It's a very diverse crowd that shows up on race day. You have carpenters, accountants, pilots, former pros, hedge fund managers, and even artists. I probably wouldn't know a lot of these guys if I bumped into them on the street, because we're always in helmets and glasses. But throw them in spandex and throw them on a bike, and I'll bet I could identify every Masters racer's ass in New England.
At the start of every race I look around at all the other 40 year old men who shave their legs and spend thousands of dollars on equipment and hundreds of hours training, and I think "What the hell is wrong with us"? We drive hours out of our way to get in a few hours of nearly unbearable suffering. These folks might look like skinny MoFo's, but they're really tough bastards.
So today was the first real race around these parts. It's a team sport, and you decide before the race who everyone else will work for. I came in mid pack, but we got our sprinter across the line in 2nd.
