To get from my home out to better places to cycle I often ride the Minuteman Bike Trail.  This trail runs from Somerville to Bedford.  There has been a lot of commentary about trail use –  pointing fingers at cyclists for going too fast, rollerbladers for talking up too much room, and walkers for not paying attention – seems like everyone has a beef about the trail.  However, this piece is neither about trail use nor a forum for whining about trail etiquette. 

Riding the trail allows me to experience the cycles of the seasons.   There are stretches of woodlands and meadows.  There are wild herbs that grow along the sides.  There is wild life that inhabits the surrounding area.  Given that the trail runs through cities and suburbs, it is quite a microcosm of nature. 

Right now the last few leaves have fallen off the trees.  The winter is perhaps the only season where you can clearly see the sky from the trail, as the trees create a thick canopy during the rest of the year.  The colors are various shades of grey and white, almost as if you were looking at a black and white photo.  It is cold, but quieter than the bustling summer.  The light is weak and by 4:30 PM it is pitch dark on the trail. When the snow flies, much of the trail will be impassable on a road bicycle.  (They don’t plow the whole thing which is really too bad.)

I find the spring most exciting on the trail.  My favorite pagan holiday is Imbolc which celebrates the new growth under the snow.  When that new growth starts peaking through and the energy of spring is in the air, I feel newly alive.  The first few times in the spring when I ride the trail, I enjoy the efforts of the plants coming up through the last of the snow.  It is a messy time – wet and muddy, but it is a harbinger of the beginning of biking season and the promise of warmer biker friendly weather to come.  The buds start to form on the trees creating a sense of expectation.  There is a new life on the trail.

The summer is the most active time on the trail.  The leaves of the trees create a canopy which provides welcomed shade to users.  There are squirrels and chipmunks that scamper across the trail trying to avoid being run over by the cyclists.  I once saw a doe and two fawns on the trail.  In parts of the trail there are berries that people pick and herbs that they collect.  It is a time of fullness and abundance.

A sadness comes over me when autumn starts to set in.  The leaves change from green to bright orange, yellow and red.  The colors are brilliant and sometimes you can look out and see a landscape on fire with color.  The leaves fall onto the trail creating a difficult and dangerous surface for cyclists.  The landscape changes again and winter returns, only to yield to spring in a few months, and thus the cycle continues.

Riding the trail through the seasons reminds me that we live in cycles.  There are the cycles of the seasons, but also the cycles of our lives.  I am in the autumn of my life.  I am forty-seven years old and I am noticing changes that come with age.  I am also aware of benefits of my experience and tend to appreciate the wisdom of it.  My father is in the winter of his life and although I grieve his decline, I also know that the cycle of life is unavoidable.  There are also smaller cycles in our lives, such as the cycling season.

The cycling season, has its cycle, that in this New England area, reflects the cycles of the seasons.  Winter for base  miles, spring starts more intense training, summer for racing and then fall ends the season with a return to base miles in preparation for the next round.  There is something comforting to this predictable progression, and for me there is hope.  Last summer I was teaching bicycle riding and was too busy to train well.  So, I abandoned my racing goals and had a full summer of teaching (which also runs in cycles!).  Now that we are back at the beginning of the cycle, I get to reassess and reconsider my goals and start over if I want. 

However, just because cycles repeat themselves, does not mean they are the same for us.  The good news is that we are human and that we grow and learn.  Each year brings new growth and change,  and although the season may look the same we are not.  Change is the only constant.  It is more like a spiral.  We are at the same x coordinate, but have moved on the y.  (If you didn’t get that don’t worry.)  In other words, we are starting a cycle over but with all the experience we have gained from the previous ones.  So, as I ride the Minuteman I am aware of the fact that I am not the same cyclist I was last year and I will not be the same next year as well.  I have the potential to grow and hopefully become a stronger rider.  Each season has its joys and difficulties, but if we wait we can be assured that these will change, as cycles do.    

I am a roadie and almost always ride in a kit.  The most important reason for this is that cycling clothes are comfortable and utilitarian.  I need the back pockets in my jersey to put my pump, inflator, snacks, and asthma inhaler.  I store the clothing I end up shedding mid-ride there as well.  The tights or shorts have a chamois which helps with saddle soreness and wick sweat away.  Although I did want to point out that wearing a kit is sensible, this piece is not meant to be an advertisement for cycling duds.  Instead, I wanted to reflect on what wearing a kit means.

I started out curious about why it is called a “kit.”  I found out that the terms us mainly used in the UK for “the particular clothing worn by a sports team.”  I couldn’t find the etymology of that specific meaning although kit as referred to that of “outfit of tools for a workman” is from 1851.  Before I was a cyclist I had never heard the word kit used in that way.

When I wear a kit, regardless of which one, I am saying, I belong to the clan of cyclists.  When I am in my kit other cyclists (also in kits) nod or say hello.  If I am stopped for some reason, inevitably another cyclist will stop to find out if I need help.  There is a sense that cyclist will look out for each other.  I have helped many other cyclists mostly with changing flats and providing extra tubes.  There is a sense of community among road cyclist and the kit is the uniform.

Now specific kits convey certain information about me and my associations.  For instance, I belong to two clubs and obviously each club has a kit.  This can be awkward at times for me.  I was wearing the kit of one club and a member of the other saw me and was aghast.   Now there are good reasons why I belong to two.  The club I started with is like a family to me however, that club doesn’t have a developed woman’s program.  When I decided to try to race, I wanted a club with a well established women’s program, so I joined the second one.  But wearing the kit is saying I belong to this one and eyebrows are raised when you have two.  However, I am used to this, being mixed-heritage Asian American.  I have always felt I travelled in two worlds (at least).

I also have a kit from Stanford where I got my MA, as well as kits from rides I have done.  These kits also elicit reactions from other cyclists.  I was wearing my Stanford kit when another alumnae came up to me and started asking about my experiences there.  There is a way that the kit creates connection among cyclists and communicates belonging not only to the sport but to specific organizations.

I want my kit to express me.  It is, in part, a “fashion” statement.  I like my Japanese cherry blossom kit because it reflects my Japanese heritage.  I also like my “Wild Things” kit with the monsters on it from the Shel Silverstein book The Wild Things.  It reflects my playful side and the fact that I read that book a zillion times when my daughter was young. 

However, the kit is not unproblematic as an outfit.  It is spandex and tight.  I don’t usually mind this, however I can feel like I am being objectified, especially by those outside the cycling community.  I have had guys in a truck suck their teeth at me while I was on my bike and men whistle or come up and try to talk with me.  It is an issue I will explore more in another piece, but it makes me uncomfortable at times and scared at others.  In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to worry about this, but in this one I do. 

Overall, however the kit is not only utilitarian but also a communication – about belonging, about association, about connection, and about personality

I know lots of cyclists who don’t know how to change a flat. This seems a little foolish to me although part of me understands it. When I was first learning I found it a bit intimidating and frustrating at times. But I was well tutored by my partner.

I was on the bicycle trail last spring and a fellow came by walking his bike with a flat. I asked if he needed a tube. He said that he was almost to his destination. I said, “Do you want to walk or ride?” He decided he wanted to ride so I got out a tube. However, it soon became clear to me that he neither knew how to change his flat nor had the necessary tools. I did it for him which was a lovely reversal in gender roles to boot. While I was changing the tire, he said that he was a commuter. I said, “without a tube?” Enough said. He was on his way in less than ten. He said that he felt bad that he couldn’t reimburse me for the tube. I told him to do it for another cyclist. What goes around, comes around.

Knowing how to change a flat not only allows me to rest easy when I am fifty miles out of the city and alone, but it also gives me a sense of self-sufficiency. I can do this one myself. Actually I have learned a lot about maintaining and caring for my bicycle over the last two years. There is a lot I can do myself and even more with a little guidance.

This is also an accomplishment as I am not particularly mechanically inclined. I am good with my hands in a creative way — I do a lot of art — but not good at figuring out how stuff works or fixing things. Bicycles are wonderful in that they are relatively simple and elegant. It is usually possible to see how something works and understand the mechanics of it. My partner has helped me work on my bicycles. I have replaced brakes, brake cables, a cassette and a chain. I have changed sets of pedals and adjusted saddles and brakes. I have mounted lights and computers. I also regularly lube my chain and keep the tires well pumped so the bicycles are ready to ride. I kind of like it when my hands are greasy and I am well into a maintenance project. Being a newbie grease monkey suits me.

I like the sense that I can take care of my bicycles and am not at the mercy of a bike shop or in need to someone to help me all the time. It gives me a sense of independence and freedom, which is what the bicycle is all anyway.

I know for myself and a lot of women, and some men too, that body image is a sensitive yet preoccupying issue.  Over the course of my life I have been a size 2 and a size 22.  I have weighted 118 pounds at my lowest and 220 pounds at my highest.  My body has gone through all sorts of changes; however, my view of my body hasn’t changed as much as my body itself. 

At my heaviest, I had gained weight in part because of medication that I was taking.  I put on about 70 pounds in three months and then kept it on.  I was a large woman and very aware of feeling invisible to others.  (This came into high relief when I lost some weight and all of a sudden I was much more visible, especially to men.)  The prejudice against me as a fat woman made me angry.  The media’s tolerance of fat jokes and comments breeds hate and misinformation. 

There is the assumption that if you are heavy you somehow are weak or lazy and that you want to be heavy.  “Just stop eating”  or “Just exercise,” they say, as if you could change your behavior and your metabolism easily by sheer will power.  I always want to say, “do you think if I could lose 100 pounds tomorrow, that I wouldn’t already have done that?”  Any person’s multitude of reasons for being heavy are complex and often difficult to change.  For me, I needed to change my medication and change my exercise habits.  I still struggle with eating poorly or bingeing.  I am still working on changing these things to improve and maintain my health.  . 

However, I think the most startling thing is that my body image is still that I am fat.  I still feel fat.  I know in my head that you can’t be a size 4 and be fat.  I know that I would like to lose ten pounds to feel better on the bike, but that doesn’t mean I am fat.  In my head I know this, but I still look in the mirror and see a fat body.  This distortion causes me distress.  It is also annoying to those who are heavy and see a thin person moaning about being fat.  I remember feeling really angry when a normal weight woman would moan and groan about how she had to lose weight and the diet she was on and how fat she was, when I could see that at her 110 pounds she was fine and at my 220 I was not.  However, I understand now that the pain of feeling fat, at whatever weight, is real. 

This image of ourselves is supported by so many multimillion dollar companies that want to convince us that we need their product to lose weight.  It is supported by the media that gives us anorexic models who look like teenagers as the ideal woman.   It is supported by American culture that says you have to be thin and young to be successful.  We can’t get away from messages that tell us that we have to be thin and that you can’t be thin enough.  No wonder so many of us have distorted images of ourselves and unrealistic ideas about how we should look and what our ideal weight should be.

Now as a cyclist, I am trying to look at my weight and eating in order to improve my performance.  It is hard to move away from the knee jerk of “I have to lose weight to look better and do that I have to stop eating” to “I have to eat more when I ride, less at night, and try to lose some weight so I can climb better.”  It’s hard to not feel bad about feeling fat.  It is hard to feel that my body is strong and capable, despite the evidence.  Sometimes, I look down at my legs, which are quite muscular, and have the sense they belong to someone else. 

I know that my task is to be able to “own” my own body. I know I need to see it more realistically and work on the areas that will not only make me healthier, but hopefully a stronger rider. I also know that a radical change in perspective takes time and is gradual—like the changes in seasons, when the crocuses push their blooms through the snow, promising that spring is coming.

Having never been an athlete, this is all very new to me. I spent the first 45 years of my life outside my body and inside my head. To some degree this was because I had a rather traumatic childhood and learned that being present in my body was not always safe. So, I retreated inside. Over my life, until now, I had exercised my intellectual muscles and my emotional muscles but not my physical ones.

So when I discovered that I loved cycling, I was just as surprised as anyone, perhaps more so. I found that I liked the way it felt to be strong and to ride fast. It was fun to challenge myself to go faster and farther. However, it required an awareness of my physical body — something I had avoided for much of my life.

Being in body was new and at times even uncomfortable. Even now, I find that some times I will cry after a hard work out. It is like all the painful emotions that have been stored in my body comes seeping out.

At the same time, I like being strong and having definition of muscles that I never even knew I had. I feel more whole being able to be in my body and feel good about it.

One thing that starting training has done is pushed me to address health issues in a different way.  I realized that I had to be more aggressive with my approach.  No longer could I just ignore my asthma or knee pain.  No longer could I not deal with the fact that I eat poorly.  I had to figure out how to approach my health in a more mindful way.  

So, I started by making some appointments.  I made an appointment with my doctor for the asthma.  I made an appointment with my physical therapist to address my knee pain.  I also made an appointment with a yoga teacher to improve my balance (both physical and emotional) and to teach me some stretches. 

I have been slowly figuring out how to feed myself.  I have started by committing to eating breakfast which is actually quite hard for me.  I hate to eat in the morning and my medication kills my apatite at that time of day.  As with any change in ones habits, there are many steps.  I have to figure out what I would be willing to eat; I have to purchase it; I have to prepare it (if necessary), and I have to eat it. 

I have learned that to make fundamental changes, I have to do them slowly and deliberately.  I have to remember that change is a process and that it probably, won’t all happen at once.  It is not a linear process. I have to be patient and compassionate with myself, because making real change is hard.  

There are many changes I need to make in my eating habits, as well as my health maintenance – I need to take my asthma medication consistently, I need to do my knee exercises everyday, I need to do more yoga, I need to eat more when I ride and less at night – but I know that I have to take these changes one at a time.   I work on making small changes and improvements and realize that progress is happening. 

I have also learned that being gentle with myself is more helpful than being a drill sergeant.  My inner child doesn’t respond well to condemnation and judgment.  So, I am working on being encouraging if I goof up.  As my mother used to say, “Tomorrow is another day.” 

I have struggled with depression for much of my life. Now is no exception.  Anyone who has experienced clinical depression knows that it is easy to get overwhelmed and paralyzed when one feels down.  It is very hard to get motivated and mobilized to DO anything — even things that you normally like to do.

My depression is a huge obstacle to my training.  There are some days that I can’t manage to complete my training regime or can’t even get started.  And some days, I need to listen to my body and my psyche and take a break and other times I am learning that I need to push through.

I think of new green shoots in spring pushing up through the soil.  It looks like growing must be hard work.  They are so new and fragile and the soil is so dense.  Similarly, when I am depressed I am a fragile being who has to push through the darkness to move.

It was like that yesterday.  I was really down and not sure what I could manage to do.  I had a yoga lesson scheduled and it was a nice day outside, the first in eons.  However, what I felt like doing was crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head and calling it a day.  I decided that it would be better to try to get to yoga even if it meant I cried the whole time.  (My teacher is sensitive and supportive and was okay with my mood.)  I went to yoga, got out of the house, learned some new poses, and got moving.  It took monumental effort to get there.  After yoga, I managed to get on the bicycle too.  I told myself that I only had to go out for a half hour and if I felt too bad I could turn around.  I also knew no one would be looking at me while riding and if I cried no one would notice or care.  I ended up riding an hour or so.

Knowing when to push through and when to focus on comfort is critical.  I have pushed when it would have been better to just rest.  I usually end up feeling worse at those times.  But many times, pushing through the darkness allows a little light to come in.  I think when I can push myself without judgment and without investment in the outcome, then I do better.  If I start and can’t finish, well at least I started.  Attitude toward how I am pushing through is key.  If I can stay gentle and compassionate with myself, then I can challenge myself without the backlash of condemnation should I not be able to do that which I set out to do.

I know this will be an ongoing struggle and staying open, present, and compassionate with myself (and others) is critical to managing those dark times.

When I met my partner, who has been an athlete all his life and a cyclist for over 20 years, I knew that a lot more exercise was going to come into my sedentary life. He got me on a bicycle and the first time we rode the full length of the Minuteman bicycle trail I had to stop at least ten times to rest. He was patient and encouraging and during those first few months together we even rode to Concord, a total of about 30 miles which felt like 100 at the time.

One of my favorite things that he used to do (and sometimes still does) was to come up behind me on the bicycle and give me a push. That he has the balance to ride and push me still amazes me, as I would surly fall over if I tried it. There is something quite intimate about his hand on the small of my back giving me a push when I was tired. It always gave me more energy to accelerate forward.

The thing that surprised us both was that I not only fell in love with my partner, but I fell in love with cycling. As I did more of it, I loved everything about it. I loved that you were outdoors. I loved that you could go distances. I loved that you could go fast. I loved that you could work cooperatively in groups to go even faster. I loved that my body felt strong. I loved that bicycles are beautiful. I even loved the clothes. I became a cycling nut.

Now cycling has infused all aspects of my life. I make bicycle chain jewelry and wear a cycling cap much of the time. I teach beginners how to ride at The Bicycle Riding School, I ride with two clubs and am learning to race. I am also creating an art bike from an old mixie frame. I stripped it down and sanded much of the paint off last fall. (Unfortunately I forgot to do the fork.) This spring I will finish the paint stripping and repaint it. Then the real fun starts with hand painting it along a theme. I am thinking about using the theme “poetry in motion” but we will see what inspires me when spring comes. I will then rebuild it! (with help from my mechanically inclined partner mind you.)

So although my partner and I share our love of cycling, I have definitely made it my own. I don’t just cycle because he does. I cycle because it is in my blood.