The Dirt Field

I just made fancy hot chocolate; real dark chocolate chunks melted with caramel and sea salt, topped with whipped cream. It’s good – not as delicious as the Artfully Chocolate version I’m trying to replicate – but still enjoyable.

Also, I hate myself for drinking it. This is happening while I am drinking it. Sip, loathe, sip.

This drink is fattening and sugary and rich and all I did for exercise today was some core work and a recovery ride. Yet all I can think about is eating more whipped cream and sticking my finger in the jar of caramel. I probably will and then regret it even more. The other day, I was filled with regret before I’d even put the first cookie in my mouth…and then I ate two and despised myself for the next four hours.

I am not good at self control.

That’s funny to say, because in some ways it’s very untrue. If my training says to ride for 2 hours and I get home at 1:58, I will ride in circles in my parking lot until the computer says 2:01 because anything less would mean the ride was worthless. If I am doing push ups and some of them weren’t good enough, I add extra at the end. When it comes to some things, I am disciplined to the point of excess.

But when it comes to food, I cannot exhibit the same degree of control. If I make it through the whole day without erring, then I will decide it is okay to have one little thing…and then the seal is broken and I can’t stop, not with the eating or with the self-flagellation. You would think that at some point, I would accept that this is how I roll and that I have been able to ride and compete well in spite of all the Kit Kats and bread puddings and tortilla chips, but no. No amount of evidence is enough to calm the crazy.

Jesus, I sound nuts.

I’m stressed about coming out of winter training and transitioning into racing, and this is one of the ways in which this anxiety manifests. Last year was kind of an amazing season; I switched to road racing and went from being that idiot that crashed out hard in a local race to several top 10s at national-level events. I felt strong, fast, and confident (except for the parts where I was burned out or an anxious mess, but whatever). In general, it was all about how great things were all the time.

Now it’s time to start a new season and I have no idea what to expect. My training is different this year – I’m not even starting to reach full race fitness until May – and I have to be okay with starting races knowing that I’m only there for practice and fitness. Then, when the time comes, I have to start the big races with the top women in the country and do my best, all while understanding that I’m not quite at the level to win against those women. As my coach said yesterday, “Your time is coming. Your time is not right now. You are still the future of cycling.”

She’s right. I would love to rock some NRC and NCC races, but the riders who do that have years more experience in knowing how to combine their fitness with an understanding of how to play the race. As much as I want to have another meteoric ascent this year, I’m not so cocky as to believe I’m ready to outdo women who are vying for Olympic spots.

But that doesn’t mean the hope and the intense pressure aren’t still there. In my goal races this year, the field will be stacked with women who dominate in races named multiple words I can’t pronounce (Omloop van Het Hageland, anyone?). Meanwhile, I like to shine on the Tuesday night rides and eat things that ooze melted chocolate when you poke a fork in them. I’ve got a lot to learn about tactics and positioning, I have a few more months of training before I’m in great race shape, and I eat/drink more than I should and don’t sleep enough. My deficits sometimes feel insurmountable.

I used to think champion mountain biker Willow Koerber was crazy, both for her wild partying and for the incredibly out-there things like eating her placenta and nurturing her spirit animal that she talks about on her blog. Now I think she’s admirable for how she handles training, life, and believing in herself. I mean, girl just had a baby on December 31 and she’s racing a World Cup on March 17th with full confidence that her life has prepared her enough for the event. I can’t even drink a hot chocolate without worrying that I’m wrecking my chances.

If I ended this with some positive-sound mush about loving myself and letting go of the anxiety or whatever, that would be crap. I’m probably going to go look at my stomach in the mirror and wonder if that chocolate is going to make the final climb at Black Hills harder. Rebuilding my thought processes is going to take a lot more than a very long blog post. But honestly, I am starting to feel a little better. Not about the guilt stuff, yet, but at least about the racing part. I’m realizing that my coach is right – my time will come – but to get there, I will need to have years like this one in which I train and race hard with the only reward being that I love it and trust it will pay off in the end.

But maybe if I dump out the last few sips of this drink, I can get there a year sooner.