Category Archives: bike racing

Today begins the awesomeness that is pychocross training!

I am beyond myself with excitement that May 1st sort of snuck up on me and whacked me in the head.

Holy hell on a cracker!

In the true spirit of the cx season, I am starting with a 5K, then mimosas on the park, then super-secret dirt/grass stuff in areas that are not (amazingly enough) flooded.

You don’t need to concern yourself with the super-secret plan, just know that it contains running…thus providing me more excuses for being slow on my road bike.

(Don’t act like you weren’t scared that I was going to jump right into this road season fresh out of surgery and blow the doors off the crit scene.  You were scared.  I can smell it like a fart in a car.)

OK, maybe I will blow the doors off something…but more than likely I will “Huff and Puff” like the big bad wolf that I am and that will be all that happens in any crit I enter…

So what?  I’m pretty.

…and I was told this in my last crit.

I may be slow but at least I’m pretty…and that made my heart feel all mooshy gooshy with warmth and love and my head exploded like a thousand cupcake-filled unicorns…because what I REALLY like is being reduced to “pretty”.

While many of my friends will be suffering whilst riding their bikes in a circle in Bellevegas today, I will have the shit-eating smirk of a genuine asshole who is just smart enough to puss out of that crit-racing nonsense and call myself a cyclocross racer.

A “pretty” ‘cross racer…who is going to clean your clock.

…and blink my pretty, mascara’d eyes at you over every barrier.

WOO-HOO!

*ties tiny cowbell to super cute ponytail and heads out for a run*

Peace, mud, and barriers to all.

Disclaimer: This was all in humor.  The racer who called me pretty is a friend and funny and was fucking with me.  Any attempts by any reader of this blog to attempt to start some shit makes them an immediate idiot.  If you are my super funny friend who made the “pretty” comment, I am in no way angry or pissed and have no intention of cleaning your clock, nor would I begin to know how to do so.  Who cleans clocks?  The Swiss?  I have zero clocks and 10 watches. I’ve cleaned the band and have to admit, it’s not a very menacing act.  It’s rather slow and boring…like me in a crit.  Who came up with THAT as a threat?  They must have been snorting bath salts and cotton candy. 

I started racing my bike 881 days ago.

Allegedly.

That was a road crit.

I cried.

Next crit?

Yeah, I cried.

Then I did a road race.

I did not cry, but I puked twice and nearly crapped my pants.

Literally.

(I was sick as a dog the night prior and even passed out and fell off the toilet and hit my head.)

I was likely dehydrated before I even started the race in the 97 degrees, but I reasoned that riding was better than sitting in the car being hot while my friends raced.

I didn’t enjoy racing even a little bit (even though I came home with a pretty plaque from the above race) because I sucked at it and it made me sick.

Now sure, I was in treatment at the time and should not have been racing at all, but that was not the point. Since I WAS doing it and generally only suck at things at which I put no effort in, it was a mind fuck.

“I am working REALLY hard!!!!”, I would yell in my head.

(I wasn’t.)

I have a pretty fantastic fear of the unknown and without knowing what would happen to my body if I pushed it, I typically only pushed it so far and then backed of.

The pain that I would feel would send me into a panic attack and even though my heart rate was not through the roof, I would have what appeared to be “exercise induced asthma”.

(I don’t have that.)

I am just a big giant baby.

What we did know is that this infrequently happens when I race cyclocross.

Sure, my entire first cx season saw me crying and wondering why it had to hurt so bad…but for some reason, I loved it.

That never happened for me with the road.

I love riding for long hours on my road bike…but absolutely still loathe crits…881 days later.

I don’t really see this changing.

I trained with 2 coaches this year.

Both were and still are ridiculously patient and focused on my success, both physically and emotionally.

Adrienne gave me sick road workouts.

Old school.

Fuck “rest weeks”.

WTF is a rest week?

Toughen the fuck up, Buttercup.

(God, I love that bitch!)

She talked to me after each interval workout to gage my perceived exertion, and supported me on race days, and after the road season ended.

Dan took back over for ‘cross and put me right into “cx bootcamp”.

He gave me workouts that either made me puke or left me with a twitch…or both.

He listened to the things that had changed in me and for me and reviewed all my race and workout data files from the road season.

While I raced for him last year, he admittedly had some stuff stacked against him with me for the 2009 season:

1) I hated road racing.
2) When the 2009 road season ended, I went and had my body cut open from hip to hip and through my stomach and muscles.

(Cross season was two weeks away.)

There was not a thing Dan could do for me workout-wise, so he just supported my plan of getting back in the saddle and helped me keep my confidence up.

Kirk Albers sent me trainer and roller workouts because he knew I couldn’t go out and ride.

I cried through spinning classes with Allison and Justin.

I wanted to scream.

I started to get stronger the deeper we got into ‘cross season, and part of that was just sheer determination that I not have to wait until the 2010 fall/winter racing season to enjoy racing.

During a race affectionately dubbed “The Root”, I had been doing well, for me, when my wheel slid out on a muddy ride-up and the stem crashed into my incision.

The pain knocked the wind out of me and I got dizzy and started with the heaving.

I pulled off the course to be out of the way and wasn’t sure what was happening.

I found out later that week that I wasn’t just a giant pain p*ssy, but that I had a 9 cm cyst on my ovary.  (For the record, an ovary is about 1 cm in size.  A woman’s cervix dilates 9 cm just before the baby’s head comes out.  Yeah.  That’s a big fuggin’ cyst.  Not good.)

EXCELLENT!

If it ruptured, due to its size, I was looking at internal bleeding and maybe some death.

Groovy.

They scheduled me for another surgery, cutting through that which they had only cut 3 months prior.

Needless to say, because I had had a super fun time with the prior surgery, I was pretty fuggin’ excited about the surgery news.

*smirk*

I had to sort of pick and choose races and how to finish the season.

I did the State Championships and finished in the top 50%, which wasn’t my dream, but pretty good for me.

This year was the first time that there was nothing holding me back except me.

OK, so that was a LOT of words to illustrate what Dan has had on his plate regarding me.

(…And that assumes that I don’t say a word…which if you read my blog, you know is a virtual impossibility.)

Because I am not cut in half this year, Dan wasn’t allowing me any pity parties.

He expected me to give 100+% in my workouts.

He expected me to be upfront if I didn’t.

I did it.

I didn’t always like it and sometimes I would be crying after an interval, full of frustration at myself, or the interval, or at my inability to make it all click and apply it when I need it.

He also knew I was working my training around The Sass and her developing cycling abilities, so he cut me slack on days that I road the roadie and not the cx…so long as I did the intervals, he never complained.

At Hermann cx, I did something that I rarely do.

I attacked.

I not only attacked, but I attacked on Pam Hinton, who intimidates the shit out of me even though she is really sweet.

She is strong as hell and knows how to lay down some pain.

The first time I did it, I got a look on my face that could only be described as pure shock.

Jim saw this and I am pretty sure he laughed out loud.

I was now in 2nd place in the Open and admittedly freaking myself right the fuck out.

I was out of my comfort zone.

I felt the heat rising.

It was hot outside as it was, but the stress within me made my inner temp increase significantly.

She caught me.

(Duh.)

I don’t really know why, but when she did, I attacked on her again and took her in a turn after the barriers.

I thought to myself, “That’s it. You are a dumbass and that REAL RACER is going to rain down a shit storm of pain on you and make you cry like a pistachio-fed  Chihuahua. You. Are. Fucked!!!!”

I don’t know what happened, but she didn’t counter.

Didn’t matter.

The heat was toasting me faster than anything.

I nearly fell backwards on one of the stair run-ups…and I love those stairs.

Davis told me I mind-fucked myself, but for this race, I have to say that it was part mind-fuckage and part heat…and too much of both.

There is no mind-fuckage when you attack on a racer like Pam Hinton.  It would be more believable to ponder if I was high or had simply lost my mind.

That just isn’t a “Cory” move. I am pretty close to passive when I race.

I am generally fine to find a wheel and ride it through and never attack….so long as I finish.

Something was changing.

That thing is that in cx, I can do what I want to my body and even if I blow up, I know I will still finish.

Now I just had to figure out how to not blow up but ride consistently.

Fast forward to PICX on September 25th.

I did it.

I tested consistency.

(That’s a really clever way of saying that I lost while possibly appearing to have done so with intent, for the integrity of Science.)

I did not attack.

I just added a bit more gearing each lap.

I was not spent when I finished.

I never turned the screw.

That was a good lesson.

Then came last Sunday.

Day 874 of my racing “career”.

The Ronde Von Jakob.

I will not lie, I had been right on the line about racing this race because of the travel time.

Additionally, I rationalized that if too many other people thought the same, the turnout might be poor.

There was a group of us going and it was at a winery, so if no one showed up for my race, I would attempt to talk them into letting me race up in the Women 1,2,3, which I had failed at talking them into earlier in the week.

If I was going to drive that far and race against 2 people, I wanted to be crying snot by the end.

Since I knew that Carrie Cash was one of the two known 1,2,3 racers racing and that Allison was the other, I was ensured tears and pain.

As it turned out, many more women showed up to race my race.

I started to get my normal inner-intimidation thing going when I saw a few who arrived.

Crap.

(Yeah, ok…see that? I am more afraid of the unknown than the known.)

If I raced against Carrie and Allison, I knew I was getting my ass kicked.

(This is where the mind-fuckage enters.)

When I have even the slightest of chances, the idea that I may be beaten when I had a chance to not be beaten beats me before the whistle/horn/siren goes off to start the race.

Good times.

Sooooo, I have:

1. Badass Suzanne Johnson (who pretty much owned the MOBRA points this road season and can sprint like a futha mucker) starting with me (and yes, her official name should be “Badass Suzanne Johnson”); and
2. Sally Struckman, who has made some people cry on the mtb race course (which she did pretty much right after pushing two babies out of her person at the same time.  Hello, pain!); and
3. Soli Figueroa Johannes, who is wicked fast and quite the track (cycling) star.

Amazingly, all three will serve you your ass on a platinum platter and smile while they do it and cheer you on at the same time.

Amazing.

I had pre-ridden the course and knew it to be a pain monster.

There was a long straight section right after turn 2 and this was Suzanne’s strong point.  (There were also 2 other pretty fantastic long straights on which I envisioned her making me cry.)

There was a huge drop into a sharp left on gravel that had Sally’s name all over it.

Soli just does it all consistently, so needless to say, I pretty much was screwed.

I had forgotten my chamois protection at home and had to resort to applying some lip gloss to my “situation”.

So, I had a rather amused feeling about having cocoa-flavored sparkly lip gloss on my junk when we lined up at the start.

They were starting the Women 1,2,3 and the Women 4 at the same time.

Carrie lined up at the back, so I took her spot at the front.

I was lined up next to Sally, Suzanne, and Allison.

I distracted myself with my bike computer and tried not to puke.

I was told to stay with Allison.

I smirked.

Yeah, sure, sure.

Get some bungee cord and tie it to her seat post because otherwise that girl is going to drop me like a bad habit.

She was going to be racing Carrie, so it’s not like she was going to be riding a leisure race.

The race started and Carrie blew by us like we were standing still…before turn 1.

Sweet baby Jesus!

I wanted to ride behind Sally to see what line she took on the drop.

In my mind (MY mind), that would tell me what I needed, since I had never raced against her before.

MTB racers scare the shit out of me because they are afraid of NOTHING!

That drop was a bitch.

Some men racers in the race prior had dismounted and walked down it.

I had ridden it, but not at race pace.

Sally nailed it.

FUCK!

In my mind, I was PRAYING that Suzanne was taking that drop slow because there was another long straight section and she would crucify me there.

(Also, Suzanne and Sally are on the same team so the last thing I needed was a Big Shark tag team.)

I stayed with Sally, behind Carrie and Allison.

I pulled up next to Sally on the long straight section, but could not overtake her.

I had to back off so we could take a series of sharp, off-camber turns.

Sally took one a bit wide and hit the tape and went down.

She seemingly bounced up and was back on the bike and still in front of me.

Dammit.

I HAVE to get away from her.

She is going to make me work.

Ugggggh.

We approached the barriers together and I made my move on the remount.

I ran faster than I normally do and tempted fate when I jumped on my bike before making a sharp right through the vineyard…

I glanced back and saw that she had not caught me.

I knew I had a series of sharp turns and then another long straight stretch.

I caught up to Allison on the flat stretch and attempted to recover behind her.

Yeah.  Right.

Her recovery speed was my red-line.

I am confident she heard my labored breathing and thought, “Jeeze, Redmond!  Breathe much?!?!”

I stayed with her as we finished the lap and kept glancing back to gage my distance from Sally and Suzanne.

Then it dawned on me…

I was off the front.

Me.

Ummmm…

What am I doing here?

I don’t belong here.

What is going on?

This can’t happen.

Oh well.

I’ll just stay here until I blow up and maybe someone will later tell me that I threw down a nice attack while I watch the others take the podium.

Allison and I take the dive down and turn off the gravel and onto the grass.

My real wheel slides out and down I go.

SHIT!!!!

NO!!!!

Not now!

That was not long enough for anyone to realize that I did anything worth doing!

I look up and see Sally and Suzanne coming.

No.  No.  No.

Not like this.

I look down at my bloody knee and hop back on.

I have some sharp turns and then a long straight.

FUCK!

Suzanne is coming!

Suzanne is coming!

GO! GO! GO!

I heard myself saying, “Shut it out…  Shut it out…  Shut it out…” very calmly in my head to relax my breathing.

Long, slow exhales.

I prayed Evil Mike was nowhere close with his camera, because the face was not good right then.

(Of course he was right there and got a shot of me riding the pain train at that moment.  Why would he not be right there?)

I approached the barriers and felt stiff and awkward.

OUCH!

I had to move, move, move.

All the regular spectators who generally witness me blow up and fizzle out were there…expecting me to blow up and fizzle out.

I could see Allison again.  I was recovering.

I was quieting the pain.

I relaxed into my dance.

I knew what gear I needed at each section.

I knew what cadence I needed.

I remembered that I knew me and that I needed to just focus on my dance.

Jay yelled at me to move up and catch Allison but I only had the time to think about my race, not Allison’s.

I needed to hold this gap on the field.

I gaged it each turn and recorded it for the next lap and measured it against the previous.

I tried to see in a second whether someone looked like they were going to attack.

It’s difficult with those ladies, because they just don’t have a ‘”tell”.

They just looked happy and like they are having fun.

Good.  Good.  STAY THERE!  Don’t move, sistas!

I looked at my computer.

10 minutes left.

Holy hell!

I had to hold this for 10 more minutes?!?!?

ME?!?!?

Have you met me?!?!

This was going to be the lonnnnnngest, hardest 10 minutes EVER!

I was going to have to get inside my own head and not let me talk to myself about the time and just focus on the steps to get to the Finish first…

2 laps to go.

Jay is yelling at me the split between Allison and myself.

Suzanne is now in 2nd and she could come on at me in a blink, so I would be stupid to relax.

Anything can happen.

Justin and Joel yelled at me at various points encouraging me and telling me what’s up and where Suzanne and Sally were.

I finished the lap and I hear Chris Roettger tell me to add a gear.

She was calm and clear, so I heard her.

I was alone, so I knew she was talking to me.

At first I think, “Is she trying to KILL me?!?!”

Then I think, Chis has personally tried to help me race since my first Team Rev Racing 101 clinic in 2008.  She wants me to do well.

While I am pretty sure that this will blow me up, I add the gear.

I remember thinking that if I lose this race now after being off the front all this time, I should just grab a cow bell and spectate from that point forward and never race again.

I cannot lose now.  I can’t.  I will be the BIGGEST, dumbest, most losingest loser EVER if I lose this race right now.

I hit the long straight but keep my cadence consistent.

Hmmmm…

I didn’t blow up.

When I then take the dive and take the turns, I see that I have increased the gap.

For a second, I think to the day before on my training ride with the boys when one of them held onto my pocket pulling me back on an uphill so that I couldn’t catch the draft or protection from the wind from the rider in front of me.

“It’s good training,” he laughed.

Yeah.  Somehow I am not dying right now.  Thanks, Fucker.

I laugh to myself about it and then remember that I am still racing.

I hit the barriers one last time and see Evil Mike in the turns with his camera.

“I think I may actually win one, Mike!” I say like a 4 year old on Christmas morning.

Mike is awesome and has watched me suffer through this racing thing more times than I care to admit.

He is proud of me, but I know he must be thinking, “It’s about time!  SHEESH!”

As I take the last half of the course, I feel it coming.

The emotions.

The stupid, girly, beat-the-fuck-out-of-myself emotions that I used to get simply for finishing a race.

I look behind me and I am alone.

There are no more sprint sections for Suzanne to drop her hammer and crucify me like she did the week prior….and at Hermann.

Everything sounds far away.

It clicks.

I WON!  I WON!  I WON!

(I haven’t even crossed the Finish yet, but there was a party going on in my head.)

I hold it together…for about 10 seconds until after I cross the Finish…when I roll around the corner and see Dust, from my first cx team, Dogfish.

“I finally won one, Dust,” I say in the tiniest of voices.

He congratulates me and I roll off and burst into tears…and have a panic attack.

I am laughing and crying and see Carrie and Steph and roll up and lose it.

Poor Cash has watched me try to figure it out since April of 2008.

She has pushed me up many a hill and cheered me through many a panic attack.

“That was hard,” I say and continue to cry…and then laugh…and then relax.

I am pretty sure there is snot dripping from my nose.

All of us sort of roll around and warm down and then I see Suze by her car and go over to her with a huge hug…and thank her…for pushing me and making me figure it out.

We’ve both come a long way since the 2009 season and though we each figured out that we are passionate about different bike racing, I am proud to race with her and against her.

This was the dream of dreams for me with regard to bike racing.

I am pretty sure I should retire now, as there is really no way to top it.

To Suzanne:

CONGRATS ON A PHENOMENAL YEAR, GIRL!

…and thank you for letting me have this one.