Spoiled: part 3

Now, flash forward…

I am sitting here on my couch, writing this while a track omnium is about to begin in New York City. I am registered for that omnium, but am instead writing a blog post in my underwear and looking up new roads to explore on Google maps.

Why am I back to riding, not racing?

I love racing. I desperately want to race. But, the state of women’s racing makes me sad, frustrated, disappointed, often angry and a bit heart broken. My heart is on the track, but I’m not there because I’d rather ride my road bike on beautiful Hudson Valley roads than feel guilty about crushing cat 4 women in a women’s open field (yes, really. All women racing together, pro and beginner alike), or frustrated that while I love supporting beginner racers (I volunteer to coach a beginner program!) it means I have to soft pedal for the first lap of a team sprint when I’m paired with one of those newer women, or gritting my teeth to block out the more than vaguely insulting commentary from the infield, or downright angry when the women’s races are modified yet again to be further shortened to ensure that the program finishes on schedule. Yes, there are two very strong sprinters racing today, but that’s hardly a field. For me, the modifications for the women’s open field race program that went out last night weren’t going to make for a fun, challenging or useful day for training. And, if it’s none of those things, then why go to the race? Ten miles into my road ride, I’ll be able to brush off the disappointment and frustration of the morning, and then I’ll get in some quality training and finish the day tired and happy instead of swearing that I’ll never make that same mistake again.

Many race directors, and even some women racers, have blamed this type of behavior (choosing not to race races that are most likely to be disappointing/frustrating/not enjoyable) for the state of women’s racing; the cancellations and the last minute schedule changes.  It isn’t uncommon for the women who do show up to get a 30 second lecture on everything that the women’s field lacks—at the start line, no less!—sometimes only a breath after being thanked for registering. This is the problem: blaming women racers, not the women racers themselves. The idea that female athletes should pay to spend their day racing events out of an obligation to do so, regardless of event quality or field equality, is massively problematic. That model makes racing a chore or a duty, not a joy. This is the opposite of the pre-race excitement and love of the sport that I had felt while racing in the men’s field. Showing up at a race out of a sense of obligation, with no idea what the schedule might be changed to, and a high likelihood of being belittled or berated by the race director or male attendees because of the lack of field size or perceived quality is not happiness. For me, it quickly became dread. And, my dread became particularly strong for one venue where there was a near guarantee of verbal harassment—I started going to sleep wishing for weather to cancel the races the night before, and waking up desperately trying to talk myself through just getting out the door. Worst of all, racing unhappy out of a sense of duty does not make for good racing.

Why does all of this seem to affect me so much more intensely than so many other women racers?

My answer is, “because I’m spoiled.” I was spoiled by men’s racing. I got a taste of what it feels like to know your race schedule, to know you’ll be challenged, to know you’ll have a full field to race in, and to know that there will be people cheering for your race from the sidelines (cheering really does have an awesome, strengthening effect when you need to find courage for that last effort!).

In my day-to-day life, I walk that line between being “she’d” and “he’d” depending on the circumstances. As I’ve relaxed and stopped trying to “pass” as anything other than myself, more and more frequently I have a hard time telling how I’m being read. Still, I do have the overwhelming privilege of passing as a guy professionally and in many other settings where I don’t wear spandex. This makes it all the more jarring to be treated so differently than the other guys when it comes to racing.

“Oh, woe is me! I have male privilege for part of my life and it hurts to give it up!” Pretty arrogant, right? But, it’s true. I am spoiled. The more pressing question, though, is: why aren’t we all outraged at the treatment of women cyclists? Why does anyone accept this? Sadly, I think most men are happily oblivious and lost in their own worlds, and most of the women who do object will eventually leave the sport.

We, men and women alike, should be outraged by the very concept of open women’s fields. Just the idea that there is no difference between pro and beginner women is horrifyingly demeaning to the experienced women, and creates a phenomenal barrier to participation for beginners, who are often lapped once or multiple times or pulled from the course before their finish.  We should also be outraged by the idea that it is okay to impose last minute schedule changes on the women, and usually only the women, including cutting racing times and drastic shifts in formats. Changing an event from longer group races to shorter sprints (feasable for small field sizes) implies that all racing is the same and makes the assumption that women don’t specialize.

Yes, this is the point where you can tell me I’m wrong and you can certainly recite the litany of defenses for all of these behaviors: not enough women to split the field, costs too much money, the women are too slow (or, as one race director put it, “tick tock”), nobody wants to watch women’s racing, women don’t sprint until the last lap anyway, so it doesn’t matter if you shorten the race, etc. Maybe you’ll even throw in a judgment about my quality as a racer, or attempt some character assassination to discredit my statements. I’ve been called, “the problem with women’s racing”, made the butt of running jokes, and been declared persona non grata when I’ve challenged decisions about shortened races and seemingly punitive choices for race format changes, and I know I’m not the only member of the women’s field who has felt this sort of lash-back on protesting changes. I might be a sensitive guy, but I didn’t misinterpret, misquote or misremember.

Here’s the thing, though: I am also a race director, so the whole, “well, then YOU run your own races” argument doesn’t work here, because I do. Sometimes there are simply not enough women to run some formats of track races, and there is no perfect answer for what to do about it. There are ways to go about reformating a race without enough registrants that makes it fun and interesting, and ways that are just lazy. And, what ever happened to asking the women registered for the races what they want? Ask them, and be respectful. What a radical idea!

If we start listening to women racers about what they want, and what they need in order to make an event fun and challenging, then maybe we will have less women choosing to ride instead of race, and thus be able to fill the women’s fields. 

For now, I am choosing to ride instead of race, except for a very few select events that I trust will allow me to race happy. For me, self-care means choosing to avoid races that will fill me with dread of harassment the night before, and make me sad/frustrated/angry the day-of. Without self-care this sport becomes unsustainable. In my first year of racing in the women’s field, I developed in leaps and bounds and learned a huge amount about myself. But, I wasn’t ready to face the realities of women’s racing when I petitioned for my change of license.

Sometimes I wish I could just be happy for a race, any race of any length and any format, and roll with the last minute modifications and demeaning justifications of how women are too slow/boring/under-qualified/scarce for equal racing time or prizes. It would be a lot easier to sign up, and then show up to races if I could just stop being so outraged and disappointed. And, I’d certainly be a lot more popular.

I am conflicted because I very badly want to race. I want to enjoy the rush of the sprint, the thrill of closing a gap, and the satisfaction of knowing I pushed myself as hard as I could. But, self care is important. If I don’t take care, how do I continue to spread the love of this sport to the new racers come spring? How do I continue to love this sport at all? So, I’ll keep my love for cycling and spend my weekend riding happy, not racing sad or angry.

Photo credit Robert Lai

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Discomfort. Betrayal. Acceptance.

Personal reflection at the close of the year. 

Bodies and discomfort.

Competitive cycling is a sport that forces you to inhabit your body; to engage muscles for that opening snap of force in a sprint, or to make yourself breath while pushing through the lactic acid burn.

There is no place for dysphoria in bicycle racing. Testing that statement was a large part of my 2014 racing season – I would be caught off guard by a  “ladies” or a misplaced catcall from the sidelines. And, in those few moments of ceasing to inhabit my body, the race was gone. I had missed the move. Struggling to bring myself back to the present, traveling at a speed of 20+ mph on two skinny tires, I would be left to contest a mid-pack finish.

Since the start of the 2014 season, my gut reaction to being called a “lady” has finally caught up to my academic and philosophic resolve to not correct people at bicycle races. It has gotten easier. I asked to race in the women’s field, and it has been one of the best (and, dare I say, transformative) experiences of my life. I do not wish for women’s racing to change to accommodate me. It is my place to be uneasy and incongruent.

It’s true. I don’t stand out in a field of women on bikes, where many have short hair and low enough 2014-12-13 20.32.03body fat to not have much of a chest. And, these days, I’m finding that that’s alright. In life outside of bicycles, there are many things that I do that cause some gender confusion. The short hair, slightly gravely voice, plus added glitter nail polish alone sometimes has me read as an effeminate gay man, the BFF type you’d go get a manicure and talk about boys with (for the record, I’m always game for that). Eyeliner, worn when I’m feeling a bit vampy, dramatically pushes me out of “he” territory, far past the gender-confusion-hesitation checkpoint, and into the definitive “ma’am” category at the grocery store.

My identity discordance with racing in the women’s field is my discomfort to own, and I’ve come to embrace that itchy, squirm-inducing, surreal and often hilarious place of being an androgynous, female-bodied, guy racing in a women’s field. Not male, but one of the guys. Yet, a different kind of guy.

Body betrayal.

2014-12-20 13.58.17

I won’t dwell here. Hurt, rage and negativity is not a healthy place to live.

Yet, just when I come to that place of embracing the discomfort of discordance, perhaps still basking in the joy of having pushed my physical limits in a race, I see the photo evidence. And, my body betrays me. Those are my hips and waist? I have curves? I might even look downright feminine. Sometimes I am shocked at what I look like in photographs, because it is so different from how I see myself in my own mind. Is that really me?

Oh, yes, it’s me. And, when I force myself to look harder, I see the tough, muscular legs of an athlete, as well as those hips that I can’t seem to abolish. So, I might as well start coming to terms with it.

Body acceptance.

Competitive cycling forces you to care for your body. You cannot train hard on a consistent basis without practicing sincere self-care: sleeping enough, eating to fuel your workouts, self massage and stretching of crunchy, tired and knotted muscles. If you neglect these things, your training will break you. You will become ill or incur a disabling injury. And, because of your self-neglect, you will fail to reach your potential. Additionally,  and perhaps most importantly, one must practice being emotionally kind to yourself and believing that you CAN do it, no matter what the “it” of the day is – those intervals that make me vomit every time, finishing strong on the hilliest of road races, or racing in a field shared with world champions.

travisvelodrome

In the genetic lottery, I am extraordinarily lucky to have been dealt a tremendously athletic body, one that CAN do it. I have always been muscular and fast. As a kid, I gleefully beat the boys in my class at foot races or push-up contests at school. Even at ten years old, I recognized that while I felt like one of the boys, I was different. That difference made the accomplishment all the more significant.

As I’ve come to accept this difference, it has become increasingly important to me to be seen as a female bodied person on a bicycle. To be seen otherwise, either in racing or just along for a ride, is to undervalue my strength, tenacity, talent (?), and countless hours of training. All is not equal in cycling. And, I don’t just mean social differences in the way racers are treated. Bodies matter. Anyone who claims the contrary has likely never experienced the challenges of being the only female bodied person on a training ride with similarly skilled and conditioned male racers. Remembering and re-accepting that I am physically different from the rest of the guys, that I am physiologically female, has helped me to come to a place of appreciation for my body and what it is: capable, powerful, and fast. To measure myself, and be measured by others, on the spectrum of female athletes allows me to appropriately value my effort in training and performance in racing.

I am kinder and fairer to myself now. I still choose to place extraordinarily high demands on myself physically. And, in all arenas of my life, have almost immeasurably high standards for my own performance. But, I take the time to massage the perpetual dull ache of training out of my legs, and I am thankful for the ability to ride a bicycle…. very, very fast.

It’s a process. Gender is mutable. Bodies may be uncomfortable places to live, but they matter.