it's not easy being green

as i was confessing to G this afternoon, lately, i've been feeling very green -- a neophyte if you will -- i'd even go so far as to say virginal.

this past weekend, as i tricked out my new bike and talked cleats and pedals with the guy at the store, i was reminded of how it feels to be thrown into the territory of unfamiliar jargon. i'm very at home talking boats. i can debate the merits of an empacher vs. a vespoli; i can argue about the benefits of spaghetti rigging your 4+; i have my own theories about the strategy one should take when racing in the outside lane at the canadian henley; my coach boat driving skills may leave something to be desired *cough cough*, but throw me in a coxie seat (yeah, i know ... i actually fit!) and i'll 'sweet talk' your boat across the line in record time. years of having my bum on the seat, my feet in the stops and my hands on the blade have made me comfortable dropping terms like "speed washer", "hatchet", "rigger", "stay", and "footstop" into everyday conversation; i have also become acutely aware of the power such jargon bestows upon the user. when you talk the talk, navigating your way through the gendered pitfalls of a male-dominated sport becomes a lot easier. i was reminded of this fact as i stood facing the sales clerk at the bike shop, greenly asking naive questions about the pedal system i was about to purchase. as i wrinkled my forehead in confusion, i suddenly felt very much "the girl". had i not driven quite a distance to pick up the pedals and shoes, i would have daintily flipped him a well-manicured bird, spun around on my kitten heel, and tripped blythely out of the store. instead, not wanting to waste a 2 hour drive, i swallowed the lump in my throat, gathered up my shoes and pedals and headed for the register.

this morning i took my bike, with its newly installed clipless pedals, out for a spin on the two-lane highway that heads east out of town. pedaling hard on the flat stretches, slowly climbing up and quickly bombing down the many hills on my route, i began to feel more at home. very briefly i had that feeling that i often have in a boat -- that mystical sense of the machine becoming an extension of your body. clipless pedals, no big deal, i thought to myself, as i mentally tallied the number of successful stops and starts i had negotiated. i think i sat up a little straighter as i braked at the final stop light on the way back home, mid-way up a steep climb -- guy at the bike shop be damned. i wasn't just "a girl".

then it happened. i fell over.

it was one of those slow motion moments, much like flipping a rowing shell. you know you're going down (or under), and yet it seems to be taking oh such a long time. you exhale as you sink down, muttering "shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit" under your breath. hitting the pavement wasn't actually that painful, but the road rash on my left knee (the knee that has survived being banged up in a car accident and bruised by a face-first fall off a porch) hurt like the dickens. i looked down at the bits of gravel, asphalt and skin all bloodily mixed up together and wanted to cry. it had only been in the past month or two that the scar tissue from my last "left knee incident" had begun fade. now, i angrily thought to myself, i have a new throbbing pink mess to deal with.

this new sport gig is tough. i'm reminded every time i look at my sweet new ride, that i've embarked on a relationship that is going to require time and effort on my part, and more than anything, a willingness to let myself be vulnerable. time and effort i have (okay, more of the latter than the former during this busy time of the academic year ...), but vulnerability ... well ... let's just say it's been awhile.