photo Jen Sewall
"Dying a thousand deaths", If you line it up to race Cyclocross on any given weekend, you will experience this. I'm not sure why this happens, or why we all choose to do this to ourselves, but the above photo from Jen Sewall at last weekend's Cross on the River race in Buena Vista captures this perfectly, for you just can not remember exactly HOW MUCH it hurt until you are reminded by a photo of yourself looking like this. It's not flattering, and I'm not proud of just how much I'm suffering in this photo like we all do near the end of these races, but I'm glad I get to do it, and I'm glad so many of my good friends bury themselves the same way. And I'm glad I get to yell at every other racer out there and encourage them to keep rolling, because between death 954 and 955 in these races it's hard, it's very hard, and one cowbell or one call out keeps you going, and then you have one less lap to go. Cyclocross is simply the purest form of suffering on earth while competing, bar none, and there is no difference if you are racing at the front of the race, the middle, or the back, you are buried deep in the Crypt of Pain, and loving it. It's an honor to line it up any weekend and face the Gods of the Barriers, Sand, Grass, Asphalt, Goatheads, Mud, Water, Course Tape, Rocks and Dirt, Flying Elbows and Crashing Racers. I had a couple of fantastic rides this weekend here at home in Eagle, on the mountain and on the road, but my soul burned to be on the Cross Bike on the front range, battling for 30th something place. It's pure, it's hard and it's so in your face. I want more.
"Dying a thousand deaths", If you line it up to race Cyclocross on any given weekend, you will experience this. I'm not sure why this happens, or why we all choose to do this to ourselves, but the above photo from Jen Sewall at last weekend's Cross on the River race in Buena Vista captures this perfectly, for you just can not remember exactly HOW MUCH it hurt until you are reminded by a photo of yourself looking like this. It's not flattering, and I'm not proud of just how much I'm suffering in this photo like we all do near the end of these races, but I'm glad I get to do it, and I'm glad so many of my good friends bury themselves the same way. And I'm glad I get to yell at every other racer out there and encourage them to keep rolling, because between death 954 and 955 in these races it's hard, it's very hard, and one cowbell or one call out keeps you going, and then you have one less lap to go. Cyclocross is simply the purest form of suffering on earth while competing, bar none, and there is no difference if you are racing at the front of the race, the middle, or the back, you are buried deep in the Crypt of Pain, and loving it. It's an honor to line it up any weekend and face the Gods of the Barriers, Sand, Grass, Asphalt, Goatheads, Mud, Water, Course Tape, Rocks and Dirt, Flying Elbows and Crashing Racers. I had a couple of fantastic rides this weekend here at home in Eagle, on the mountain and on the road, but my soul burned to be on the Cross Bike on the front range, battling for 30th something place. It's pure, it's hard and it's so in your face. I want more.
well said Elgee, well said....
ReplyDelete