Cyclocross blues

The big guns are called to the front row.
I’m small fish, so I’m in the back.
It’s damp, nearly raining, we wait.
The word is “GO” and we’re off.
It starts with a tarmac climb,
And ends with full speed in to the field.
45 minutes at max HR, must be crazy.
It’s slick and muddy.
I go fast, they go too fast.
I’m in the back of the field, I think…...
First juveniles overtake me.
Their weight is none, they float.
I just sink into the mud.
What round I’m in?
25 minutes into the race.
Getting tired, making mistakes.
Stay on the bike. Stay on the bike.
Dad is yelling: “come on!”
He is so happy to be here.
Forgot his Wellies, Mom will be pleased.
I plough on, get of the bike and run.
Much faster, running here.
Mud sucks at my feet. Nice!
Was that the bell? I hope so!
One more time through the mud.
Mud glorious mud, I love it.
I don’t care what place I’m in.
Just want to play…