Fact: I struggle to update this blog regularly. Also fact: I miss it. But instead of letting this outdated URL that doesn’t feel like me anymore stymie me, I want to talk about racing bikes. I’ve wanted to talk about racing bikes for a while now, but instead have convinced myself that: a) nobody cares, b) I don’t have that much to say, and c) I’ve got better things to do than waste time on blogging. All of which of course are equal parts true and false.
And so, here is a short piece I wrote for my cycling club’s July newsletter after competing in the Canadian Masters Cycling Championships, my “A” race(s) for the year.*
When I heard the Canadian Masters Cycling Championships would return to our beautiful city this summer, I knew it would be my focus for 2024.
The triple-race weekend held July 19-21 was everything I’d hoped for, with category wins in all three events: Friday’s time trial, Saturday’s road race, and Sunday’s criterium. I raced with a massive smile all weekend, shared laughs and strategy with new and old race buddies, and learned a lot about myself as a cyclist and a person. Those were the real victories.
As I came down from the post-race high, and the steady beat of training morphed into a quiet hum of reflection, I started thinking about what a Masters cyclist is, exactly. “Master” is a funny word—I first encountered it when I started swimming with a Masters swim group in my early triathlon days. Now, when friends and family ask what it means in the context of cycling, I don’t have a great answer. “Um, not professional?” “Past our prime?” “Old?”
These only half-joking attempts, of course, undermine what it means to be a Masters cyclist. Unless you’re getting free bikes or still living with your parents, in the eyes of our sport’s governing body, you’re probably one, too.
We are, first and foremost amateurs. From the French, “one who loves,” an amateur engages in pursuits for love, not money. And despite the connotation of “mastery,” the truth is quite the opposite: We’re strivers and dreamers, sometimes venturing beyond logic and reason when we have to make decisions: Should I ride hard today? Do I really need another bike? Should I put myself out there and race, when deep inside I’m scared shitless of not being good enough?
We are jacks of all trades, jury-rigging the pieces of our lives and doing the best we can with the time we have. We ride, despite the schedules, bosses, businesses and careers that demand every last ounce from us.
We ride, despite babies who hijack our sleep, and toddlers who never seem to tire. We ride, through helping our teens and adult children and aging parents through their own minefields.
We ride, even as our bodies slip and stutter; then suddenly surprise us, exhibiting fine form on a random Tuesday or Friday or Sunday morning—on the waterfront, a dusty trail, or a friend’s wheel—powering the machines beneath us and making us feel young and invincible again, even if just for a few minutes.
We ride, while trying our best to show up for the world, for others, for ourselves. We are masters of none. Neither Olympians nor celebrities: just normal people dreaming about our next ride or event. We’re the ones with drivetrain grease on our calves and resting heart rates so low they scare doctors. We’re the ones getting up at 6 am on a Sunday instead of sleeping in and going to brunch.
I, for one, am proud to be part of this tribe.
*As it turned out, my results in the time trial and road race qualified me for the UCI Gran Fondo World Championships. Though this event was, at the time, completely off my radar, I ended up going. Read about my journey to compete in Denmark here.