So for the first time, I'm going to pass the mic to a good bud, fellow daddy, husband and cross racer Michael Robson
. Did I mention he's from Oz which by default makes him hilarious? Michael is laying it down this season and working for it weekend in and out. He had a tremendously funny experience at a race earlier in the season and I had him document this for us all to have a chuckle over. And so, here it is, Michael's story: Blue Balls. Cross style...
I flatted for the first time ever in a cross race today. I had never had a mechanical of any kind so it came as a bit of a shock. So much so that my spare bike, the one that flits away the duration of all of my races in neglected melancholy, was barely in a ridable condition when I ran up to the pit and collected it. I get the feeling it was quite surprised to see me running over. "Me,.... you want to ride me? really? but I haven't had my tires inflated in weeks, my saddle is not level or even the right height and my shifting is all messed up. I usually just lie here and watch you go by. I had no idea you ever wanted to ride me."
Needless to say the under inflated experimental setup I had on my spare bike barely survived a lap, I was back in the pits next time around wondering what to do next. Never one to shy away from the chance to self deprecate, I grabbed my son's 24inch crosser and rode two laps to get a laugh. It was good through the run-ups but sitting down to pedal was murder. I have to admit I was at a bit of a loss for what to do next, what do you do when you are all revved up and you're fresh out of bikes? I called my wife and she enlightened me to the true nature of my malady. I had crossus interruptus. Not unlike typical symptoms of its sexual counterpart, coitus interruptus, I felt anxious, edgy, maybe a bit cranky. I had got all excited to go all the way but was mercilessly stopped short of the finish line. I've heard it referred to as blue balls, you think its going to happen, you want it to happen, you know you will be really happy when it happens, it starts to happen, but then it just doesn't happen. It hurts. So I cheered Keller (maybe you know him) from the sidelines for a while, wandered around bewildered and participated in the obligatory geek-out with my race-mates after they had finished.
But it wasn't the same, I hadn't finished. I had done a few laps, part of the race, not all of it. I packed up my bikes and went home grappling with the mysterious funk that loomed large in my mind and nether regions. With the unspent energy I washed my bikes, made all the repairs to restore them to their former glory and cleaned my shed top to bottom including sorting my expansive collection of worn out tires. I busied myself with yard work and tidied up my socket set but couldn't shake my case of C.O.
Its now 8pm and I am slowly returning to relative normalcy. The ache is subsiding. My nerve endings are still frayed and I'm still a bit cranky but I am resigned to the fact that I must wait until next weekend to redeem myself, to get that sweet relief, but next week's race will be a long wait. It seems that both variations of C.O. manifest in a similar way, maybe the cures for each are not mutually exclusive.
Miguel: Thanks for sharing that with us brother. I think we've all experienced a case of C.O. a couple-a three or four times in our racing past.
Until next weekend....