor and tried to wrestle him.

He rolled over and showed me his belly…and his junk.

(I am pretty sure he thinks he is Antonio Banderas as “Puss in Boots” from the Shrek franchise…)

Fail.

I rolled him back over and tried to rough house with him.

As he is the most silent dog on the planet and likely the happiest….he simply wagged his tail at me…and then tried to hump my shin.

Ewww. Fail!

Sooooo, having lost that battle, my only hope was to battle [name redacted] when he stopped by.

He was the perfect victim…errrr…sparring mate.

Sure, I fully intended to take advantage of the fact that he would be dressed for his company’s holiday party and the fact that he is injured.

I fully disclosed that information to him…just before I mock kicked him in the junk.

The thought and proximity of my foot damn near dropped him and I knew that if I so chose, I could then simply knee kick him to the face and drop him like a termite infested, beaver gnawed tree.

I won.

Virtually.

(Hey, I had to do this unless I wanted to deal with being accused of exploiting the whole “injured” thing.)

*Disclaimer: [Name redacted] is really nice and not deserving of a kick to the junk or a knee to the face. No males were injured during the practices of Cory’s Festivus Feats of Strength.

With the official Festivus Feats of Strength accomplished, I know Dan wishes me to now address my 2010 Feats of Strength…aka “my rather awesome (for me) psychocross season”!

This is where I acknowledge Dan’s super mega cx bootcamp that he smacked me into when road season was over…

Dan and Adrienne had their hands full with me this year, as I had been cut in half through my core muscles 4 months before the year started and again cut through the core muscles on Dec. 30th.

I was still on a liquid diet when the year began and have remained nutrition-challenged throughout the year.

(Try training someone with zero core muscles, healing stitches, and a liquid diet…it’s super fun!)

As my body healed, we introduced more and solids and tried to create a balance that my body would not reject and leave me puking mid-race. I was given more structured workout plans and not allowed to puss out.

I drilled the “Push Thru” motto into my head.

While Adrienne pushed me through my road season, Dan structured my cx season and then…it was all put together.

I entered the cx season physically stronger than I have been in 20 years.

I had gained a confidence on the bike that had you asked me in March, I would have thought impossible.

I performed well as the season opened and even won my first race…EVER!

As the 2nd cx series started, I started to have some issues on the bike and my confidence went in the crapper again.

Something was going wrong with my body and I didn’t know why.

Dan got into my head after my 3rd poor race in a row and rewired me.

I got back in the game the next week and improved the first race and wrecked my knee the 2nd race.

I got pretty angry at myself and rehabbed hard that week.

I was back in the game the following week with a different plan.

I started way in the back…off the back to be exact…to rebuild my confidence.

I would pass as many as I could and hold it…slowly picking off racers.

It worked for me.

I started to feel good in my head and that tingled through my body the duration of the race.

A smile crept back onto my face.

…and then I wrecked again…on the last lap!

Dammit!

Ehhh…

It didn’t effect me the same.

It hurt, but I finished the climb and the race.

I had some stuff come up in my personal life that week and Dan knew I was going to push myself harder.

He allowed me to make a few changes to my schedule and got happier as my results and confidence improved.

I was having fun racing again.

I was excited.

I shocked Dan with a last minute decision to race Jingle Cross and made him proud (I hope) with a 4th place and then a 5th place finish.

The next week, we traveled to KC for the MO State CX Championships and I ended up with a respectable 2nd in the State race (and 3rd in the overall race).

Considering that Gina took home the jersey and Gina is awesome, I can’t be disappointed even a little.

Considering that I didn’t race that race wisely at all, I didn’t deserve the win and I am happy it went to my friend. She earned the hell out of it in 26 degrees with crazy wind and doing it smartly.

I closed my season the next day at the KS State CX Championships by wrecking on my face.

It was effing EPIC!

Over the handlebars, face in the dirt…on a turn…off the front.

It was literally like someone dropped a f*cking house on me in my race.

*smirk*

I counted my teeth. Looked at my again wrecked (badly) knee…cried a minute…and got back on.

Then, to be frank, my sheer shallowness got the better of me.

There were a LOT of photags hangin’ on The Mound of Misery and I had no idea how bad my face looked…

…There was also no way I would catch the field with my knee like this…

I had nothing to gain and it was below freezing.

F*ck it.

I rolled off the course and ran into Jim…who obviously immediately knew something was wrong.

…Also, there stood a photographer.

Realizing I have wrecked, he started snapping away.

What could I do?

I laughed and let him get the shots he wanted.

As I sat in my car, I found the funny in my season’s end…and realized I had indeed beaten my season and literally wrestled it to the ground…endo style.

And I have no grievances about that.

Peace.

It’s Festivus Time – 2010

OK…

This may shock you right off the edge of your chair, but I really don’t have many grievances this year.

I was actually looking more forward to the Feats of Strength (maybe just so I could wrestle a boy…) than any other Festivus practice.

(Of course when I allow my inner 14 yr old boy out, I have to type/snicker that the best part of Festivus…is the Pole.)

*snicker*

That said, in my traditional way, I will write a few grievances and there will be much drama (from some of you, not me) about whether said grievance is about you or not.

People, forget that it is me.  No matter who you are (and this includes me), if someone calls out a behavior and you think it may resemble you, just work on it instead of stressing and creating additional drama.  No matter who we are, if we resemble something less-than-flattering, we can always improve.

(Though I have serious doubts about 2 of the people because they are in a shocking and convenient state of denial and surrounded by a few enablers of the crazy.)

Also, telling me all the things that I am doesn’t make you less of a mess…and I know my messes and own them, so ask yourself when the last time you saw me freak out about something negative (but true) someone said about me.

(I make no claims that I will not and have not bitchslapped a few lie/rumor spreading assclowns, but I will likely do that forever.)

OK, that all said…here are my grievances:

Assclown #1: You are a mean, insecure, neurotic, mess of a person.  You are mean to your husband and say horrible things to and about your children, and yet pretend to be the perfect wife/mom and all about “family” when surrounded by the women you hope will accept you.  (Even though you will then talk behind every one of their backs to fit in with the next woman.) You will do anything to fit in, create drama, and have people like your self created/perceived “wounds”.  You are socially dysfunctional and your mouth has gotten you into a mess of trouble, including unemployment…not that that would get you to shut your pie hole because you are an eternal victim.  I do not believe in my entire life I have witnessed someone be so overwhelmed about mite-sized issues which would not be an issue to most people.  You are one of the most selfish and needy people I have met in my entire life and while I do not wish bad karma on you, I certainly wish you would wake the f*ck up and see just how ugly you really are on the inside.  It is truly shocking and sad.  Also, your shriek of a voice makes my skin crawl.  Try whispering.

Assclown #2:  Wow!  You created a real mess for a lot of people.  Like #1, you are a needy, insecure mess of a person and completely unhealthy.  You told so many of us really damaging information about people we cared about and dumped your obsessiveness (with a person in a relationship) and drama on all of us.  Then…you crapped on some of us who were there for you when you had clearly lost your mind and cried all the time.  COUNTLESS hours I spent listening to this nonsense and dysfunction.  You are not brilliant or creative and are completely unorganized…which is likely why you suck at your job.  You have no concept of morality or ethics and because you cry, there are those who want to help you…because you are so effing helpless.  I call bullshitzu.  You actively pursued someone who is in a long-term relationship and we all had to deal with it.  THEN, you lied about any of us who told you to stop and that what you were doing was not right and not healthy.  You acted like a friend to the one, while trying to steal their partner.  I don’t care what kind of foul mouthed asshole I am, you are just wrong and anyone who trusts you is stupid.  I have spoken to you about this many times before finally just eliminating you from my life.  So now that quite some time has passed, I have to ask… How did that work out for you?  Did you get what you wanted?  (Don’t answer that.  You didn’t.) Fail.  Country songs and straight jackets were invented for people like you.

hmmmm…we seem to have a “Dramatically Crazy Liars” theme going on.  Noiiiice.

Assclown #3:  June 10, 2010.  This was just plain stupid.  I’m still dealing with this.  Don’t let it happen again to anyone.  Not cool.  You’ve come a long way so I don’t truly have a grievance.  I’m still just really freaked out.  Love and best wishes to you, my friend.

Assclown #4 (aka “my surgeon”):  Sonofabitch!  The next time you cut my body in half, can you:

1. take a look around in there and see if there are any other issues for which you may have to cut me back open in 3 months?!?! Jackass!  How the F*CK did you miss a 9cm cyst that happened to be a tumor?!?!?  Are you *bleeping* blind???
2. NOT consult with Edward Scissorhands, Freddy Krueger, and Leatherface about the best and most creative ways to perform my surgery?  Have you seen this shit?  I look like I dated a bad magician!  I know that I am approaching 40 and so you assumed my best years have passed (Prick!), but it would have been nice to date men with good vision.  I can’t even stalk the National Federation of the Blind because the scars aren’t flat.  WTF?  Thanks, Assclown.

Assclown #5:  Seriously?  I just took you out!!!  You HAD to come back in and do that on the floor?!?!  Have you lost your mind or love of a warm home?  Do NOT do that again!  (But thank you for doing it on the hard wood and not the carpet!) Don’t think I won’t poo in your crate if you do that again on my floor…because I will.   *shakes head*

*DISCLAIMER: NO, my dog will not be homeless if he poos on the floor again.  Nor will I poo in his crate.  He’s an effing poodle.  How the hell would I fit in his crate?  I am not actually mad at my dog and just wanted to end the list on a humorous note.

Right then.  That about takes care of my list.  Sorry if you didn’t make the cut.  Some of you put in a pretty impressive effort to get on the list, but in the end, ehhhh…

Happy Festivus to all!

…Now…shall we move on to the Feats of Strength…?

Why I am Single

A friend and I were chatting about how many ads we see on our side bars on Facebook now that our statuses are “single”.

It’s amazing.

That said…it’s also annoying because you just KNOW that the singles in the photos are NOT what’s really out there.

I have another friend who has tried the M****.com circuit and I must say, both she and I frequently yawn at the prospects.

So, having done this years ago when I first left my husband, I wrote an ad to see what my special breed of personality would attract.

I was pretty amused back then and although I never met anyone I wanted to date, I did end up meeting some cool people, some of with whom I am still friends.

Today, my ad would be very different than 7 years ago…mostly because I just don’t have the time or desire to actually interact with “prospects”…

That said, I still think it’s funny…and maybe might help you relax a bit if you are “out there” in your search.  Have fun with it.  Steal what you want.  I’m not using it.

Here’s my fake ad (which is why I will be single a lonnnnng time):

Moderately competitive, marginally sarcastic, “Type A” personality with a somewhat wicked sense of humor seeks non-whiny, self sufficient male with own goals and employment. He must be independent and realize that I will not be there to witness his every breath. (Men with “mommy issues” need not continue reading.)

As I am a bike racer, he must possess the self confidence to handle my wearing spandex 6-7 days a week around other males. Temper tantrums are strictly prohibited. Pouting is allowed if he is exceptionally good looking and has a fantastic bottom lip. Otherwise, no.

He must be athletic (in the true sense) and be passionate about something not involving a remote control or computer screen.

He will be welcoming of my extreme fetishes for shoes, watches, and all things cycling related. He will find this irresistibly adorable…or at least pretend to.

His reward will be my constant laughter, for I believe few things are truly unworthy of at least a little giggle, my return support and understanding of his passions and interests, and the eternal jealousy and admiration of all his friends for being wise enough to have read this far.

*FINE PRINT: NOSE-PICKERS, BOOGER-FLICKERS, PASTE-EATERS, AND THOSE WHO ARE MORE THAN ENTERTAININGLY SOCIALLY DYSFUNCTIONAL NEED NOT APPLY. CAT LOVERS NEED NOT APPLY. IF YOU ARE MARRIED, USE A TANNING BED, WEAR GOLD CHAINS, AND/OR HAVE A HAIRY BACK THAT CAN BE OR HAS BEEN MISTAKEN FOR A SWEATER, I AM NOT YOUR GIRL. MEN WHOM LIVE WITH THEIR PARENTS OR FORMER SPOUSES NEED NOT APPLY. MEN WHO DRINK MORE ALCOHOL THAN WATER NEED NOT APPLY. IF YOU READ THE FINE PRINT AND CONSIDERED ME PICKY, CONSIDER THAT PICKY PEOPLE ARE LESS LIKELY TO GIVE YOU COOTIES. OH…IF YOU HAVE COOTIES, IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING THAT YOU NEED NOT APPLY.

Hunted

It’s chasing me.
I know this.
Every day.
No matter how hard I fight.
No matter what I do.
It is there.
Lurking.
Waiting…
…Or not.
Perhaps, it simply has me;
And is playing with me…
…Before it shreds me.
Slowly.
So it can watch. Enjoy.

It lets me get away for a bit.
The way that I sometimes let a wheel get away in a race.
Always watching.
Waiting for me to exhale and relax.
Then, it simply attacks.
Slow and deliberate; gaining speed and power like a fucking train in the dead of night.

*BAM!*

Even during those brief moments of freedom, I know I am not free. I know it will catch me.
No matter how fast I spin; no matter how many gears I add; no matter how fast I take the turns… I will never win this race.
…But I will not sit up.
I will not blow up.
Not this time.

Catch me, bitch.

Cory’s First Jingle Cross Rock

A lot has happened over the past few weeks.

My life changed in some pretty huge ways exactly 30 days ago.

I am pretty amazed at how much those changes changed me.

30 days ago, I was beaten down, sad, tired…

Today, not so much.

I cut a few ties that were too binding and took a big breath.

I let the events of the day crash on top of me and just held my breath.

I got past it and the next day got on my bike and raced my cx bike with the weight of the world no where in sight.

There was photographic evidence that I was smiling and just having fun in the sport that I so love.

The Sass raced too and we had a great day surrounded by our friends, dirt, and cow bells.

With each race, I relaxed more and figured my head out.

(…my race head and my real life head.)

As Thanksgiving approached, I started to get sad over the fact that The Sass was going to her dad’s for the weekend and Ty was going out of town with his girlfriend.

The thought of the holiday weekend without my kiddos was bumming me out.

The last Bubba cx race of the season was that Sunday and  my time with my friends was coming to a close.

I made a somewhat last minute decision to race Jingle Cross.

To get in my car and leave for the weekend and bury myself in cold and pain so I didn’t miss my kids or think too much about certain other things.

Suddenly, I was very excited!

This was an adventure!

WOO HOO!

We rolled up to the course and I’m pretty sure I got my “O” face on as I examined the course.

Then…I saw it…

The…

Green…

MONSTER!!!!!!

OhmydogIhavemissedyousoeffingmuchthatIwanttokissyourighteffingnow!!!!

I stepped out of the car and jumped right the hell back in it…

WHOA!

That’s COLD!

I got on the jacket and damn near skipped to registration.

Registration was a BREEZE!

This pleased me.

As I was paying, but after I registered because you pay at a different table, I see the sign that they are “dumbing down” the course for the Cat 4s.

Hmmmm…

I really wanted to do Mt. Krumpitt.

I went back and asked them the deadline to register for a race and they said 30 mins prior.

We hurried up and got dressed to pre-ride.  The plan being that if I was fine with Mt. Krumpitt, I was adding the Masters race so that I could do it.

Soooooo, we got our butts on the course and headed toward the hill…

The climb up was nice.  Very cool.

When we crested the top, we realized why people were stressed out about a bunch of Cat 4 men and women on that thing.

Ice and slime on one big off-camber downhill pinball game.

Ha!

There were a bunch of racers just sitting there watching people slide down.

It was awesome!

Downhill off-camber hairpins would normally excite me.  Seeing all those grown men nervous made me a little, well…nervous.

Soooo…I went.

I took the first turn and all was fine, but then the bike starts sliding down toward the fencing when you are supposed to be moving forward.

Hmmmm…OK…I’ll run it.

uhhhh…yeah, no.

You slide running it too.

What a mess!

(Hey, I wanted mud, right?)

It was a lot of fun, but I knew that with a ton of 4s on the course, it would get ugly and I was happy they removed it.

I rode the rest of the course and reintroduced myself to the Green Monster.

I got excited again.

Suddenly, it was time.

We were called to Staging and boy was THAT ever a non-blast!

Effing cold!

33 degrees and the men’s field is huge.

Row by row they line up as we all get colder.

(To me, the most miserable part of the race is Staging.  I hate it.  Oh. My. GAWD, do I ever hate it!)

Because I registered an hour or so before the race, I have the last place at the start.  I am pretty excited about this, but I know it is what it is.

The race goes off and I work my way up.

Still freezing, but REALLY grateful for a thermal skinsuit at this point.

[name redacted] is calling out my splits as I make my way around the course and I am slowly picking girls off.

When I come thru on the first lap, I hear that I am in 4th.

This pleases me.

There are a ton of Cat 4 men on the course too and some are not very cool.

One continues to block me at every turn and when I would pass him, he would attack and cut in front of me.

Finally, I had to be a gentle dick to him.

I calmly (yes calmly) say, “Dude, you’re impeding my race.  I am in 4th.  No offense, but if you are back here with me, you are not.  Let me pass.  You are NOT racing me.”

If I would have had a camera handy, I would have saved the snapshot of his look FOREVER.

I hauled ass and after motoring past some fellas on the off-camber, I headed toward the gravel chasing (aka “trying to find”) the 3rd place racer.

I took a hairpin on the gravel and my rear wheel slid out.

My race/skin flashed before my eyes as I kept the rubber down, to the awesome cheer of the SRAM boys and spectators, so I’m glad THAT worked out.

(I kept that smile on my face for a while…and every time I hit that turn.)

[Name redacted] was keeping track and I was apparently getting faster each lap.

(Why the HELL am I so ass backwards?!?!?)

I came through the final lap in the barn making the hairpins with a Cat 4 male.

As I came around him for the sprint, I let him know I was a chick so he could do his thing without stressing.

He smiled and we sprinted.

I held 4th.

The next day, dawned 26 degrees and windy.

Holy hell!

The morning was chaos for me and I almost bailed on the 4 race and raced Masters (2 hours later) because I was running late.

When I got to the course, I said, “Fuck it” and got dressed to race.

This time, we got Mt.Krumpitt as a run up and dive down.  It was a blast!

After the first lap (…and after advancing and then getting caught behind a wreck), I was in 5th.

Apparently, by the last lap, the girl in 4th was blowing up.

I could see her and 6th was chasing me and I put some gap at the barriers.

I was going after 4th, when I wrecked on the snotty turn onto the off-camber base of Mt.Krumpitt.

DAMMIT!

I got up and ran it to the grassy off-camber and hopped back on.

4th got away and 6th was with me as we took the hill.

I recovered as I ran and climbed and let her go a hair.

Unfortunately, I knew she struggled with remounts and descending.

She had to run farther to remount on the flat top.

I remounted on the climb and crested.

I said, “C’mon…let’s go finish.”

We were exhausted and our fingers were frozen.

She chased me down the hill and as I hit the flats, I heard The Sass in my ear.

“Add a gear!  Pedal! Pedal! Pedal!”

So, I did.

That was it.

I dropped 6th.

I hit the barn, took the turns, and on the last turn added my gears and started my sprint.

My lips were frozen to my teeth as I crossed the finish, secure in 5th (out of 25).

I had done it.

I had done things that only meant something to me, but I was beyond happy.

[Name redacted] and I headed to Mt. Krumpitt and watched a few more races and then decided to head home a bit early.

I was excited that I got to do this event and still be home the next day to race Bubba with my friends and say good-bye to some.

It was a fantastic weekend!