10 Things To Know Before Dating a Cyclist

My husband shaves his legs.  I'd be willing to bet that on most days, his legs are better cared-for than mine.  I'm totally cool with that.

On the day we met, I happened to mention my interest in triathlons.  I'm pretty sure that was all it took to hook the guy.  Who knew?

I had no qualms about the hours he devoted to his training, because I owned a horse so I was going to be pretty busy, myself.

Though I anticipated things like long rides and being shown-up in the leg department, there were a few things I didn't realize before we got serious.

Here are the top ten things to know before dating a cyclist...

1.  Your weekends are probably already planned.  Whether your partner is a roadie, a cross rider, a fixie, track cyclist, gravel dog, or a mountain biker--you can bet they have big plans.  Even the most devoted couch-potato will think nothing of dropping the remote for some chamois time.  There might be charity rides or competitions.  In the interest of togetherness, you might find yourself recruited to volunteer.  For casual group slogs or small club rides you might be tapped to tag along as a sort of SAG or broom wagon.  Your reward?  FOOD.  Cycling takes a lot of energy and you can be sure that and empty tank will be refilled.

Resting after a three-day charity ride.  Safety patrol.  Look at those legs--smooth as a baby's bottom.

2.  Your pantry will get weird.  From flirtations with protein powders to performance gels, goos, and bars to every drink mix made for athletes, you'll find they begin to arrive, one by one, and take up all the extra space in your kitchen.  Four pound jugs of drink powder for long rides?  You're going to have two of those on top of your fridge until Armageddon.

3.  The bikes will mysteriously multiply.

Aw, his and hers' bikes...nah, both his.  You're gonna need a Cross bike, obviously.

I believe the equation to be n+1 = the number of bikes at any given time.  They will start with whatever bike is a good all-arounder.  Then they will want to upgrade frames or components, eventually convincing you it makes more sense to just buy the complete bike they "happened to find" on a website.  Then they will reconnect with a buddy who rides but prefers to stick to mountain trails.  Aren't you always saying they should spend quality time with friends?  The old MTB isn't going to cut it... and did you happen to see this great price on last-year's model?  Ugh, the dreadmill and indoor trainer sessions are boring.  Why not ride all year?  Have you heard about fat bikes?  And on, and on, and on.

4.  They will get hurt.  Eventually.

"Don't worry, the bike is fine."

This could be a bit of road rash.  This could be a broken bone.  If you want to recoil in horror, realize it's not much different from other activities.  If your partner is like mine, the first thing they will let you know on the phone is the condition of their bike.  I can't say anything because horseback riding is one of the most dangerous sports out there, and that was my jam for most of my life.

BOTH ears forward, Ginger.  Pretend you like me.

Many things that are engaging and sporty also carry risk.  You skied in college, remember?  Played a season of adult kickball?  You were the catcher on a rec league softball team with no equipment...or was that just me?  Stock up that first aid kit and make them wear a helmet.  Or put on your own helmet and join them!  Life is meant to be lived.

Who needs safety gear?  You do.

5.  The gear is not cheap.  The aforementioned helmet is a necessity and could set one back a couple hundred smackers, depending on brand loyalty or if you have a matchy-matchy partner like mine.  Did you know that pro-cycling teams release a new kit every season for their fans?  Did you know that there are special gloves for all the different seasons?  That arms and knees have their own warmers?  That each cycling discipline requires a new set of gear?  Did you know that a person will quite willingly spend more on a jersey because it matches with their shorts?  That debating between white or black shoes will take half of an actual hour?  That water bottles can coordinate with bikes and cyclists can then coordinate with their bikes and water bottles?

We live in exciting times, folks.

There are no rain delays in cycling!  Pro-tip: this does NOT go in the dryer.

6.  Tools, tools everywhere.  No, not referring to the bad drivers out there (see #8).  As a reaction to your visible nausea at the recent bill from the favored bike shop, tools will begin to arrive in the mail.  (It's Amazon Prime, babe, the shipping is free!)  The cyclist will begin to attempt basic bike maintenance tasks like swapping out chains and bar tape, and then, bolstered by early success and YouTube videos, launch into an amateur career as a bike mechanic with varying degrees of success.

7.  Data overload.  Your love, who may or may not have despised math class in school, has now morphed into a sporty mathematician.  They will keep metrics for things like mileage, grade, elevation, calories, temperature, moving time, average heart rate, and watts.  They will compare it to other rides and other years to monitor fitness and progress.  They will compete with virtual partners.  They will compete with results from actual friends.  They will share this data with other sporty mathematicians on enabler websites like Strava.  They WILL share these numbers with you.  Each and every time.

"Why, yes, I'd love to hear your numbers."

8.  The most-feared event.  This one is especially for the road cyclists.  Cars.  The foolish drivers who ignore laws or have no idea what cyclists are allowed to do such as taking the lane if at speed or sitting in the left turn lane waiting to make a *gasp* left turn.  Sometimes a savvy cyclist can avoid accidents by anticipating bad drivers.  Sometimes, as in the case of my husband, the driver simply pulls out into the road, without looking, when you are descending a hill.

What was left of the mighty Madone.  This was a very bad day.

There's not much I can suggest that will make this worry go away for you.  Get involved in opportunities for public education.  Pray.  In every thing we do, there is risk.  The riskiest thing to me, is to live a life so small that you never get to be brave.  To grow.

Gratuitous motivation

Gratuitous motivation

9.  The mess!  I suppose it varies depending where you live and what type of cycling your partner does, but in my house there is a lot of dirt and mud.  We have four intense seasons around here and the bike(s) see them all.  Remember that thing about no rain delays?  Well the results of such athletic badassery are pretty filthy, especially with no garage.  Bring that muddy bicycle right into the kitchen, why not?  Mmhm, you'll wash it after you eat something.  Get a good broom and a sense of humor.

Can you guess the original color?

Worth it.

Shiny!  Now, about the kitchen floor...

10.  You will be recruited.  Don't think you are going to get away so easily!  Even if the last time you were on a bike was in sixth grade, and haven't thought about it since, you'll get many gentle nudges to get back in the saddle.  After all, it's riding a bike.  You never forget.  (Probably)

So there it is, my list of ten things to know before dating a cyclist.  Did I miss anything?

What would your list look like?

The accidental dog: life, love, and loss

The story of sweet Denali spans some of the most dynamic years of my life.  Through my early twenties and half of my thirties, an eyebrow piercing, one semi-customized bird tattoo, three apartments, two houses, three or four relationships (depending how you count those), a marriage, and two children, she was there.

I wasn't supposed to even have a dog.  My apartment was strictly "no pets" and I was still a bit of a nomad at that point so I was fine with it.  I never had pets as a kid, and if anything I wanted a cat, not a dog.  Dogs are too much work.  I was checking the adoptable pet listings to find a puppy for my boyfriend's mother's birthday.  I saw her listing and headed down.  I didn't know anything about adopting animals but I knew my boyfriend's mother would give her a phenomenal home.  They had a nice large house, a yard, and a friendly older dog for companionship.  It said that she had lived with dogs, cats, and young children, and was already housebroken which, to me, made her a better gift than a regular puppy which would mean his mother would be up all hours of the night potty-training.

I didn't feel too much guilt as my then-boyfriend's friend posed as our landlord on the telephone, saying dogs were okay.  There was less than a week until her birthday and the dog wasn't actually staying with us past then.  I knew it was the only way to keep the surprise.

I think it took two days for me to fall in love with her.  And one more day to locate a free puppy from an accidental litter, one state over.  The day of the party, we drove up to choose a puppy from that litter for his mother, and I was left with a dog I wasn't even allowed to have.  It made sense to my heart and back then, I always followed my heart.

Fortunately, by the grace of the universe, because I don't know how I'd have made it this far without said grace, the real landlord was forgiving and let her stay.  I now had a dog.  I had a dog I didn't want or plan for, but a dog I loved and sorely needed.

She was half Alaskan Malamute and half Golden Retriever so I changed her name from the feline-sounding Sadie, to Denali.  She loved to run away.  She would make her way to the train tracks and then just keep following them for as long as she could run--which was far.  Eventually I convinced my boyfriend that she wasn't the sort of dog that you could keep off-leash.

Then we broke up.

My next significant other was 90 percent less hippy.  He tolerated Denali but you better believe I heard about how much harder everything was with a dog.  (Thank goodness he didn't want children!)  It was hard to find an apartment--very true.  It was hard to stay out late on Friday and Saturday nights because someone had to head home to the dog.  I was quite willing to always be sober and drive home for her, but it became a constant source of conflict.  He accused me of putting a dog before a person.  Dirty pool.  Instead of leaving, I stayed and sent my beloved Denali to spend the weekend with my mother.  It became a week.  Then two years.  Yes, the same mother that never wanted dogs or cats.  She fell in love with Denali, too.

Denali came back to me when I met my husband.  Oh, how I had missed her!  I found the same dog that would comfort me as I cried tears of anguish or youthful confusion was even more wonderful to have around when times were good.  She gave us all sorts of humorous stories including the time this sneaky pup ate two full batches of double-chocolate cookies.  We tried to induce vomiting with hydrogen peroxide but she seemed completely unaffected by either dose.  She seemed to like it, actually.  One huge emergency vet bill later and she was released as completely fine.  She never tried to steal another cookie, though.

We moved her into our tiny apartment and brought her to the house we bought.  She loved to go hiking.  I still remember having her up to camp one weekend and watching her chase the sparks from the campfire.  She never got tired.

She was there for our first two children.  Our oldest son loved her so much that she was the theme of his first birthday party.  No, really.  Here is the cake my husband made for him:

They were great friends.

Shortly after our second child arrived, it became clear that Denali was failing.  She seemed to be having trouble seeing, she didn't want to do much more than sleep, and she wanted to be left alone most of the time.  She had accidents in the house and her whole personality was shifting.  Endless hours of research brought us to something akin to canine dementia.

Denali's timeline was drawing shorter.  I was going to have to make some heart-wrenching decisions.  The dog I was never supposed to have was going to leave us, leave me, and his time it was forever.

I knew what I was going to have to do, but first, I spoke to friends and family who had been through this sort of thing before.  The only question I still had was: How do you know when it is time?  And it turned out to be the only question no one could answer.  She was still eating and drinking.   I was unsure if she was in pain.  If she was, it wasn't obvious to me.  She had snapped at people.  What if she bit someone?  She didn't seem happy anymore but she was still functioning.  I was so confused.  I couldn't sleep.  I called the veterinarian's office.  I asked them the same question.  They told me, with the gentle certainty of experience: if you are calling us, then you know it is time.

Her last day was filled with soft treats, hamburgers, cheese, basically whatever she wanted.  She was so excited that my heart broke yet again.  It was one of her good days.  The days that make you doubt your decision.  Why hadn't we made all of her days this good?  In retrospect, I'm glad her last day was so good for her, but it didn't make it easy for me.

She rode all the way to the vet on my lap.  The biggest dogs always think they can fit in the smallest places.  I was pretty sure she knew.  We said goodbye, my husband, my mother, and I.  It was peaceful for her and she had almost all of her favorite people with her.  We stroked her fur and told her what a good girl she was, how she was the best dog in the whole world.  She really was.

My oldest son asked for her for weeks.  Nothing I could do would prevent the tears that would immediately well up in my eyes and nothing I said made any sense to him.  She simply disappeared from his life.

Time has softened the sting of it.  We have three children now and our oldest doesn't ask about her anymore.  We keep her old collar on top of the fridge.  Sometimes I pick it up and turn it over and over in my hands.  When I think of her now it is with fondness and seldom tears.  But I'll be forever grateful for my accidental dog.

How to know what you don't know: Am I truly meant to be a cyclocross diva?

I'm a trail runner.  It doesn't matter that I haven't run in over a year, does it?  I'm a self-identified awesome athlete with no particularly convincing evidence to back this up.  Ice climber?  Yes, that's me!  Oh, well I haven't actually gotten around to it.  But I've joined all the forums and I have my equipment carefully researched and selected.  And I even get updates on sales, you know, for when I have the time and money.

Mostly time.

My husband, the Irish Italian (you're welcome, dear), is an AVID cyclist.  He is usually in training for something.  He always has big plans and tends to follow through.  (Show-off...)  To him, 100 miles in a day is actually possible.  It's the equivalent of taking the stairs instead of the elevator.  It's upping your incline on the treadmill (I'd call it a dreadmill, but I kinda like them.  I'm weird).  It's like no sugar all week.  Another thing he manages with great success.  While some people look at his data and feel sympathetically winded and vaguely nauseated, HE is looking at the people who do more, and who do it faster.  He has mad goals.

Since he has always been one with the bicycle, you'd think I would have been swept away in a sea of spandex ages ago.  Togetherness and all that.  Well, I did have a road bike for a hot minute.  I was super excited.  Okay, it was poorly-fitted and the brakes were only 70 percent effective, but it was me who quit.  I could have persevered.  I could have found a different bike.  I took that disappointment and put all that energy right into avoidance.  Maybe I'm meant to run...

While I pretended to be completely over cycling, I would still think about it.  Did I want to go for long, unforgiving hauls like my bonkers spouse?  Meh.  Did I want to launch my body all the way down steep twisty-turny sneaky-rooted mountain trails?  Not on a bike. You know, bones breaking and all that.  Besides, that's what my feet are for!  You know how the joke goes that the mom in the house is the only one that still has to keep going when she is sick?  Well, I have three itty-bitty ones.  I'm not dragging broken bones up and down three flights of stairs in pursuit of exercise and thrills.  Plus, work would like me functional.  But...I still want this thrill.  I'm almost 40 but don't tell me the thrill is gone.  I won't have it!

Enter cyclocross.  Really.  Like I want to enter cyclocross events.  It's perfect.  The fun of charging toward deliberate obstacles smacks of the reckless joys of my childhood when I was never without my bike.  Let's devise wild and wicked courses to test our bravery!  Yes, let's!  Let's push ourselves to the point of giddy, well-earned exhaustion.  Let's race towards the mud like mad geniuses of physics.  Wait--people still do this?  I'll admit to being nervous about running, er--riding, with a field of fitter, fearless wonders, but I'm game.  So how do I get started?

That's exactly what I asked superbrain and wildly weird cyclocross maven (and complete enabler) Jen Murphy.  (You must go read her blog, but not before you finish mine, because I eked it out while sick and kids were shouting at me for more gummie snacks)  Per usual, I've joined forums and peeked at gear and prices.  But I want more.  I need the dirty details.  How much is it going to cost to feed my soul?  So here we go...

I need a bike.  How much should I have set aside for a decent starter bike?  What type of frame?  Any components I'll want to change out sooner rather than later?  I'm also between sizes--my problem with bike number one--so do I want to size down for control?  Give up and buy new trail-running shoes?

Let's say I have this bike, see, and I want to know how to maintain it.  When I rode horses, it was a source of pride how well-kept your horse was.  I did everything.  I'm not so mechanically-inclined.  Actually, I have no idea.  I actually think I could be.  So how do I learn everything I need to know from flats to bar tape and when to call the shop?  I'd ask my husband, but he's already 100 miles up the road...

I like to shop, but my husband always jokes that I can't shop outside of clearance sections.  He's right (don't tell him), so how will I know which equipment is okay to bargain-shop and on which gear I need to spend spend spend?  Is my husband lying when he says the expensive Sidi's in his online shopping cart are better than the brand that was on sale and that he has to pay more for the helmet that matches his kit?  I need to know.

Do I need a license to be this cool?  Are there some events that are just for kicks and some that are for points?  Where should a gal start?  I'm a big joiner!  Just check out the "clubs and activities" section of my old yearbooks.  It would be embarrassing if I wasn't proud.  Oh, and what is the "season?"

I'm...a bit..less fit than I was prior to gestating all my perfect children, so how fit is fit enough?  Is there a routine that's more beneficial than another?  An area to target? (Please don't say core...please don't say core...please don't say core...)  You are going to say core.  I sensed a disturbance in the force.  Okay, so core and what else?  Pilates is the devil so I'm sure I need to do even more of it.  Yoga is like candy, so please tell me I can have more of that.  That's strength and flexibility, what about endurance?  I'm sure you've done well when you feel like your lungs are exiting through your mouth because you were really really pushing yourself, but I want to have enough stamina to make it through the entire race before collapsing, triumphant that I survived.  Smiling, even, because this is wicked amounts of fun.  So what do you suggest?  I'll start right away.

What is the culture like?  Every activity has it's own culture.  I used to ride horses cross-country (alternate universe cyclocross for horses?  Also, how you know I am brave as heck--go watch some videos on YouTube) and there were spoken and unspoken rules and traditions and even ways of showing your individuality within the cultural mores.  So tell me what you know.  These could be my people.

Finally, what is the one thing you wish you knew before you started?  Yeah, I want the secret stuff.

Awaiting your wisdom,

Me.