It's Not Me, It's You

So. Bike racing.

I haven’t written too much about it (yet) for several reasons. First, it’s been damningly frustrating so far. I got out of bed at 4:30AM and lined up for a race (the solitary girl in a sea of be-spandexed men) only to get dropped from the pack instantly because I couldn’t keep up. So I worked harder. I got out of bed again at 4:30AM and lined up for a race (this time in a field of beginner women like me) and felt strong, confident even, until some chick took out my back wheel on Cat Hill and ended my race. I rode home very slowly that morning with a non-functioning back brake, several broken spokes, and a bruised sense of determination. But I’m not giving up.

Second, I’ve been hesitant to abandon my runner roots. For over six years now I’ve tried to quit running, but that itch to lace up my sneakers and hit the pavement time and time again just won’t be scratched. I was a Lady Ford, then a Fighting Violet and now, a Screaming Yellow and if those team nicknames aren’t enough to make me quit this painful sport I don’t know what is. But when I injured my hip in April and it seemed like running and I were doomed for yet another breakup, cycling was there for me. It was the first time a NO RUNNING doctor’s order wasn’t accompanied by feelings of depression.

Maybe it was the bum hip that hurt when I did everything but cycle, or maybe it was the burglary that made me realize how important my bike was to me, but something changed in me and I started to feel more like JackieOh, Cyclist. I’d like to have a few words with whatever it was because cycling must be the most expensive sport on the planet and now I’m hooked. When I was home last weekend I bought a new road bike, a sexy red carbon fiber number with better components that feels like it was made just for me. Last month I fell in love with track racing at the Kissena Velodrome in Queens and bought a used Fetish fixie from one of the guys I met racing there. Gearing up for the fall season, I ordered a hideously yellow Cyclocross bike through Nice Hedge Fund’s discount program. Finally, rounding out this obsessive little buying streak, I’m trying to get my hands on a cheap beater bike for riding around the city and on campus in a few weeks. It’s a good thing I’m moving because my lovely little Midtown apartment isn’t big enough for this hobby.

After eight weeks of physical therapy, my hip has healed and I’m starting to regain pelvic strength. I can run again, so I’m told, but I just…don’t want to. I thought I’d be so excited for that post-injury run, to feel the spring in my step that can only come from taking nearly ten weeks off. Usually six or eight weeks off is all I need for my sieve of a memory to forget the pain, but not this time. Sorry, baby, I’ve taken up with someone new. He’s just different, that’s all, but my favorite part of the day is waking up to him. Cycling and I are really happy together, I hope you can understand.