|
|
Sick is sick,
uh.
in
Tabor, CZE.
|
|
 |
| drooling...very un-lady like. |
|
 |
| A little gem a friend sent me to rouse me from the doldrums. |
|
 |
| when the circus leaves town all that's left are the tire treads and the stories. |
|
|
|
|
| I hadn't thought about the fact that at 7am in Belgium it would still be very dark out. When my alarm sounded on Friday it felt more the heart of night than early morning. It seemed strange and dangerous to don my kit and head to the track for some efforts prior to a long 10 hour drive to the Czech Republic. However I certainly wasn't the only one - bats were whizzing about like bees in heat and the lamp-post lined bike path was the push-biker motorway. My main worry of riding in the dark without a light was avoiding cars and drivers with not enough coffee in their veins, but the roads were relatively quiet and it was actually the bell-chiming commuter bikes I had to swerve between. Any other day I would have just hit the snooze button for another hours' kip, but the last week I had primarily spent in bed and my bed and pillows were becoming reminiscent of a replica-amy, complete with sweat and snot. Last weekend there were no UCI women's races, which admittedly was a slap in the face for women's cyclocross. I tried to view it simply as a rare race-free weekend and an opportunity to focus on training miles and relaxation time. However, it is race season so I couldn't help but feel disappointment as I read tweets from all my male teammates about the track at Ronse and not have the opportunity to race it. I digress; I had a very good training session on Sunday and was buzzing with how good I felt. It was one of those days where I had my prescribed training and the hardest part of it was refraining from adding on more time and effort. The kind of energy that if I could bottle it and sell it I reckon I'd make millions. The kind of energy where I was glowing and could roast marshmallows on the embers of that glow. The kind of energy where my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.
That night I went to sleep a happy little chimp only to wake a few hours laters in a sheen of sweat with a very sore throat. The next morning that throat was raw which soon snowballed into a head full of snot. Instead of a nice planned and controlled taper into the first World Cup I was taking on plague management. At first I was not too stressed because it was only Monday and I had until the weekend. Thursday came and went and all I had to show for my existence was pile upon pile of tissues. I did not have a significant improvement in health through the week but the snot was not green and I was scheduled to drive on Friday to Tabor. So that is why I was kicking my legs into gear on the outdoor track in the wee hours of Friday. I was fully expecting my legs to resemble that plethora of snot-clad tissues but they actually showed some sign of life so I followed through with the drive to Czech, box of tissues on hand.
Saturday was a short and sharp day, the goal of which was to see the course and blow any gunk out of my legs and lungs. Feeling in ideal form leading into the World Cups, so full of life and strength and hopes one week ago, it was difficult for me to erase any expectations, let go and accept that the legs will either be there or they won't. The good news is my legs were present for my start but slowly dissipated even before the first lap was finished. I struggled the rest of the race, firing snot rockets en route to a 19th place finish, and I'm sure I looked very un-lady like in the effort. I'll accept the race for what it was but I will look forward to a week's rest and hopefully fully killing this lingering lurgy which seems so keen to kick back and stay awhile. |
|
|
|
