i was tired
September 9, 2010
Patton is one of my top five war movies, and maybe one of my top ten movies generally.
Remember the scene where Patton is visiting the hospital, talking to the wounded, and he comes across one guy who is crying, and he asks him what his deal is, and the guy says “I just can’t take the noise.”
So, of course, Patton calls him a coward and slaps him. Multiple times.
And then I read everyone else’s race reports. And I need someone to slap me.
Why did I suffer? Did I have debilitating cramps that knocked me off my bike and made me sit down for an hour? Did I stop by the side of the trail to projectile puke my guts up for ten minutes? Did I get knocked off my bike by some yahoo into the dirt and break a spoke in the first half hour of racing? Did my frame break around the seat post collar causing me to ride the last 18 miles with a loose bmx-height seat? Did I get lost and miss the cutoff? (Will these questions ever end?)
I was tired.
I got thirsty.
That’s all. My arms didn’t hurt. No blisters on my hands. I didn’t come from two months living at sea level to race at 9,000 feet. I didn’t spend an hour in the PCMR aid station outhouse just hoping to keep my intestines in.
The common thread through all the race reports I saw—no matter how fast you were going, whether you finished in 8 hours or 12 hours or any hours in between, all the race reports sounded the same. Everybody suffered. If I didn’t know Aaron or Brandon or Sam or Adam (or any of a dozen other fast guys), and I read their race reports, I would have figured they were going to tell me they finished in 12 hours, because all their stories were full of suffering.
But these were fast guys. Some sub-9 hour type guys. Kenny had 3 flats, and lost first place in the SS division when the eventual winner rode by him as he was fixing the last one. Jon had to stop and put air in his tire 5 times. Aaron or Brandon (I can’t keep them straight) rode on his rim for a mile because he didn’t want to take the time or lose the momentum to fix it.
All these stories of suffering and heroism (okay, yes, it’s a bit dramatic to use the word heroism for a stupid bike race. See the next sentence.) are in the links on the sidebar.
I’ll STFU now and do my best to HTFU next year.
That’s right. I said “next year.” See you there.