They say that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but it certainly doesn't feel that way when you have a tough race and your demise is advertised mercilessly under the blazing lights of Cross Vegas. Fortunately, or unfortunately, much of the attention goes to the front of the race; fortunately because those folks deserve respect for pulling off a good race under a lot of pressure so early in the season, unfortunately because the attention got a bit misguided in the form of tossing beer and stripper cards. Check out Helen Wyman's articulate account here.
That said, I was uncharacteristically pleased to travel to altitude in Boulder for the next round of races at the US Open of Cross at the Boulder Reservoir and the Boulder Cup at Valmont Bike Park. As Jesse reminded me, "You gotta fight to keep your head above water in those situations," and no matter how many bad days I have, it's amazing how easy it is to feel bummed out by them. So, albeit feeling a bit sheepish, onward it was to the next challenge.
Thursday morning, I stepped out of the air conditioned Trump International to hail a cab to the airport, and sweat had already beaded on my forehead by the time the former Baja 500 winning cab driver pulled up from his waiting spot. On the way, while said cabbie told me of his motorcross days and about his daughter living in South Korea, I casually checked the weather in Boulder:
The contents of my suitcase were woefully inadequate. However, thanks to some clothing donations from our mechanic Taylor and his girlfriend, I bundled up in 2 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of gloves, fleece leg warmers, base layer, jersey and wind jacket.
As you can see by the Garmin mount, I'm still getting the cross packing down this season. In any case, it was September still and way too early to succumb to trainer rides. One of the easiest ways to burn out racing is over-trainer-ing.
It was a nippy 42 degrees complete with a persistent drizzle, but it was worth it to be outside viewing the roadside mini-sunflowers, golden plains spreading out to a backdrop of periwinkle mountains. Lest I get carried away here, the altitude combined with the shocking cold felt abominable, and my legs just would not turn over. After a horrific showing at Cross Vegas I was very tempted to try to "catch up" on training and "get in shape"