You Might Be A Cyclist If…

My friend, That Laura, the one who handed me my pride last weekend, sent me a whole bunch of “You Might Be a Cyclist If…” sayings.  I was home alone and they had me cackling all by my lonesome.  First of all, I love the author’s name.  Does it get any better than “Joe Metal Cowboy”.  Seriously, you can’t make stuff like that up.

You Might Be A Cyclist If…
By Joe Metal Cowboy Kurmaskie 2008
  • You might be a cyclist if you own more tights than a children’s theater performing Peter Pan. I own three pairs of tights and every season I pine for more.
  • You might be a cyclist if when styling professionals ask what product gets your hair to do that, you answer, “Helmet.” During long rides I get a strange mini version of Pippi Longstockings’ hair.  My pigtail sprouts defy gravity and somehow point straight up.  Pair that with the helmet stamp on my forehead and I’m a beauty!
  • You might be a cyclist if your spouse doesn’t complain about the snoring since being kicked awake by the sleep pedaling. Snoring and sleep pedaling are only two of the many perils of sharing a bed with me.  I talk, thrash around like a fish out of water, and stick my arms out Frankenstein style while sleeping.  Oh, and I sleep with my eyes open.  Terry often tries to talk to me, only to realize I am staring at him while sound asleep.  I think this is a great opportunity for him to talk sports to me.  I think I’m actually more interested in RBI’s, rushing yards, and shot percentages while I’m asleep.  Yes, I know those are from three different sports.  You’re lucky I didn’t throw a curling term in there.
  • You might be a cyclist if you don’t care that your cycling tan is so jarring that parents grab up their children when you enter the pool. My tan has faded a bit, but both Terry and I have such distinct tan lines that we tease each other about having a permanent pair of shorts on.  Not to mention the Mickey Mouse hand tan that develops each season.  Cycling is so sexy.
  • You might be a cyclist if you’ve heard the words “Just a friendly ride, no one gets dropped” while rapidly falling back in the pack. I am the back of the pack.  Someone has to come in last.  Aren’t you glad I’m willing to be the martyr?
  • You might be a cyclist if you’ve said the words “Just a friendly ride, no one gets dropped” while watching someone else rapidly fall back in the pack. Dare to dream.
  • You might be a cyclist if you have eaten pasta directly out of your front bag, while pedaling. Hold on while I add this to my list of goals for the season.
  • You might be a cyclist if your loved ones have assigned a separate hamper for your dirty bike clothes, and placed a hazmat label on it. No way are those clothes even allowed in the hamper.  They are on a strict straight to the washer regimen.  Terry and I have forgotten once or twice and after brewing for a day or two, the stench that rises up is unholy.
  • You might be a cyclist if you turn the air vents of your car to blow directly in your face, and imagine you’re on a bike ride. I haven’t done this, but I have found myself using hand signals and calling out warnings about holes or glass in the road.  I’ve also called out “On your left!” when passing another car.  I know, so nerdy.
  • You might be a cyclist if you can ID five brands and sixteen flavors of protein bars in a blind taste test, but on most long rides you would eat wet shoe leather, properly salted and containing a balance of electrolytes, of course. The people behind the Clif bars deserve some sort of medal.  Those things are still edible six months later.  And I think I have eaten wet shoe leather on long rides.
  • You might be a cyclist if you’ve contemplated grabbing seat posts, nudging longtime friends into ditches and macing their eyes with energy drinks to crest the hill first. I wouldn’t so much call it contemplating, more like laying awake at night and meticulously planning.
  • You might be a cyclist if you think you may have contracted a rare blood disorder… no, it’s just that you’ve turned into a late afternoon headwind. I can’t count how many times I’ve been absolutely convinced that my tires were flat or that I had become terminally ill in the last thirty seconds, only to find out that I am a sissy when riding into the wind.
  • You might be a cyclist if you learned a long time ago that it doesn’t matter how light or fast, just get on that bike. Only people who are light and fast think that light and fast don’t matter.  They matter to this girl.  They matter a LOT!


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