How wrong can one man be?
As the sky in the photo will testify it was glorious evening for round 1 of the Rugby Floodlit cross series. The course is set around some rugby fields and uses every little section of gradient there is, on practise it was a big ring blast, something that didn't translate well to the actual race.
A big field lined up, I'm guessing maybe 70 riders spread out in a line and aiming for the far end of the field to make a 90 degree turn and onto the course, the whistle blew and the brutality started, I made it round the corner in the middle of the bunch and onto the course to watch what felt like the entire field pass me up the long drag to the far corner, there was nothing in the tank, so early too, shit. I gritted the teeth and tried my best to hang onto the end of the bunch which was spreading faster than hot butter, all I could hope for was to feel better as the race went on.
Well I didn't, the leading youth riders quickly caught us and started ploughing through the field, I still had contact with the end of the bunch and from what I could see there was maybe 8 or 9 riders behind me.
The 3 laps to go sign was like a kick in the balls, my throat was dry my legs refused to do anything, breathing laboured and sweating like a pig. I ground it out, insisting to myself it would do me some good.
By the end I was broken.
I need to find some speed from somewhere.
Welcome to Cross season