So yesterday I raced the BASP series. I jumped up to the Master's A 35+ category and toed the line with multiple, multiple National Champions, not to mention the current World Champion; he was emblazoned with the rainbow skinsuit in all its glory. So they had a call up. I received none. In fact I was the last in line and it more or less remained that way to the finish. But finish I did. And I was totally fucking cooked. Mt chest felt like it was being pried apart form the inside out. But there is always good news. In fact, I was told that I had the best form ever seen, best form plucking dollar bills from empty beer bottles. You see, my personal opinion is that while at the back of the pack one may as well try to make some cash.
So all was not lost. And I did not get lapped nor did I get pulled. Sure, I my first race with the big boys - got smoked. Nowhere to go but up, my friends. Humbling? Sure. And I have all these wounds on my calves and my thigh and I did not crash; came close a lot but never hit the turf. And the wounds? Didn't notice them til I got home and my daughter pointed them out. She hates blood.
My boy rallied and railed dirt and took 6th place in a stacked juniors field. Way to go, kid. All in it was a great day at the races. Did I mention it was a night race, under the lights. And a re-learning experience. It has been a long time since I toed the line with the fast and hard men of NorCal. Until next weekend.
Out!
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