Feeling Out Of Place In Puke Town

With Mountain Goat Season now firmly behind me it's time to get serious about getting some speeeeeeed! With this in mind I turned up to track training, keen to show I'm determined to become a proper racer. I put on my wonderful new NancyBoy Skinsuit and suitably adjusted my attitude to purposeful.

I realised pretty much right away that I was pushing it uphill. It's embarrassing to say the least when you sit next to Endurogirl and Miss Poidy. Their quads really are bigger than my waist.

Track Princesses after a grueling set of flying 500m reps.

The thing that really troubles me about becoming a real trackie is that it doesn't seem to matter how hard I smash myself against that track, I just can't drive myself puke. All these seasoned sprinters seem to be able to summon a technicolour yawn by talking about a set of three deadlifts. Even big tough Eddie seemed to easily push himself to the point of barfville. I drive myself to the max, sprint repeats, two laps, four laps, six laps, full tunnel vision, weak at the knees, spots before the eyes, the whole velodrome spins - no up-chucking. I feel like a failure.
Miss Poidy was able to reduce herself to horizontal after one set. I find myself frustratingly still standing. Even a dose of East German Institute of Sport developed hypnotherapy from coach DJ wasn't enough to coax a barf from me.

I'm obviously going to have to resort to Puke Enhancing Drugs if I'm ever going to compete at this elite level. Ipecac Syrup or maybe even a rubber vomit from Bernard's Magic Shop. I've got one here now, but I'm worried some of the carrot chunks don't conform to a UCI 1:3 ratio.

God this track racing gets complicated...

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