'Cross gut

While cyclocross is painful, it's also short. Roadies call it a 'pukefest'...which doesn't seem too far off.

After every race, or even a hard interval set off-road on a cross bike, I end up with a stomach that doesn't stop churning/cramping for hours, and sometimes for the rest of the night. I've heard people describe this as 'cross gut', but haven't found anyone who has a solution, or even knows where it comes from. I have never gotten these symptoms from MTB races, crits, road races, or anything else really.  I've been in search of an answer, and have found a few strategies thanks to some friends, some coaches, and the good old internets.

Strategy #1: Beer

 Inspired by former Richard Sachs-RGM rider Dan Timmerman is the beer strategy. After Canton Cup last year, I remember talking to him about how his stomach is only settled by '6 beers as soon as possible after the finish'. Hopefully he didn't have to drive himself home.

This strategy is definitely the most fun, but only 'fixes' the problem in that I don't care as much. Admittedly, only 3 beers were quickly drunk right after the race, but I was unable to put any more away without getting nauseous. Presumably, Timmerman can just get back into his pain cave and push through to finish a sixer, but I'm not man enough for this strategy. Maybe I need a beard. 

Strategy #2: Go Hungry

While a 2:30 race start is convenient from a sleep standpoint, it makes eating hard. One strategy that many folks employ is to eat absolutely no solid food for at least 3 hours before a race. This strategy seems to help out - though the fact that my stomach stays in a knot well beyond when my stomach would have cleared tells me it might be something else. That said, from a 'pukefest' standpoint, I've continued to not eat solid food within a few hours of any race or hard workout.

Strategy #3: Cool Down

Typically, cross races finish with an all-out effort, followed by promptly stopping and attempting not to die. So...cooling down? What? Why do those roadie goons hop back onto a trainer after their races? Don't they know we're done racing now? It's beer time, people!

However...those goons have a point. After Gloucester day 2 (which was a kidney-pounding, seated power course), I actually took the time to go back out on the road to re-ride my warmup route. It sucked, let me tell you, to keep spinning the legs, wearing not enough clothing, but boy did I do it...and it helped. I didn't experience any stomach cramps immediately afterward, and the effects seemed very mild throughout the evening. I could still tell that my guts weren't happy with me for what I'd done to them...but at no point did things get too uncomfortable.

So, for all my 'cross brethren that are cursed with stomach cramps, make sure to not eat too much, cool down well, and drink a beer when you're done. I'm also toying with the idea of trying out an inexpensive suspension post for bumpy FTP workouts on the cross bike. Will report back!

Cross season

At this point in the cross season, I find myself asking this question frequently: why do we race these bicycle contraptions? It's really a hard question to answer - lay that question out to any serious amateur racer and you'll get a joke, a blank stare, or, rarely, an honest thought. Answers likely include "because I like to eat," "because my friends would heap endless shit on me if I didn't," and the sysiphustic "so I can upgrade." The last is probably the most telling - the mindless quest for the next level. It's like trying to reach nirvana - except we all know that we don't *actually* want to make that last upgrade and have our legs ripped clean off. I can tell you, with experience, that classy fellows like Tim Johnson and Trebon do it quickly and painlessly.

There's a disturbing change in my perception of my bikes mid-season. The enjoyment of pedaling circles down the road has been replaced with only 'workouts' and 'recovery rides'. Instead of admiring the craftsmanship, or relishing the finely-tuned position or choice of bar tape, the entire machine becomes a tool that has deals only in suffering. The more I endure on these bikes, the more they heartlessly respond with speed, one bone-shaking straightaway at a time. By November, I become unable to think about any component on a race bike separate from any other - all merge to become a double-edged sword - a heartless weapon with a singular purpose.

Maybe just once, I'll find a bike that I'll never race or train on - one that will only provide me joy and freedom. Until then, I'll commune with my steeds by smashing the pedals, and trying to keep them upright.