Coyote Hill race report.

(Dear Internet, I know. You like pictures. Text is boring. Hang in there, soon I will have a camera to amuse you with. For now, be glad I figured out how to add links. Baby steps. (edit: Found one!))

The squirt gun show is a very young blog. Because of this, you might not be expecting too much from it, but today that changes. I am going to share with you a medical breakthrough that will rock the foundation of athletics. What I am about to reveal is a breakthrough so important, all stairs will be replaced with escalators; sidewalks with conveyor belts; and every chair will have wheels, and a motor.

As for the race report, let's pick it up in the middle. Second lap, I'm angry. What makes the folks at Coyote Hill think they can just use mountain bikers as trail building tools? Just cut some brush, rake a little bit to make what looks like a trail, then run 300 pairs of tires over it a bunch of times to make it into an actual trail. Last year there was a bunch of fresh cut. This year, more fresh cut? The nerve.

Problem is, the course was the same as it was last year. I liked it last year. It hurt this year. It reaaaally hurt.

See that picture? That's proof, proof of my pain. That should be the last time you see that ill-fitting helmet, but it certainly won't be the last time you see me trying to hide my pain-face from the camera.

Let's jump to the end of the race. I am done, not just with racing, but with functioning. I crossed the line, veered into the tall grass and laid 'er down. I stayed there for a few minutes, panting uncontrollably. My body wanted more oxygen than the planet earth could provide. I eventually made it to my feet and started cleaning up my feed. I collected all my spent bottles, put them back into my cooler and started to granny gear it back to my car. I had my cooler in one hand, the handlebar in the other. As I slowly (slower than you're currently thinking) passed my car, I set the cooler down right next to the drivers' side door. As soon as I let go, I hit a bump, or jerked the bar, or did something that resulted in me running directly into the side of my car. It was loud, people noticed. I was laying across the hood, trying to push myself up but did not have any energy or strength. I was a useless human being.

I managed to collect myself physically. Tried to wipe dry dirt off with a towel. Almost locked my keys in the trunk, but was saved by my keys, which prevented the trunk from shutting when I slammed it on them. I lost a glove 15 seconds after taking it off. I spilled chocolate milk all over my arm, from shoulder to wrist. I probably would have pissed myself if I wasn't so dehydrated. Just a useless human being.

I gave up on doing anything useful, and went to wait for results. I tried to mill around and shoot the shit with everyone but was having a hard time putting words and thoughts together to form sentences. So I opted for a seat in the grass, and long stare at the ground.

About an hour later, I'm driving home and wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Somehow or anther I started thinking about how a lack of oxygen to your brain can cause brain damage. hummm? I just emerged from about a 2 hour oxygen debt. hummm? I wonder if these could be connected? Then I missed my exit, and the next exit was well.

Later on (I made it home), with a little help from google, I learned the following about a lack of oxygen to the brain, or Cerebal Hypoxia:

Especially susceptible to injury structures include the hippocampus, which is responsible for memory; the cerebellum Purkinje cells, which are responsible for coordination; and the pyramidal cortical cells, which are cells near the surface of the brain that are responsible for all higher brain functions like communication, thinking, and mathematics.

Memory?

I was racing the exact same course as last year, but was convinced it was in the area of 55% new, fresh cut trail.

Coordination?

Picture my upper body sprawled out on the hood of my car, and my lower body still clipped into my bike.

Communication?

There was plenty of that going on around me as I sat, staring at the ground while waiting for results.

Thinking?

um. yes, I would like some of that please. Thank you.

Mathematics?

I avoid math after races. I find it easier to just eavesdrop on Colin, that usually ends up answering all my math questions.

So there you have it. All of us bike racers are making ourselves dummer by the day. You have two choices, give up on all physical activity and retain what brain cells you have left. Or, take the path I have chosen and race away your brain. yeah! stupidity!

I like to end all my posts with a little positivity, so I'll point out the silver lining of my slow slide into mental retardation. You get to watch. Yes, this blog will take on a sort of second half of Flowers for Algernon vibe. Well, maybe not the second half, more like the final third, I never really set the bar that high to begin with.