The Mad Madder's Blog

Over the years I’ve raced any number of 5Ks, snowshoe races, triathlons, duathlons and played about 7 billion hockey games in Saratoga.  But none of them could offer spectators half the fun of watching ‘cross (except maybe the couple of hockey games I got ejected from or Breakout Hockey Eggnog Night… I maintain that was some good spectating) especially with the steady 24 hours of rain that deluged the course guaranteeing a slick, muddy and torturous race.  So, ignoring the little voice in my head reminding me that this would likely be embarrassing and maybe I would rather no one witness my suffering, I called everyone I could think of to come out and join in the fun!

Though my race wasn’t until 12:30, I set my alarm in time to get to the Spa Park to watch the cat 4 race at 9:15.  I had fueled up on Dunkin Donuts as per usual and was ready to do my best heckling/cheering.

I pulled into the parking lot and was immediately hailed by Chris, who had generously offered to come bring Elevate support for me and the other club racers.  Tone and Maureen joined us shortly after and we soon had a quality Saratoga Cycling Club contingent ready to cheer Eric on in the first race.

Around 9:25 the first race left the start to enter the course and I headed over to the barriers to watch some jumping and spiral riding action.  Tone, Maureen and I were joined not too much later by CJ (once she overcame her fear of ducking under caution tape) and we settled in to the serious business of heckling!

Eric approaches the second barrier as another rider proves he can fly!

After the first lap, Eric was hot in the mix despite his lack of ‘cross bike, running a steady third and dropping some gazellesque barrier jumps that were only one-upped by the rider who managed to smoothly bunny hop the barriers every lap.

Every subsequent lap brought riders increasingly mud marred and wearing facial expressions reminiscent of POW camp detainees.  Nothing makes a person more excited about an upcoming race than watching people tackling a race 2/3rds the length of yours looking like being run over by rabid rhinos driving Mack trucks might be more fun than what they were doing.  Needless to say I was getting psyched (or maybe I mean psyched out?)!

Eric mugs for the camera post-race.

Fabulously bringing a little glory to the Saratoga Cycling Club, Eric stayed right up in the top four racers and only missed the podium by an ill-timed shift into granny right at the finish line.  Annoying as that is I maintain fourth isn’t half bad in your first ever race and on a mountain bike! (I’d still be pouting myself but I’m an infamously sore loser).

With Eric’s race finished, we were freed to wander and heckle strangers.  After a quick trip to the Saratoga Coffee Traders tent to procure hot caffeine, muffins and a free Cow Tale, CJ and I headed down to the lower section of the course to see how the rain had affected the off-camber sections and the run-up.  We found the route quickly deteriorating to a mire, swallowing many who dared to challenge it.  This was definitely where the best spectating was happening.  We could position ourselves safe and dry on the roadway and watch rider after rider make the choice between risking an endo in the mud or running the descent through calf-deep mud.  Like the good fans we are, the crowd taunted riders who chose (wisely in my opinion) to run it and heaped glorious whoops of congratulations on those who successfully navigated the section.  We also watched racers challenge the run-up, our favorite being the man who, when asked why he was pushing his bike, informed us that old men need something to lean on. But soon I had to admit that I too had a race to face that day and I headed back to the upper section to take the bottle cages of Rodney and warm-up.

Showing Rodney some love.

While I was off causing trouble, Chris had checked my bike over and fixed my brakes (not that I’d be needing them with a course as slow as this one).  I did a couple of quick laps around the park and reminded myself how to dismount my bike.  Soon the course was clear and I did a few quick practice laps, finding the lower section as unpleasant to ride as I expected though the sand pits had been ridden in to the point where they were no longer a challenge. As ready as I’d ever be, I headed off to the start line (becoming more and more convinced that the voice recommending never again inviting people to my races was smarter than me).

Looking around me at the start, I saw the winner of the series’ first race and every person who had beat me in the NYS ‘Cross championships the weekend before.  My chances were looking good! Or something….(please refer to the PRE-REGISTER aside from The Good Day…sheesh.) But there I was and the race was going to happen so what can you do.  We were called to the line and the torture began.

Seconds into the race I had almost crashed and almost been crashed into.  A very comforting beginning, especially when it was immediately followed by a rather horrifying collision right in front of me.  Liz Lukowski of CBRC had had a great jump off the start and was heading up the field when she took a corner wrong and went ass over bike over ass and was run into by Jenny Ives who was following close behind.  It was the kind of crash that ends races and invites ambulance attention. Only by a small miracle did I manage not to run into the pile-up.  I couldn’t decide if I should stop.  I like them both (not that I would wish a crash on anyone) and I wanted to know they were fine.  The rather obvious fact that I have no medical knowledge and there were more than enough race officials and spectators that could take care of them didn’t immediately come to mind.  Unfortunately, while I was contemplating what to do, two riders sneaked by me.  Grr… Back to pedaling….

Entering the spiral.

Pretty soon I was coming up on the barriers and, in true graceful Maddie fashion, shook up a bit by the crash, I forgot entirely how to dismount and spazzed as another two women passed me.  Fabulous!  I went from running second entering the course to seventh.  Perhaps my heckling had negated any karmic bonus I’d gained by helping set up the course Saturday?  Because the race only went downhill from there.  I managed in the ensuing laps to: throw my bike down a muddy hill for no reason, drop my chain four times, crash twice, get passed by a seven year old, learn what nausea really feels like, yell “I DON’T CARE” when informed Liz was about to pass me, allow any number of inanely unflattering photos to be taken and complain I didn’t have the strength to shift over one foot onto better footing on the run-up.  It was beautiful.

I HATE RUN-UPS!

The sick part is that within about two minutes of finishing, having spent forty-five minutes hating my life, I was looking forward to the next race.  I can only imagine my cyclocross experience is somewhat parallel to giving birth.  You willingly subject yourself to intense pain and then once it’s over, when you’re holding your baby (or a twenty dollar prize…not exactly the same but only one can buy you beer…) in your hands, you say: “Oh right.  That’s why I did that!!”

So I chugged two water bottles, ate half a Clif bar Donna kindly offered me, changed out of my surprisingly unmuddied clothes, enjoyed the luxury of having a friend as fabulous as CJ who was willing to hose off my bike, opened a few bottles of Lake Placid Brewery’s Ubu (not all for me of course) and headed down to watch the elite men’s field tackle the bottom section with CJ, Eric and Jon, having apologized to all and sundry for my lack-luster performance (I think Calypso the little black dog who Mary brought with her seemed the most unimpressed with me).

Before we knew it the races were all over and our voices only a little hoarse from shouting “Real men ride it!” All together it was an amazing event, very well run and incredibly spectator friendly.  I sincerely hope the guys are willing to put it on again next year!

But there were hours left in the day so I spent them recouping from the effort by hanging out with Jon, Cat and Eric, eating as much pizza as humanely possible (and the french fries that I finally convinced Eric I really did want too).  Nothing says post-race recovery like enjoying the age-old combination of good friends, unhealthy food, good beer and football…

When’s the next race again?