[silly]

Well, Syllamo's Revenge ate my lunch. Like a fat bully in the school cafeteria, it punched me in the face and then just stole my tray.

Aaron and I drove up Friday night and stayed at the Ozark Folk Center so we wouldn't have to wake up stupid early and drive Saturday morning. Saturday morning we woke up late, ate breakfast at the Pizza Inn buffet in Mountain View, and headed to Blanchard Springs for the race start, missing the pre race meeting and warmup so we could get our stuff together. I had been warned about the race start, a mile long washed out hill at 11%, because it would redline you or you'd get stuck in the back. I got stuck in the back, having to walk because I'd pedal, trying to warm up, and someone in front of me would stall and the domino effect would happen. It was not pretty.

Hitting the singletrack wasn't the respite I hoped it would be. The trails were muddy and slick from rainstorms on Friday. I lost confidence on the trails, which were super technical already, and the mud made it worse. There was ALOT of pushing involved. I think the trail would have been a freakin' blast in other conditions. Aaron gave up his race to ride with me, which I was happy about, but it also raised my anxiety level because I felt like I was then responsible for his race, too. At one point, I said to him "why am I wussing out?" and he said "because you're worried about something". He was right, but how do you choose one : fear of failure, worry about the cut off time, my Crossmark tires that were caked with mud and left me slip sliding through the course, disappointing Jason, Frank, Pat, Kevin, and Aaron- all of whom gave their personal time and effort to make this season a success for me.

The first section of 15 miles left me walking, crashing, and flatting for 3 hours, which was waaay off where I hoped to be by then. At the checkpoint I took 5 minutes for a short refill of water, a 5 hour energy, and couple of gels; and then I hit the trail with a vengeance, trying to make up time. Fortunately the next couple of miles were quick, and I felt pretty good. Despite not feeling lactic acid, I knew I was panting really hard for the amount of speed, and it hurt. With Aaron behind me, I kept pushing forward, and we hit the second checkpoint at 1:30-another average of 5 whole whopping miles per hour. Seriously?

The cutoff was 10 miles away, and we had 1 hour. It was the most difficult section of trail. Aaron checked the pressure in my rear that had flatted, and it had 20 pounds in it! We decided to push on, knowing that it would be impossible. We climbed up this rutted out road and I just kept feeling mentally beaten. At that point, it felt like I was just punishing myself for failing. We turned around and caught a ride back to Blanchard for burgers and beer. I'm disappointed, but happy that I tried. It gives me a goal for 2009, for sure.