Race brain: Check. Legs: well, yeah check. Post race attitude: You bet! Me, I was awesome (just ask me!)!!! I am the bunch smasher.
Race 1, lap 7 and I’m on the front, with a plan. And the plan is to roll away, away from all those behind me. And I do it, slowly winding the bike up, getting on top of the gear until she lets go and starts to sing. I look back and I see a few riders behind me. End of my lap, I swing up and look down. Holy crap – there is so much air behind the two riders below me, I can’t see the rest of the bunch in my peripheral vision. I whoop inside, drop down tight into 3 rd wheel and yell at my little posse (1 guy, 1 woman) to GO!!!!!! JUST GO!!!! But they don’t, well not as much as I’d like them to go. In the final 2 laps we’re caught and swamped, and I roll home for 6th or 7th.
I sms Mrs Coach: I am AWESOME!!! Somewhere on the boards, I’ve had an attitude transplant. My racebrain is humming, plotting already for the next race. I feel... different.
I feel... different.
Points was not spectacular, but early on I take height to hit them, but don’t commit 100%. I’m just practicing, toying with them, and roll over the finish line in 6th for the 1st sprint. There's another strategy locked away for future use, just need to hone it. I’m tired from the scratch, and hunt for a wheel to take me up the front. Once I have it, it’s locked and loaded taking me where I want to go. I stay in the mix, non-combatant in the sprints, and finish the race 5th over the line. I’m not as awesome, but something’s happening in my brain and body. I feel like a racer. I am a racer.
Motorpace. Woohoo – the derny’s back!!! And the speed is up right from the start instead of the fall off the track pace of the motorbike. I count. I should be on the derny for lap2. Perfect. Wrong. I was on the dern for lap 3, almost thumping the back of the derny to move out of the way. Then I realise. Crap! I was primed and ready to smash it, but instead had to roll off and take pot luck. I was high with the guys coming under me, and I did my normal thing of slightly backing off until they pass. Where’s my attitude gone?? Get agro girl! Push them out of the way. I finish mid-field and realise C Grade is probably not so far away. That's a good feeling :-)
That's a good feeling :-)
And male chauvinism is such a sweet thing: After the scratch race, seated beside the only male in my breakaway, I overhear a buddy of his congratulating him on his brilliant attack that ripped the field apart. I’m on the rollers and think Me!! That was me!!! I did that!! That was mine!!! Me Me Me!!!!! What was worse, my breakaway man accepted his congratulations. Bastards.