“Did the quads give it away?”
I said this at a Barre class last week as I struggled to walk out of the building. The Instructor politely complimented my attempt at 50 mini-bicep curls with 1-pound weights, 100 butt tucks, and thigh-shaking plies.
I watched the other women’s bodies bend gracefully, holding squats with their slender thighs. I looked at mine: tree trunks clunkily bending at the knee. I saw the dips at my hips and they resembled the ones I saw on my male teammates’ bodies. I instantly became self-conscious and considered tossing the pants that exacerbated my “problem areas.” My body, rigid like my carbon bike, shaking and about to crack under pressure. I tried focusing on my up-up-over-overs as drops of sweat formed along my forehead. I peered around through the mirror, in hopes of catching a glistening forehead, but I was the lone (sweaty) wolf. I could ride 100 miles, but 20 mini leg lifts and holding at the top? It seemed impossible.
I take pride in being a cyclist and an athlete. It’s usually the first way I describe myself when someone asks me, “tell me about yourself?”
“I’m a Cat 3 Road racer for a team called pedal RACING.”
And when they seem confused with a response like, “oh, neat,” I use it as an opportunity to describe how amazing cycling is and that they should start riding (or…
