5%

Phew, it's been over a week since my last real post.  I apologize to the handful of people who actually noticed and say "F-you!" to the folks who were happy for the break.  In case you were curious, the reason for the break wasn't that I was devastated by my not so stellar showing at the Pinnacle (more on that later) and had crawled into a hole somewhere to weep quietly to myself.  No, the real reason is that I have a fuck load of shit on my plate right now.  Not sure why this should surprise me but I think the tipping point was B starting summer camp last week meaning that on at least a couple of days a week I get to work 30-40 minutes later totally negating any opportunity to scrap together enough words and poorly placed punctuation to pass for a blog post.  Does it surprise you that I write all of my posts in less than 30 minutes each day (more like 15 minutes on most days...)?  If it does, you should probably retake your english as a second language course.

So what's up with the post title and the picture above?  Well, the picture is an easy one.  That right there is the stump that took me out of the Pinnacle.  I clipped that sucker with my right pedal while carving a corner on the first lap of the race and literally flew ass over teakettle.  By the time I was back on my bike and had the chain on, the leader train was long gone and a few slower folks from earlier starting classes had gotten by me.  End of game.

Last year, that wouldn't have been end of game.  I would have been pissed, made some dodgy passes and got my ass back to the front (or at least near it).  This year I seem to be content to follow people and wait for four lane highway type areas to pass.  That is where the 5% comes in.  I feel that I'm about 5% off physically from duking it out at the front right now.  That's not a whole lot to make up and should be easy to do with a little concentrated effort.  The tough part is knowing what is up with my mental game.  My family is known for being viscous (but polite) competitors so the mental game has always come easy to me.  I want, no, NEED to win.  Or at least I used to.  Now I seem to be happy to race and enjoy the scene.  There isn't even any pre-race dick-rick happening now.  While Marcy might appreciate that last change, the rest must go.  What's it going to take?  Who knows.  Maybe I need to sprinkle some sand and broken glass in my chamois?  Maybe tape a picture of  Hasselhoff to my stem?

All I know is that when you find yourself writing your race report in your head while you're actually still racing is a sure sign that your mind isn't truly in the game.

Time to go psychoanalyze myself and maybe talk about my feelings.