Being force fed broccoli

Anyone who knows me well knows that broccoli has the effect of kryponite on me (as in Superman, not the bike lock). Never in my life have I been able to be in the same room as the vile vegetable, or any of its cruciferous family members. It reeks, it makes me gag, and when it's being steamed god help me find HEPA filter stat.

I raced at South Seatac this past weekend and after seeing pictures of me suffering for 3 long laps, Zack said my facial expressions looked like I was "being force fed broccoli." It was probably the hardest race I've ever done. I had to run. A lot. The sand seemed to have crept further into the park. A lot. They threw in an extra run-up that made me want to throw up. A lot. It was fast, it was relentless. I got lapped by Denny's duct taped punk ass (rock!). If it weren't for Jane making a special guest appearance in one brief corner of the singletrack, I would have crawled under a tree and wept at how pathetic I was feeling that day. I have no idea why. I didn't have an ounce of competitiveness, not a wisp of fire, no nails to chew on. But Jane inspired me on and helped me visualize passing a few more girls. By the last lap a bit of my old self was back and I chased down a few girls one by one. They seemed to drop like flies, esp the ones who had started so strong. It certainly wasn't my old form from last year where I'd start from the back and pick them off one-by-one until I was in the top 5. No, this year I have yet to crack the top 10. Maybe the girls are just that much stronger this year. Two of them were upgraded to Cat 3 after Sunday, so maybe that will give me some space to move up next time and to find my fire again.