Urp

On the second of our two crits last night, with a lap and a half to go, C-dub kinda’ drifted off the front – further and further and further. Nobody was chasing – maybe because it was 44 degrees - but it was looking like he was going to take the win. Coming towards the last turn with maybe 200 yards to go he had a 30 yard lead. I went around JB, hit the gas with everything I had, and beat C-Dub to the line. The look on his face was priceless because he had me and everyone else beat.

Just as I lunged across the line, an ‘urp’ of barf came up, filled my mouth, and I swallowed it back down for fear of burning off the paint on my top tube. The gag reflex kicked in but I held off what felt like a whole hella’ lunch coming up, and I wasn’t gonna eat that entire turkey sandwich with pesto mayo twice – one bite was enough. Man – it’s hard to get that stench and acid out of your tastebuds. That was pretty much me’self telling me’self that was as hard as I could go.