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While my primary cycling fandom allegiance is to Team Type 1, since our household worships at the shrine of La Grande Boucle, you'll often find me streaming the day's race video on my computer, or when Versus or Universal Sports covers it, on the TV. So it was this morning, as the first of the three Grand Tours, the Giro d'Italia, played out its third stage.

 

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I am a fan of Team Type 1. To be able to perform at top levels of competition despite a medical condition that can leave one droping with hyperglycemic fatigue one minute, and fighting for balance due to hypoglycemia the next, requires an incredible amount of attention, perserverence, and skill in addition to one's natural talents. Imagine doing this while traveling at 30 to 60 miles an hour, precariously perched on two continuously moving patches of less than one square inch apiece, all the while jockeying for position in a crowd of cyclists all trying to be first, or fastest -- or to keep everyone else from going fast -- and you have some idea of the challenging task these men and women have chosen.

 

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Having missed Saturday's road race, I was more determined than ever to not-miss Team Type 1 at Sunday's criterium. Since a criterium pretty much stays in one place (think of it as racing twenty times around the block to see who's fastest), even if I missed the start, I should manage to catch up with the team somewhere.

 

 

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Sunday, The Other Half needed rest, so I headed off to the Bound Brook Criterium -- part of the Tour of Somerville series of bicycle races -- on my Flintmobile Flintstonecycle Specialized Dolce ("the courtesy of [my] two feet", natch) to cheer on Team Type 1 - sanofi-aventis. (READ MORE)

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There's an old adage that says success is "one part inspiration, nine parts perspiration". We tend to see only the first part -- the results, the glitzy façade. Except at the finish line of a race -- whether that be marathon, triathlon, bicycle race, or horse race -- all hints of the perspiration (or let's face it, sweat) are carefully hidden.

 

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"If you miss the train I'm on, you will know that I am gone..."

Unlike the melancholy wanderer in the Hedy West song, my cycling computer was at my right hand as I logged in yesterday's ride (to the doctor's office in one direction, then the supermarket in the opposite direction), and as I scrolled past the odometer, it read 512.4 (miles) -- which was approximately the distance I'd ridden since January first. Now, I'm nowhere fast enough to be part of someone's "lead-out train" at the end of a bicycle race -- much less fast enough to consider having others lead me out. Heck, I'm not even fast enough to consider racing the average ten-year-old (I think). But plugging away at it, bit by bit -- errand by errand -- group ride by group ride (OK, there've only been three of those so far, and during none have I been able to keep with the group) -- I've ridden over five hundred miles, this year alone.

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