Medic not medal

Mar distance: 527 km

To Bukit Timah Hill, 46 km. Any hope of getting a medal was over after the first few seconds of the race. I'd a good spot at the start line but most of the pack of 16 Weekend Warriors just surge ahead. As I pass the commentator, his remarks about arm warmers gets me hot and bothered as he says naught about my rigid fork. I see someone ahead, lose my nerve and fall, hitting my chin on the handlebar. And after riding over 27,000 km since 2002, I learn something today - the power of the mind. I tell myself I'll go up those slopes and I do, as my rear wheel spins over wet gnarled roots. On the last downhill near the finish line, I relax and something hits me. The ground. The brake lever gets stuck in my shoe. After waving my limbs in the air like a helpless tortoise, I unstrap my shoe and try to cycle, then realise my front wheel is the wrong way round. I cross the finish line with a dangling number plate, and twisted saddle, rear derailleur and ankle. I miss a medal by 4-5 minutes; the guy ahead of me is the last to get a medal. This is my third off-road race, my sixth solo race and the worst race ever. But at least my wounds are treatable by the medic and I get home under my own steam. (Title of this entry inspired by RebelXH)
Photo courtesy of Deemax