So a local club is putting on a biweekly TT on Wed nights, and the start happens to be very close to where I live. It’s a short event (8k), and starts uphill into a false flat where there’s usually a headwind. Then it turns slightly (more) uphill, rolls for a bit, and is over pretty damn fast.
Sign in was a 17:30, with the first rider going off @ 18:00. A 16:30 I noticed that I was really hungry. I had some leftover chicken biryani (nice and hot) and garlic naan from lunch the day before, and down it went. When I looked up at the clock and it read 17:18, I thought: oh shit.
Geared up, rolled out to the start line on my hastily thrown together bike (earlier this afternoon - I’m not quite that fast!) and the stomach is rumbling. I’m belching up firey burps, which is not a good omen. Out for a short warm-up ride and my stomach is rolling like the high seas. Definitely not good…
I’m #9 in the gate. #10 looks fast. Pro team skinsuit and a fast bike. Not some tri-geek poser, either. Shit - I hate having a fast dude right behind me.
I clip in, get my countdown and I’m off - hammering up the false flat into the wind until I get on top of my gear. Stomach is not happy. Throat is not happy. Lungs are starting to warm up. Legs feel good though. 
Grinding into the wind I look for my rhythm. Hmmm - my seat is too low for nose riding. Feels pointed up, too. Damn. Shif back and forth, looking for a comfortable yet powerful position. Fuck it - back on the nose, even though it feels like my stroke is “clipped”. Turn up the hill and my lungs are searing. Throat is dry and cracked. Stomach… well - it’s halfway up my throat. Hit the roundabout and have to surpress several gags. Turn left. #10 passes me as if I had stopped for a picnic. Gag reflex subsides and the stomach goes back to a medium intensity burn. Hang a right and keep going uphill. At least I’m not pushing into the wind anymore. Rollers. Finally - I’m actually getting a rhythm going. Pass a few commuters on their way home. Seat’s still to low, but I’m feeling a bit better now. Downhill into a right turn. Is it this turn, or after the next downhill? Shit - can’t hear the marshalls. Blow through the turn (going straight) and lock up the rear. Skid for a bit and swing back to make the sharp right in the opposite lane. Smile at some of the earlier starters who’ve come out to watch the hot corner. Hammer back down the road into the shaded forest. More rollers. There’s a lady at the top of the hill - is it over? I yell “nine” as I go by, but there’s nothing to indicate that that was the finish. Keep going as the road turns left and see a couple of earlier riders ahead, sitting up and chatting. Ok - that must have been it. Yell out “was that the line?” as I approach. “It’s over!” they yell back. Coast to a stop and retch a few times. Spit. One of them rolls up to me and says “we were going to tell you it’s one more lap”.
It’s over.
I still want to throw up. My lungs hurt, and my throat is as dry as the SoCal desert I left just a few days ago. Sit up and soft pedal back to the start, where I meet up with some of the others, and see a bunch more people signing up to go off. Times will be up by tomorrow, maybe even later tonight. I hadn’t brought a watch so I have no idea what my time was.
Roll home nice and easy, playing with my new (old) aero position. The seat definitely needs to come up. My basebars are pointed too far down. Might need a longer stem, too. We’ll see… We’ll see…
