Today was the first (of four) NEBC Introduction to Racing clinics this month. Yikes.
Occasionally we debate who should properly attend these clinics. When I say “we,” I mean, “no one with any authority whatsoever.” On one side of the debate are those who argue that the word “racing” is right in the title of damn clinic. They say, if you don’t want to race, then why come to an intro to racing clinic?!
I can understand how they feel. It would certainly make what has turned out to be a popular clinic—and therefore a big drain on volunteer hours—a lot easier for the club to run. On the other hand, as a product of these very clinics, I know that I personally wouldn’t be racing if I hadn’t attended; I also know that when I joined, racing was the furthest thing from my mind.
Bike racing! OMGWTF! Scary scary scary! Pavement and speed and crashing! Owie!
You may note I was a little bit risk-averse. But my point here is that without the initial taste of racing afforded by this clinic, and the confidence that I wasn’t walking into a blind alleyway where I would be mugged by a platoon of skinny lycra-clad dorks, I never would have dipped my foot into the real thing. Now I am a lycra-clad dork (and I was skinny before I started). But if we discouraged people who weren’t sure they were going to be the next Lance then I wonder how many missed opportunities to grow the sport that would add up to?
So … usually, Barry and I pair up to lead the most race-ready group of men, guys so ready that they sign up for a race clinic and then don’t bother to attend it. This tends to irk me a bit, considering that I traded four Saturdays of racing and training for four Saturdays of standing around in the cold in order to teach racing skills to a bunch of newcomers (who, lest we forget, are all off racing). I give them ten out of ten for fearlessness and taking the initiative, but minus a few hundred for courtesy, especially since the clinics do fill up and by registering and then not attending they take a slot from someone else who might have actually bothered to show up. I have to say that these are usually some really nice guys, but, you know, use your loaf to do more than make your helmet sweaty.
This year I was determined to get a different experience, and in the end I opted to lead the middle group of men. I can’t remember any of their names, which is really unusual for me, but they seem like a really nice group of slightly blurry guys. I’m hoping they stick around for all four sessions, but I have to admit that things did not go so well this morning. I felt like I had been out partying all night but didn’t remember it. Not only couldn’t I remember any names, I also couldn’t keep my train of thought on its tracks. So, in order to top that, I had to begin using opposite words.
Did I say keep your inside foot down in a corner? My bad, I meant outside foot. Hoods? Drops? Pretty much interchangeable, from a topological point of view.
Wow.
To anyone in my clinic group last Saturday I apologize completely, humbly, and very sincerely. Luckily, all my winter riding gear is from my old club, and maybe all the students will think I race for a different team. Better yet, when I show up in my current kit, maybe they’ll think I’m a completely different person.
Yeah, there’s another Todd, he’s kind of a mush-mouthed dork. We keep him around for the amusement value. This Todd is coherent, will remember all your names, and also remembered to shave this morning.
Afterwards, I rode a while with the attending members of the NEBC Elite Women’s team. It was the best-behaved group ride I have ever done. Not a single driver offended, nary a Stop sign blatantly run. It gave me a new way to appreciate the stereotypical complaint that men are always in a rush.
