Time Trial

7:15 A.M.
    Goddamn Cat4s being given the worst fucking time in the morning. No sane person of my age should be up this early on a Saturday morning. I should kill my coach.
    That was enough mental whining. At about that point it felt like I really ought to be done pissing around and actually get out of bed and throw my stuff together. No point being ungodly late and missing my start time... again. At least this time I'll be sure to remember my helmet.
    "Are you coming, too?" I yelled up the stairs, hoping to wake her but pretty sure that wasn't going to happen. "Come on! It's 7:20 and I need to be there and warming up in just over an hour!" I said all this as I ascended the stairs to her giant attic room, calling around the corner and hoping to find her already dressing and ready to go.
    Don't hope for things like that. They never happen.
    I hopped onto my best friend's bed and shook her a couple of times. By now I knew that she would be awake and either trying to go back to sleep or simply faking it. "Wake up. You said you wanted to come along and play pit crew."
    She blinked a few times and nodded at me so I knew she was not only alive, but awake. "Alright. I'm getting up."
    "Good. I'll buy you coffee." I was going to need some myself (damn early start times) and I usually bought her a cup and a bagel for the mornings she tagged along and helped me get ready for my races. I didn't technically need the help, but it's nice to have the company and support. Driving 40 minutes to do an hour-long race and then another 40 minutes back is not any fun on your own.
    Helmet, gloves, pump, water, Powerade, shoes, change of clothes, other shoes. God. You'd think I was packing for a vacation instead of an hour-long race.
    "Come on! We've gotta go if you want coffee!" I yelled toward the stairs and my roommate came tumbling down, almost literally, to meet me at the bottom.
    "Sorry. Fell back asleep."
    "We'll do Muddy Waters before we leave, then."
    She nodded and we walked out of our half of that adorable duplex we were renting together.

7:35 A.M.
    The coffee shop is about a block and a half away, being on the opposite corner of the block across from us. The coffee is decent and they have good bagels with crap cream cheese. Oh well. Can't have everything and I really shouldn't be having a bagel.
    "Two cafe au laits." I said to the barista, watching him make rather impressive latte art on the top of our cups of coffee. Portland is full of wanna-bes who work in coffee shops. Of course, it's also home to a lot of competitive baristas, so you're never really sure what you're going to come across when what you really want is just two cups of coffee and a pastry.
    We didn't wait around. Coffee in hand, we left the little shop, letting the door swing noisily shut behind us as we headed for the car. My start time was in an hour and a half and I really hoped I'd have time to warm up properly this time.

    "Where did you say the race is?" She asked me as I zoomed out of town in my 1982 Honda Accord. God, my car's a piece of crap. At least it gets me and Paris (the bike) where we need to go when we need to get there.
    "It's out near the hot springs. Kinda where the cyclocross race we went to last year was."
    She nodded and looked back down at the book she'd brought. How the hell she can read in the car I have no idea. I'd be puking my guts out from motion sickness just from looking at the type, let alone trying to make sense of it.

8:30 A.M.
  Just don't puke. Give it everything but vomit.
    Maybe not the most genteel or lady-like mantra, but it works on a bike. My coach has spent months drilling into me just how hard I should be working during any workout or race. For a time-trial, I should pretty much all-but fall off my bike at the end and feel like I want to vomit, yet not have pushed myself so hard that I actually do so.
    Head down, eyes up. Eyes soft. Relax my jaw. Relax my shoulders. Almost no weight on my hands.
    I go through each area of my body as I ride, trying hard to keep my mind a blank. It doesn't usually work all that well. I get some song stuck in my head for eight or ten miles, but the listing is usually a good idea when I have the unfortunate experience of getting Mika's "Grace Kelly" running in circles inside my mind. That's a really ugly scene since I pretty much only know the chorus. After ten miles of the sale four lines, you're ready to mug the nearest 'tweenie for the iPod just to hear something other than your own off-pitch singing inside your own head.
    I can see another cyclist as I pump my legs heavily around the cranks.She's that blonde from Iron Clad who I chased through the end of my last time trial. I recognize the bike: a year old Trek in some hideous green color.
    Breathe. Remember to breathe.
    Head back up now. I passed the Iron Clad girl about two minutes ago. She's good, but must be having an off day. It didn't take me nearly as long to chase her down as I'd thought it would.
    One more mile. Head up now. Get ready to sprint.
    Just another mile. I can feel my body getting tired and I try to force the adrenaline through my system, preparing for the ending sprint. Bastards gave up an uphill finish so it'll hurt even more when we cross the line. Somehow, too, it's always windy both ways on this course.

    I could see my roommate screaming and clapping and being generally excited for me as I crossed the finish. Again, it's always nice to have a pit crew with you when you go racing. At the end of a time trial, all you end up feeling is hopeful that you did pretty well. You also have a lot of numbers to chew over from the bike's computer if the magnet actually read everything correctly. It doesn't always do that, though.

    A good cool down is required after something like that. My roomie's standing beside my car as I pull up beside her on Paris. She's waiting with water and Powerade and clean clothes. I love having a pit crew.
    "How'd it go?"
    "Just over an hour." I manage between sips of water. Best to not drink too quickly. I'll get sick.
    "That's better than last week."
    I nod and take another sip from the bottle.
    "I have your towel and clothes, if you wanna smell a little less ripe."
    I accept the offer and get changed in the back of the car. By the end of a race, I rarely care who sees me changing, but there are kids here.

9:55 A.M.
    "You wanna go to a movie after your nap?" she asks me as we settle back into my now richly scented car.
    I nod again. I always take a nap after a race. It's hard on the body to do something like this. "Yeah. That sounds good, but do you mind if we stop for food on the way home? I'm not hungry just yet, but I'm pretty sure that by the time we hit the highway I'm going to be starving."
    She grins. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say."
    I back out of my parking spot and head toward the road, watching the other cyclists reach the finish line and continue on for their cool-downs. God, I love this sport.