Pros and Cons of Biking to Work

I should perhaps open by saying that I love biking to work. I'm so glad I'm finally fit enough to do this. It is, by and large, a wonderful experience that is improving my life. But, as with everything, there are annoyances. And it's my blog, so I can vent if I want to.

1) My commute is into the sun. East in the morning, west in the evening. It's less of a problem in the evening, because the sun isn't as low when I'm headed home. In the morning, the sun is at exactly the right angle to cause some serious distress. Even wearing sunglasses, I'm often blinded at least once. The flickering caused by tree shadows is distracting. Each morning I've had to come to a complete stop at least once because I couldn't see where I was supposed to go. I was thinking this would get better as sunrise gets earlier, but we're fast approaching the longest day of the year. As soon as this problem goes away it will come back.

2) Capris are the ugliest, least comfortable garment ever designed. But damn they're functional. Yoga pants come with the constant hazard of getting caught in the gears. Shorts ride up and my thighs chafe on the seat. So capris make the most sense. I don't have to like it though.

3) The beginning of the ride home is always awful. My legs are tight from the morning ride. I've had to put my sweaty gear back on, because it makes no sense to pack fresh gear when I'm just going to sweat through it again then immediately take a shower. I always loosen up and adjust eventually. It's happening more quickly each time. But that first half mile is rough.

4) I'm completely dependent on the weather. Sure, I could bike in the rain. That sounds awful and uncomfortable though. Besides which I'd probably need to buy all sorts of additional gear to protect myself and my bike. Instead I just take the metro when there's rain in the forecast. I've gotten tripped up a couple of times, mostly when I wanted to bike, decided not to, and then it didn't rain at all. It'd be nice to be freer to set my own schedule around this.

5) This should change soon, but at the moment I'm mad. Far from losing weight, I've actually gained weight since I started biking to work. I now weigh more than I ever have, and I can't figure out why. Maybe it's just a transition period? Building muscle in my legs? Hopefully this will change soon. If I can stick with it and keep from getting discouraged.

Aside from these things, the commute is pretty great. I love how efficient it is. I'm able to get two hours of exercise in, and I get home less than an hour later than when I commute by train. It gives me longer evenings and more energy. I'm more awake in the morning at work and less stressed when I get home.

The trail is fantastic. Aside from being pretty and not too crowded and smelling nice, it's a perfect course. Both directions begin uphill and finish downhill (mostly), though there's a lot more downhill on the way to work. Not quite halfway through there's an enormous hill that's hell to get up but so much fun to fly down. It's its own reward. There are also stop lights at about the 3 and 7 mile marks that make perfect water stops.

Mostly I'm just hoping that the weather doesn't get too hot too fast. Yesterday it was 83 when I was biking home, and I don't think I can handle biking in temperatures much above 90. But maybe that will change as I get better. Or maybe we'll have a summer as mild as last years. I can hope.

Biking

The thing I miss most abut living in Boulder is how easy it was to bike everywhere. Boulder isn't a big city, and it's one of the more bike-friendly places in the country. It was pretty easy for me to get in the habit of running many of my errands on bike, biking to work, and just going out for quick rides on the weekends.

That all changed when I moved to Virginia. For one, the suburbs are a lot more spread out. Instead of being a mile away, my bank was now closer to three miles away. There are a lot more cars, too, and the whole experience is scarier. The heat and humidity, which I wasn't yet used to, didn't help. It wasn't long before I feel out of the habit completely, and my attempts to pick it back up were cut short by how horrifically out of shape I got.

I'm changing that now.

The ten mile ride to work is a lot more than the two mile ride I had back in Boulder. But I'm in much better shape than I was, even then. It adds to my commute, but it's a more efficient way to exercise overall and leaves me with more time free in the evenings. And if it cuts into my reading time, well, reading less was one of my goals for this year.

I'm hoping to be able to ride to work twice a week, weather permitting. As I get stronger, I may even up that. Although I'm currently pretty tired and sore from doing the ride yesterday. It didn't help that I picked a miserable day for my first bike to work. It was cold enough in the morning to make my hands go numb and windy enough in the evening to add twenty minutes to what is usually an hour-long ride. But I did it, and I can do it again, and I will keep improving.

On top of this, I'm trying to bike for smaller errands. I can easily bike three miles to the pet store or bike store when I need something small. Ditto the grocery store, which is only 1.5 miles away. Although I have to be careful how much I buy when I do that. I can only carry so many groceries. But if I make more, smaller trips, well that's just more excuses to ride the bike.

The key here is incorporating the bike into my daily life. To choose it over the car whenever it makes sense. Staying on the bike makes me want to get on the bike more. And biking constantly will make it easier to go on longer rides when I can. One of these days I may actually be able to keep up with Kevin on a thirty or forty (or fifty?) mile ride.

When I first moved here, one of Kevin's goals was to ride the entire W&OD trail, 45 miles from Purcellville to Shirlington. I dropped him off at the high end and picked him up several hours later at the low end. Maybe next year I'll get him to do the same for me. Or maybe we can find someone else to drive and ride it together.

A Tale of Two Compliments

Yeah I'm talking about street harassment again. I don't know if it's happening more or if I'm just noticing it more, but it's been on my mind a lot.

Today I had interactions with two different men and was struck by the contrast between them. The first made me feel dirty. The second left me with a spring in my step. The difference? Well, see for yourself.

Situation 1:
The man approached me on a crowded street corner while I was waiting for the light to change. He got close enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek while he whispered in my ear "Damn, nice legs. You're looking real good, baby girl." He disappeared as quickly as he had come, leaving me shaken.

Situation 2:
While I was walking down the street, a man called out, "Excuse me, ma'am."

Assuming that he needed directions somewhere, I stopped and turned to him. "Yes?"

He looked me in the eye and said, "I wanted to let you know that you look very nice today."

"Thanks," I responded with a big grin.


It is clearly not that difficult to give a stranger a compliment in a way that makes her day better rather than worse. It all comes down to respect. Why is this such a difficult concept for so many people?

Microaggressions

They're the little annoyances we deal with every day. The things we mostly just shrug off because they happen so damn often that we've basically come to expect them. Over time they add up, drain us of our energy. And every now and then you get a day like today when they all happen at once and it feels like the universe (or half of it) is out to get you personally.

The man who walks directly at me on a wide-open sidewalk and snickers each time I change course to avoid crashing into him.

The man who sits next to me on the metro and spreads his legs as wide as possible so I'm crammed up against the wall.

The man who brushes up against me and "accidentally" touches my ass in the crowd to leave the metro station.

The homeless guy, calling me "pretty girl" in an effort to get my attention so he can sell me a copy of Street Sense.

The guy on the park bench who whistles when I walk past.

The man who leers at me as if I can't see him, or maybe just doesn't care that I can.

And then the asshole at the end of it all. Yelling at me to smile; life isn't that bad. Getting angry when I walk past him without acknowledgement. Offering me a dollar if I'll just smile for him. Continuing to shout at me as I do my best to ignore him. But it is my face, damn it, and I will look tired or angry if that's how I feel, and I will smile if I feel like smiling but not because some stranger wants me to.

Taken individually, each of these is a minor incident. Something I'm able to brush off as I go about my day. At least one of these things happens every day, and every one of them has happened before today. If I got angry every time I'd never be anything but angry. This is the world we live in, where men feel like their mere existence gives them some right to a piece of the women around them.

So we learn to ignore the unwanted attention, the trespasses on personal space, the judgement based on looks alone, the infantalizing comments. Because saying something would likely result in escalation, increase our risk. It's easier, safer, to just pretend it didn't happen.

But then a day like this happens, and I'm exhausted before I even get to work. It's days like this that I wish I never had to leave my house. Or that I was actually invisible. Or that I could just make all the men disappear.

It days like this that I actually have to say something. Because these so-called microaggressions are a big deal. They add up to so much more than the sum of the parts, reinforcing the idea that women exist for men to look at, comment on, toy with, touch, possess. That we should be grateful for the attention. That our feelings don't matter. That we are worth less. And that attitude needs to stop.

Commute From Hell

I arrived at the metro station shortly after 5:30. Signs had been posted to inform everyone that there were severe delays on the metro and alternate routes were suggested. I didn't have another option, so I walked through the turnstile and down to the crowded platform.

While I was waiting for the train, a recorded announcement on a loop informed me that a passenger had been struck by a train, and the metro was not running between Rosslyn and Ballston (that's five stops). Shuttle service was being provided for passengers between the two stations (if you lived somewhere between them, I imagine you were on your own).

The train arrived and, miraculously, I managed to squeeze onto it. Fifteen minutes later we had traveled the two stops to Rosslyn. Since the track was closed beyond Rosslyn, we had to wait for the train ahead of us to unload, then back up to the track switch before we could pull in.

The platform was beyond crowded. There almost wasn't enough room to unload the train. And once we did all squeeze onto the platform, no one was moving. Every now and then the people on the escalator would ascend a few steps and everyone would shuffle forward. It took me twenty minutes to get upstairs.

I was waiting in the crowd on the upper platform when there was an announcement that the station was closed and everyone needed to exit. That sent a wave of laughter through the crowd. What else had we been trying to do for the last half hour? But closing the station did help, and we began to move a little faster.

Eventually I made it to the foot of the escalators where I discovered the bottleneck problem: none of the escalators were running. Everyone had to climb up the stairs. This wouldn't be that big of a deal except that Rosslyn has incredibly long escalators. Every so often someone would faint or find themselves unable to move on. Then we would need to wait for the escalator to clear out so paramedics could descend and offer water and oxygen to that person before helping him or her to the top.

I finally made it to the street around 6:30. The line for the shuttle to Ballston was too long to comprehend, and traffic was barely moving at this point anyway. So I started walking, following the mob of people who had the same idea. During this walk I heard snippets of gossip. The man who had been struck by a train had apparently jumped in front of it. He was alive and conscious. Trains still weren't running.

Half an hour later I got Boyfriend on the phone and asked him to meet me in Clarendon for dinner. Stopping for a glass of wine and some food seemed a much better option than walking the remaining mile to the Ballston station where the trains would hopefully be running. So he came to meet me and we had a lovely dinner and drinks and didn't go home until traffic had cleared up. At least I got my silver lining. And between the huge staircase at Rosslyn and the hike to Clarendon, I didn't even feel guilty about not making it to the gym.

I also manged to read about 10% of A Feast For Crows since I didn't really have anything else to do. I might actually finish it by the weekend.