Well yesterday marked the end of my first race season. Would love to say I went out with a bang, but the truth is quite the contrary. After riding in a circle for an hour, all the while trying to save energy for the last 500 meters. Every lap seemed to be 6 miles long and it was getting old real quick. Then the last lap came....I made my way to the front of the pack....came around the last corner and was good and ready to draft a 7ft dude with pistons tattooed on his calf's until I was kicked to the curb (literally) by some shit bag. FML. Pissed.
The sad part about all this is that the race winner probably got $50 and an inner tube. Yet I went home and had the worst fucking day ever because all I could think about was that low life measly mother fucking shit bag douche fucker that pushed me into the curb and in turn never even gave me a chance at a victory. Not saying I would have won, I actually probably wouldn't have. But I would have been top 5. I'm such a sore loser. Then again, if it didn't hurt so much to lose, it wouldn't feel so good to win. It could always be worse.
On to cycle cross bitches.