@!#&% bike! A marriage of convenience

It was no use. I'd finally found a racing bike, had it fitted to my dimensions, spent a lot of money on it but it was not working. The marriage between me and the new bike wasn't consumating. Damn! And it wasn't for lack of trying.

I kept falling off because of the new clipless pedals, I was overtrained, I couldn't sleep, I was stressed out. This was no longer what I had signed up for. This was supposed to be fun damnit!This triathlon was supposed to be my triumph over my crippling backache two years ago. My thumb-to-nose to everyone who told me "you'll never run again'. But it just wasn't working.

I had been warned about this by Patrick who is my bike counsellor/cycling psychologist at Vélo Espresso. The man had done miracles with the bike I had brought in for him at the last minute and he had warned me about adaptation but I had thought to myself: "but change is my job! I'm a yoga teacher! adapt-adjust-accomodate, that's me! Of course I can do this. How hard can it be?"

Ha yes... that was in theory. Alas I had underestimated my general terror of the bike.

The bike portion is the biggest challenge for most triathletes because it is the most dangerous portion of the race. Imagine two hundred triathletes, tired coming out of freezing waters, full of speed rage, stuffed in a narrow transition area before they finally explode onto the racing circuit. The competences are vastly different between riders ranging from courriers who can ride at 40 kph while talking on their cell phones to... well... me. Let's not mince words... a public danger... a 'serreuse de cocottes', one of those riders with both hands on the brakes, ready to panic at a moment's notice.

So the race was in 9 days, I was tired of pushing myself into adapting to a new bike when all I wanted to do was sleep and eat like a bear before hibernation. I was coming home with my newly tuned-up junk bike (the bike I commute with) when I decided then and there: "I'll use the junk bike". My beloved frankeinstein bike, with so many different parts from so many different bikes. My thing of beauty, of confidence, my true love.

Everytime I grabbed on to its handlebars I felt joy, love and freedom. The kind of feelings I needed for my first triathlon. I knew I would have to give up the junk bike soon but not yet, not just yet. He and I had stared death in the face in the middle of Montreal traffic. We had congealed together in minus 20 weather, had ridden in floods and calamities on many occasions. One last little race together. That's it, one more little race together. I wanted my junk bike to be on the pictures of my triathlon, proudly showing his stuff at 20 kph while everyone else screamed by us on 6000$ bikes. Never mind if I ended up last. Our last ride in the sunset. Our love proudly displayed for all to see.

Of course I need to start working with a racing bike, clipless pedals like a real cyclist but my resistance to the new bike is now clear: I need a last farewell together with my junk bike before I switch to a marriage of convenience with the new racing bike. Will love bloom again in my heart?

I love you junk bike, I'll never forget you...