I'm With the Band

Today's race was not about me. It's never about me - National Champion I'm not - but it was especially not about me today.

Successful racing takes a certain degree of selfishness. Some people take that leeway too far, but even the most level-headed among us can expect to be left alone while warming up, to cut the line at the bike-wash station if everyone but you has already raced, and so on.

Because I wasn't going to be competing today, I got a chance to indulge in the backstage of cyclocross. When cars got bogged down in the parking lot, I pushed them out. When anyone asked, I'd pin them up. When Pat needed to swap bikes twice a lap, I did that too.

I got a decent workout that way. Pushing cars is tough work, definitely a load on the quads. Then, when I had to wash Pat's bike, I sprinted to the wash station, then sprinted back. That works out to an all-out 50 yard sprint every 3 minutes or so. ATMO Amy, who was pitting for her teammate immediately after finishing her own race, said "this is NOT proper recovery" somewhat breathlessly.

All of the "mechanics", standing with spare bikes in the pit, were issued official passes... to keep the spectators and looky-lous out, or at least to try to. FatMarc, rockstar that he is, announced "these are like backstage passes!"

I'd noticed it too, and so I told him that I agreed. Without hesitation, I added "dibs on blogging the backstage pass thing!"

Sure, that backstage pass thing could've been spun into an anecdote, or maybe some pointed observation-via-analogue (mechanics are roadies, racers are divas, beer is beer... it could've worked!). Frankly, I think the best story, for which you can find your own moral, was the interaction of the FatMarc and your loyal Ninja; to paraphrase Marc, each "a legend in his own time, or rather a legend in his own mind"