So, here we are. My last cross race of the season. The British Championships at Moorlands,
Firstly, honestly, it’s a race where I’ll make up the numbers. In a race where the best of the best turn up, and riders are accepted…or not as the case may be, a mid field finish is a reasonable outcome, not a lot to get excited about, especially when I’m not at my best. Hopefully I’ll become locked in a race long battle with Jough to push me like last time I raced there. (Despite the fact he nuked me at the bell!)
Secondly, I’m wrecked. Not physically, but the relentless cycle of training-loadingthevan-drivethereat5am-practice-washbike-race-washthebikesagain-drivehomeat5pm-washbikesproperly-unloadthevan-laundry…..and repeat…. for five months without a break has taken it’s toll. I want to lay in bed on a Sunday morning until eight, get up, eat breakfast in the kitchen out of crockery, not Tupperware at 70MPH on the M42. I want to waft out on the bike, do some quality training and then do some quality soaking in a bath.
Thirdly, I typically get the best results in the mud….but only up to a point, I’m a gangly clumsy and uncoordinated bag of bones. When it becomes a case of repeatedly transitioning from running to riding, I struggle. Much of the exhilaration of cross is leathering it on the fast bits, scaring myself to death and coping with the Belgian
Enough is enough for the time being. Let’s get it over with.
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