I’ve never truly considered myself a cyclist. I think mostly, it’s because that word elicits thoughts of extreme discipline and athleticism, and I’m not comfortable putting myself in the same category. I only started riding three years ago and did so on a hybrid Trek a friend loaned me. Then I bought a used Fuji and learned to shift gears. A year later, I found myself trading normal pedals for clipless so I could be more efficient, eventually upgrading to a Surly cyclocross frame with better components and a triple ring in the front (meaning more gears for easier riding.) I don’t know how many miles I’ve logged on a bike the past few years, but as I prepare for my third and fourth JDRF Ride to Cure Diabetes evemts, my mindset on being a cyclist is changing.
Last Saturday, I found myself scrolling through updates from Day 1 of the Tour de France. I watched videos of a major crash and scrolled through feeds getting updates and predictions for the next few stages. Each day since, I’ve spent time pouring through more updates and watching a live feed whenever possible. I’ve never cared about the Tour de France in my life. Like every good American, I cheered for Lance in the early years and wore the famed yellow bracelet. But it didn’t matter to me, not really. I had no concept of cycling, the work involved or what these guys accomplished as competitive racers.
But it’s different now.
I don’t yet have a favorite cyclist (in exception for all of Team Novo Nordisk), I don’t understand the stages or the scoring and there are certainly things in regards to bicycles I struggle to understand. (I mean, it took me three tries to inflate a flat on the road the other day with a CO2 cartridge.) But this, cycling, is a thing for me now. I had doubts after a tough start this year, but my love of cycling is more evident now than ever before.
It’s a great form of exercise to help keep you in shape. It’s a wonderful social time with friends laughing and talking (and there’s almost always beer and food after long rides.) It can be a breakaway solace when you ride alone with no phone, no email, no texts. It’s a mini-vacation and a release from the stress of the day. For me and thousands of others, it’s a great way to fund raise for type 1 diabetes research. It’s a way for me to say to the world, “Yes, I have type 1 diabetes and it’s not holding me back.”
I’m working harder on the bike this year than any other summer. I’m riding more, with a concentrated effort on strengthening my ability to climb. I’m watching what foods I put into my body because it affects what performance comes out. I’m learning things about wattage and cadence and how to pedal efficiently. I’m investing in training and coaching to make me a stronger cyclist and a healthier person living with diabetes. And Lord help me, I’m purposefully looking for hills.
I’m nowhere near the caliber of a professional cyclist, nor will I ever be. But I enjoy this, even the hard parts and the struggles. JDRF has given me a tremendous outlet to ride, to raise money for research and to advocate cycling to the world around me. I think that’s why I’m transfixed on the Tour this year. Maybe I see it through different eyes, through the eyes of a cyclist.
Funny that you haven’t considered yourself a cyclist. I always did!
Such an excellent post!
The difference between what professional cyclists can do and all the rest of us is so stark as to be barely believable. (“Just rolling along at 25 mph, no big deal.”) But we’re all still cyclists–regardless of the bike we ride or how far and fast we ride it– because we love being on bikes (most of the time).
Less than two months until Tahoe! I can hardly wait.