I didn't even have a chance. Things blew apart for me after I lost contact on the descent after the finish line. It wasn't a particularly difficult one, but that fact that I was surrounded by 30+ Cat 4 racers shuffling about was somewhat unnerving and I decided that it wasn't worth it to ride so aggressively downhill (read: I chickened out big time). I figured I could've made up the difference at the bottom, but I didn't know how long the descent actually was and was soon off the back. I chased with a few other guys for the better part of the next full lap but to no avail. Cramps soon came and I found myself doing the mashed potato up the climbs in my 39x23. That's right. I didn't change out my cassette. It was fun times. A gruppetto formed of a handful of riders right before the last climb. Still feeling like crap, I gauged my chances to beat these guys to the finish line at exactly zero and figured I'd do something stupid instead. Attack! RAWR! I put in an acceleration and got about a half dozen pedal strokes in before my head started spinning and I started feeling nauseous. I gasped for air and before I could exhale I threw up. I was fortunate enough to make it over to the side of the road before I let loose the bagel, banana, and cola-flavored Nuun water that I'd had for breakfast. On the bright side, I didn't puke on my white GamJams socks and I did some sweet hiking out there in the mountains the next day. It was my first road race this season, and probably my last. Page Valley is coming soon, but the only climbing I wan't to do is into a bottle of scotch. Sober me up when it's 'cross season.
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