In April, I thought about running the Carmel half marathon, but the weather was so cold in early spring that I chickened out and decided to do a long bike ride instead. I registered for the Park Vermillion County Pregnancy Crisis Center 20 mile Bike Ride for Charity because the registration was cheap and it didn’t involve running. Unfortunately, with having a race every month, it didn’t give me much chance to recover and train in between. When the bike race came, I had only trained up to 10 miles but figured that I was strong enough to finish. That day it was cold and the drive out to Rockville was half way across the state and in the middle of nowhere. I was excited and then I was worried because there were almost no people around. As it turned out, it was the first year for the bike race portion and only 5 people showed up, me being the only female. The race was so pathetic that they decided to not time it and there would essentially be no competition and no awards. What a crock, I thought. I can’t believe I got up at 5:30am for this. Either way, I was biking against some ‘good ole boys’ who were biking fanatics and Lance Armstrong ‘wannabees’, who insisted on riding as a pack and yak-yak-yakking the entire time. I eventually broke away from the pack but the energy I expelled from breaking away, soon fizzled out and they passed me… and then I never saw them again. The map I had fell out of my pocket and those supposed signs that were out to mark the course, really weren’t there. I ended up way off course, going up and down hills so steep I had to stop and walk my bike up them, and got chased by at least 7 pit-bulls before I realized I was completely lost. I called the race command center and they had no clue how to give me directions back to town. I got so frustrated that I just decided to ride back the same way I came. My 20 miles ended up being only 23 miles, so not a big deal, but I was so pissed about the lack of signage that all I wanted to do was chew somebody out when I got back. Nothing but anger fueled me the entire way back to my car. Thankfully, at the end I was too tired and too cold to scream at anyone, so I packed up my crap and left. Ironically the race director called me right as I was getting in my car and apologized. She said that people had been out looking for me. She refunded my race fee and I drove back to Indy, freezing cold, tired, and sore and said, “F this I’m getting taco bell and going to bed.” Worst. Race. Ever.