Wandering mind

The wind was whipping outside the window this morning when I clipped in on the trainer this morning. I had an hour of zone 2/3 work ahead, all while turning the cranks at a lower cadence than normal -- for me, at least.

Thanks to friends with large race DVD collections, it wasn't so bad. I have a substantial library of races -- about a dozen Tours alone -- to keep me occupied. As the 2000 Tour de France unfolded on the slopes of Ventoux, my mind meandered away, though my legs kept tempo.

Pantani attacked, Armstrong followed. Pantani attacked again, Armstrong pulled through and countered ...

I remembered a horrible day on the roads south of Omaha. It was sunny, windy and lonely. Riding at the back of a pack filled with Cat. 1, 2 and 3 racers, I was a 5 with one race under my belt (I finished 13th). After a requisite easy 30 minutes for warmup, the pace quickened, and so did I. But I was still tossed off the back after only a minute or two. I fought the wind by myself for the next three hours.

Ullrich's face was pained as he attempted to drive the chase pack up the mountain. God, he's turning a massive gear ...

Halfway through the 30something-mile Norfolk Classic road race in 2007, the attacks started. I was gassed after the morning TT -- I finished second. But when the strongest attack was launched, my legs failed me. I watched half the pack ride away, just ahead of the feed zone. They were gone. I was alone again, faced with a make-or-break decision: am I a racer or a rider?

I'm a racer. I dumped a bottle of water through my helmet, stood up and raced.

Armstrong is up by five minutes on Ullrich, 10 on Pantani. He's unstoppable.

I snapped out if it in time to see 55 minutes gone. Five minutes of cooldown later, I was done. I'll be back for more tomorrow.

Because I'm a racer.

(I'll stop telling Cat. 5 stories someday -- promise.)