The Ride

I went for a ride with Rick Hellard of Zone 3 Sports last Tuesday. Rick is somewhat of a triathlon celebrity here in Ottawa and beyond. He has raced in the Kona Ironman World Championships multiple times, and he coaches some of the best triathletes in Ottawa. I have heard stories about him for years, as he coached one of my good friends for her first Ironman. He is also the running coach for Team in Training, which is how we met. When I asked him to go for coffee to talk triathlons (since I essentially know nothing about the sport except “swim bike run”), he suggested that we go for a ride instead.


Gulp. 

“Um…well… but I’m slow.” I said carefully. My mind raced to my borrowed, too-small bike and my flat pedals, sneakers (horrors) and decidedly uncool cycling gear. Not to mention my utter lack of experience on the bike. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that,” he said.

“No, I’m serious. I’m really slow.”

“I don’t hear what you’re saying right now. What time should we meet?”

So that was that. We were going for a ride.

My new heroes.
Give them some love and check out their shop.

In a panic, I headed straight for Euro-sports, where one of the kind-hearted owners, Jon Palframan, had taken sympathy for my cause and offered to give me a deal on equipment. I went in and told him I needed clipless pedals and cleats. Right now. No way was I showing up for my ride with Rick Hellard in running shoes and flat pedals. I'm no expert, but I knew that was a definite "avoid at all costs" situation. I had bought road shoes in the summer for a ridiculous deal at the Great Glebe Garage Sale ($200 shoes for $20!), so at least I had those. Never mind that I had never worn them. Jon didn’t charge me for the pedals and gave me a sweet deal on the cleats and booties (to save my feet from freezing). He is awesome.

So I was set. I had new clipless pedals, and I had exactly no time to get used to them before our ride. I envisioned myself rolling up to meet Rick, not being able to get my foot out in time, and sprawling out on the pavement at his feet. This was going to be epic.

“Just make sure you unclip before you stop moving,” was my husband’s sage advice. No kidding.

On the morning of our scheduled ride, I woke up to gale force winds. Now not only would I fall over in my new pedals, I was going to get blown into the ditch by the wind. (My bike handling skills are not stellar.) I headed to the pool, realizing as I jumped into the water that maybe a swim workout on the same day that I was going for a ride with Rick was not the best idea. But I would be OK, right? I mean, swimming is a lot of upper body and who needs upper body strength on a bike ride? (As it turns out, everyone.)

As I came home from dropping off my daughter, Rick gave me a call to say he was stuck in traffic and would have to reschedule our ride. "That's fine with me!" I heard myself chirp in a voice much higher than my own. I wouldn’t be killed by the wind and pedals after all. But I still needed to fit in a workout that day.

I'm only smiling because the workout is almost over.

I called my husband and asked him to send me instructions of how to set up my bike on the trainer in the basement.

“Just go to the gym,” was his reply. Oh ye of little faith.

“At the gym, I have to watch baking shows on the Food Network. You want me to ride for over an hour watching Baking with Anna?! Do you care about my sanity at all?" (I'm not making this up. They really do play the Food Network in front of all the cardio machines.)

He relented and sent me patronizing instructions  like "use a screwdriver" (thank God he mentioned that, because my fingernails weren't working). It was nice to prove to my husband that I could indeed use tools without his help (we won't mention all the little mishaps along the way, and the fact that I was talking, er, yelling, at the trainer to get it to cooperate). But seriously, there is a lot to learn in this crazy sport of cycling.

Rick and I rescheduled our ride for last Tuesday. Thankfully by then I had done two rides in Gatineau Park with my new pedals, so I was feeling a little more confident. I still had no idea how to fix a flat tire, so I just prayed that I wouldn’t get one.

When I rolled up, Rick was already waiting, looking every bit the professional triathlon coach that he is. I felt a little intimidated and amateurish in my logo-free tights, Lululemon running jacket, and headband over my ears, beneath my mountain bike helmet (I took the visor off). So very uncool.

We headed off into the hills, and he was exceedingly patient with me. He gave me great tips about shifting and pedalling techniques, and it was obvious he loved the sport and liked being a coach. At one point, as I gasped up to the top of a hill where he was waiting, I said to him: “See? I told you I was slow!”

Ever the lovely, generous man, Rick said: “No, actually, you are way better than I thought you’d be. You are doing just fine. You could ride with just about anyone out here.”

A cyclist and trail runner in the making.

Now I know he was probably just being nice, but still. It’s always good to hear that you are not quite as bad as you (or someone else) thought you were. We finished the ride a solid ten minutes faster than I had done the same loop by myself on Sunday. I guess the right company really can make you better.

As I arrived back home, elated with how everything had gone, I reached into my pocket for the garage door opener and felt nothing. I looked at my unzipped pocket and swallowed a few four-letter words, realizing that the opener was likely lost somewhere in the Gatineau hills. I patted every other pocket. Nothing. Just as I became certain that I was locked out, my son’s bus pulled up. 

I was tired, cold, and starving after a two-hour ride, with an exhausted five-year-old and a daughter stuck at daycare. And no keys. I ransacked my son’s lunchbag and found a banana and granola bar (which I inhaled without shame), and then knocked on our lovely neighbour’s door and asked to take refuge from the cold. Tea never tasted so good. 

Thank God I had my cell phone, and that my husband actually picked up his work phone (not always a given). He gallantly jumped on his bike and made record time back home to let me in, and I managed to pick up my daughter on time. In spandex.

What did I learn from this day? A good bike ride can make you forget about cancer. Nice people are everywhere. I'm stronger than I thought. If you become a cyclist, get used to lots of spandex. And zip your pockets.

And never, ever schedule an early swim workout the morning after a tough bike ride.

Ouch.