Being One of the Guys

Things Only Skinny Cyclists Can Eat

15 March 2015

In recent posts I've been whingeing about my insecurities.  I see no reason to stop now.  Today's navel-gazing is about being the only woman on a ride.

It happens a lot.  It happens most of the time. It happens because the other PFW women I know are either faster, more competitive, or not interested in the sort of epic ride I'm interested in.  Also, because I've never bred, I'm out of sync with my cohort.  While I'm out riding, the breeders are out being parents or training for triathalons.

I don't mind, really. I've never identified with the stereotypical woman (and I wonder how many women do, now that I think about it).  The last time I wore makeup was in college when I dressed as a corpse for Halloween. The last time I bought a dress was something like a decade ago, and that was only because I had to. When I'm not barefoot or in my bike shoes, I'm in sneakers. I don't do chick flicks. I hate Valentine's Day. None of  my furniture matches. I don't have that pixie look that the ideal woman is supposed to have.  I have biceps and triceps and quads instead. Throughout my adult life, without prompting, friends have tended to refer to me by my last name.

When there are other women on the ride, I feel the need to prove myself worthy of their athleticism. I hear the guys referring to their male egos when they get competitive or foolish. I'm no different; I just rarely have the temptation.

Instead there is another sort of pressure. These are my friends, and they're stronger than I am. If I want to keep hanging out with them, I need to keep up with them. But, being XX and not XY, there's only so much power and muscle I can obtain without doping, no matter how much winter training I put  myself through. They never have to work as hard as I do, which puts me at a disadvantage on the day of the ride and the next day too. 

There have been times when I've experienced sexism on a ride.  One fellow, long gone from the club, used to refer to me as "doll," let me pull him for miles, then jump ahead and drop me. Others have seemed offended at the idea that I might be faster than they are, and would do everything in their power not to let me get ahead on a hill or on a fast break.

The guys I ride with, though, treat me like one of the guys, and I like it that way. They razz me and I razz them right back. We take turns pulling. They let me get ahead sometimes. They don't mock me for lagging.  And if it's a Winter Larry ride, they give me a job: I have to pull them in a strong headwind. Any one of them could jump out in front and drop me in an instant, but nobody does. They let me do the work. I don't mind at all.  I'm built for it, and there's something satisfying about it. I feel as if I have a purpose. I'm pulling the boys home. 

And I get to show off a little.